Ben Soul

by Richard George

out over the gathered mourners.

  “La Señora was born on this mountain, in a bedroom of the manor house. She never told us which one. I suspect she didn’t know. She grew up here, and in Lima, Peru, her mother’s native city. Early in World War Two, she discovered wounded veterans needed ongoing comfort and counsel. She learned how to soothe their spiritual hurts while nursing their bodily wounds. Her work with those who came home broken in spirit from the war led her into another kind of mission work, that among the derelict on the streets of the City. When her mission was razed to build a high-rise complex, she retreated to her childhood home, bringing a few of us with her.” Dickon coughed, and shifted his weight. Ben wondered if Dickon’s sciatica was troubling him.

  “Here La Señora practiced her spiritual exercises, and oversaw the affairs of the Village. She contributed time and money to several charities in the County, especially concentrating on those that benefited children.” Dickon paused again.

  “La Señora was never alone,” he said. “She had a friend, a special llama, from her native Peru. She said she was in frequent mental contact with this llama. It died the night she died, at about the same time. We have provided it a grave next to hers, as she asked us to do.”

  “La Señora confessed no one religion among the multitudes humans offer. She respected all of them insofar as they set the spirit free. She disliked all of them insofar as they imprisoned the spirit. When she left instructions for her last rites, she requested this prayer be read:

  “Out of the nothing I have come, and perhaps to nothing I return. I came in fear, and I found love. I go in fear, and hope to find something even greater than love. Whatever you are, that have sustained me thus far, hold me up still through all things that may come. You have been my blessing, and the ground of my being. Be with me still. Amen.”

  Several people, including Ben murmured “Amen” at the end of the prayer.

  “And now,” Dickon said, “we commend La Señora’s body, and the body of her beloved llama, to the earth, to go in the fullness of time back into the earth. Her spirit we commend to the Lord of the Universe, the Maker, and Redeemer of all. So be it.” Dickon nodded to the pallbearer to lower the coffins. When they had done so, he stooped to take a clump of soil from the pile beside the grave. He scattered some on the llama’s coffin and the rest on La Señora’s coffin. Then he stepped back for the mourners to do the same, if they chose. Elke led the way, and the rest of the Villagers followed.

  One by one they each took a handful of dirt and dropped it in the grave. Dickon, in his robes, stood staring at his feet as they passed. When all had had the opportunity to pass the caskets, they huddled together in a small group. They stood silently, some hand in hand, while Dickon spoke the benediction. Ben looked at him. Tears stood in Dickon’s eyes as well as in his. They would miss La Señora.

  By ones and twos, the mourners left. Each of them carried the weight of loss on bowed shoulders. The sure of foot plunged down the hillside directly toward the highway. Those less sure of foot picked their way down the trail toward the Village and its trail leading to Rosa’s Café. Rosa had laid out a simple buffet of cold meats, bread, condiments, and hot tea and coffee. Dickon and Ben were the last to go. Willy Waugh watched them until they were out of sight. Then he took off the shirt and trousers he had worn for the ceremony, folded them neatly, and put them on the low iron fence that surrounded the Mandor family cemetery. Then he lowered the coffins. Judging all were out of earshot, he started the backhoe and began filling the graves.

  The wind went on whispering a song in the grass, and the westering sun danced on the waves of the cove.

  Remembering

  When the last of the neighbors had left, and only the Villagers, the Wong brothers, and the Pitts siblings were left, Rosa put the closed sign on the door and locked it. Emma sighed heavily. Notta wiped at her eyes. Haakon and DiConti looked at each other, and waited for their womenfolk to recover. Willy came out of the kitchen. He brought fresh coffee and tea and put them on the warming plate. Ben got up and got fresh tea for himself and Dickon. The Swami set his cup aside. Mae Ling and Malcolm, in turn, refreshed their supply of olives. Everyone was silent, lost in thoughts and remembrances. Harry Pitts got up once, to get another slice of salami and a hard roll. He made enough noise that everyone else looked up to watch him spread mustard on the roll, lay the circle of salami across it, and fold it over.

  Olive Pitts spoke up first. “La Señora was a righteous woman,” she said. Her voice rasped on Ben’s ears. He tried to remember whether he had ever heard her speak before or not.

  “She was,” Dickon said. “She knew how to be gentle and strong at the same time, but she never swerved from what she thought was right.”

  “She was what goodness is all about,” Willy said. All eyes turned to him. He blushed, but went on. “She took me away from the place where they hurt me all the time. She took me to her house, to live. I was a wild thing, frightened like a cornered llama. She tamed me.” He smiled at them all. “She wasn’t easy on me, when she thought I was wrong. She insisted I wear clothes all the time. We disagreed a lot about that. That was in the City.” His face grew sober. “I don’t know what life will be, without her. She always pointed me in the direction I should go, and she always pointed me right.” He heaved a great sigh. Tears, unshed, stood in his eyes. Elke went to him, put a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed. He looked up at her and mouthed “Thank you” at her. Elke looked around the room. She could see the others were as surprised as she was to hear Willy say so much all at one time.

  “She was our kinswoman,” Notta said. Emma nodded. “We didn’t know how close, until recently.”

  “She never considered the degree of kinship when she offered to help me,” Emma said. “I was a young mother, with a shaky job, when she invited me to join with you and move to the Village. I’m not sure I’d have survived, without her help.” Several murmurs around the room acknowledged Emma’s comment.

  After a little silence, Dickon said, “La Señora pulled me back from a pit I was digging for myself. She wasn’t gentle, that time, and that was a good thing. I needed someone made of iron.”

  “She could be iron, that’s for sure,” Mae Ling said. She had come back from her European book tour just in time for the funeral. “I remember her standing up to those developers. They had a tough time bringing her down.”

  “Yes,” Dickon said. “Those were rough times for La Señora.” He got up and went to the table. He took a bun, split it, and layered it with ham and onion slices. Then he spread mustard over the onion, and put the bun together. Ben sighed. He’d have to eat a bit of onion, now, in self-defense. He liked onion well enough, but it sometimes disturbed his digestion.

  Malcolm Drye refreshed his tea. Rosa Krushan opened her mouth to say something, but Malcolm started speaking first. His back was toward Rosa, and he didn’t know she was about to talk.

  “La Señora understood, as no one else ever did, how I loved and hated my family, especially my brother, Quig.” Everyone held their breath; Malcolm seldom mentioned his family or his inner feelings. “La Señora helped me understand that hating and loving the same person can be part of keeping the Balance.”

  “Keeping the Balance was a favorite idea of La Señora’s,” Elke said. “She mentioned it often.” Elke uncrossed her ankles and leaned a little forward. “She was a balanced person, herself.”

  “She honored whatever set people free to be themselves,” Rosa said. “That’s what I remember most about her. She did that for me, anyway. She taught me to let go and follow my heart wherever love takes me.” Rosa smiled at Elke, and reached out to her to take her hand. “She helped me accept myself as someone who could love you, Elke. She gave me a great gift.”

  “And me,” Elke added. Malcolm returned to his seat.

  Harry Pitts spoke up. “She was a good woman. I never understood her
Balance philosophy or her Cosmic this and whatnot. She said she didn’t accept Jesus as her lord and savior, not in any way I could understand, but she was good woman, who did good things for a lot of people. I hope she’s right, that God reads the human heart to approve or disapprove human deeds.” Harry blushed. He seldom made such long speeches. “She took me in when I was broken in spirit and mind, and gave me a place to heal. She did the Lord’s work, whatever she called it.” Tears spilled down his cheeks. “She loved the way God loves, without condemnation.”

  The Swami had been picking at his teeth with a toothpick. He cupped it in his hand and said, “Keeping the Balance was La Señora’s way of acknowledging the good and the bad in the universe, and of understanding you can’t let one overcome the other.”

  “I don’t understand,” Ben said. “Isn’t the good to be desired, and the evil avoided?”

  “No,” Olive Pitts said. “It doesn’t work like that. Consider the light, the light that goes on shining in the darkness, as John’s Gospel describes it.” She looked around the room. Everyone waited for her to continue her exposition. “The light shines on in the darkness, and the darkness has never overcome it,” she paraphrased. “But the darkness