Ben Soul

continued. “You are very diffident. That makes you mysterious.”

  Tears stood in Emma’s eyes. Haakon took her hand between his.

  “Haakon,” Emma said, her breathing broken as though she strangled on stifled sobs, “My mother died about two weeks ago. Since, I’ve had unsettling news about my mother’s past. Today I’m in limbo. I think tomorrow I will be back at the library. Yes, I am running—from what to what I’m not sure.” Emma’s tears welled up from deep inside herself.

  Haakon stroked her hand to soothe her. “Come run in the sun with me, Emma,” he said. “Come play with me at the Zoo.” He signaled to the waiter for the check. His own emotions disturbed him. He was, contrary to all his ordinary feelings on the job, sexually attracted to Emma. She piled her hair in a bun on the top of her head. Gray speckled it. Her face spoke of severe discipline only newly relaxed. Perhaps her naiveté attracted him. His usual clients were suburban matrons who ran to the City for an hour to blot out husbands, children, dishes, vacuums, poodles, and church socials. Emma Freed was innocent and her innocence refreshed him.

  They entered the Zoo and strolled through the exhibits. Near the llamas, Haakon took Emma’s hand. It had seemed so natural to Emma once she was past the first shy brushing of fingers. Haakon sensed her fear and shyness. Sensitivity was part of his gigolo skill set. He tenderly took her hand in his. His first touch had been feathery, tentative until he felt Emma return a slight pressure. He touched her a little more boldly. Emma squeezed his palm. He responded in kind. She looked at his profile out of the corner of her eye. He was godlike in his blue polyester double knit and his golden hair. He was hired, but skilled, beautiful, and gentle.

  The llamas paid no attention to the couple outside their pen. The llamas had seen enough couples holding hands to dull their prurient instincts. Even the humor of these situations had gone past boredom into non-existence. The llamas were busy exchanging rumors of a scandal among the lions. There had been a fight between a lioness and a lion. One of the llamas had understood the lion made a snide remark to which the lioness had retorted with profanity. Llamas are communal beasts, and consider any dispute public property.

  Kangaroos bore easily, and take any entertainment that comes along. Ordinarily they dozed in the mid-afternoon sun, unless something extraordinary happened. Kangaroos, even zoo kangaroos, perceive almost anything a human being does as extraordinary. Kangaroo brain wave cycles parallel human emotional wave cycles. The Zoo’s kangaroos sensed Emma Freed’s innocence and Haakon Spitz’s worldliness were beginning to harmonize. The kangaroo mothers settled their joeys in their pouches and leaned back on their tails to watch, ready for either a good laugh or a good cry. The kangaroo fathers were at a boxing match.

  Emma stared at the llamas, and did not see them. Haakon looked at the kangaroos. He turned to study Emma’s profile. He thought he saw tears pooled in her eyes. He leaned forward and touched her hand with his lips.

  “Emma, I want you to have an afternoon to remember,” he said to her. The kangaroos watched the young man put his hands ever so gently on the woman’s shoulders. He drew her to him. She put her arms around his neck. They kissed a long kiss. Several kangaroos raised their paws and dabbed at their eyes. One half-grown joey scratched at the fleas in his fur. His mother laid a heavy paw on him to quiet him. He settled at once. Far away the lion and the lioness exchanged disgruntled roars. A tiger snarled at them to be quiet so a friendly neighborhood cat could sleep in peace.

  “Oh, Haakon—” Emma’s face darkened. “Is this part of your pitch, Mr. Spitz?” She pushed herself away from him and glared at the moist-eyed kangaroos. The unicorn slipped into the shed, shed its llama disguise, and screwed in its horn. Then it came forth and pranced about the llama pen. Haakon and Emma did not notice.

  “No, Emma,” Haakon said. “This is not part of my pitch. Will you look at me?” Haakon tenderly took her chin in his hand and softly turned her face toward him. Emma saw the tenderness in his eyes. Her tears began to drop. Several kangaroos blubbered. The joeys yawned and stretched in their mothers’ pouches. Emma closed her eyes to slow the tears.

  “Will you look at me, Emma?” Haakon asked again. He drew her to him. She stiffened, resisting, and then put her arms around his neck again. Many kangaroos raised their paws to dab at their eyes. The half-grown joey scratched at the fleas in his fur again.

  When Emma had spent her tears, Haakon stepped back from her. She clung to his arm. “Emma,” Haakon said, “I am a hired lover. I escort bored women around the City. They bore me. I do this to buy art supplies and pay my rent. You are different, Emma, something new and fresh in my afternoons.” The kangaroos twitched their ears, which was their way of expressing skepticism.

  “Come play with me, Emma. Let your hair down,” he continued, as he took out the ivory pins and comb holding her bun in place. He loosened her braid. Her hair fell thick wavy and to her shoulders. The gray speckling shone silver in the afternoon. The kangaroos applauded.

  “I should brush my hair, and my nose is stopped up,” Emma said. The kangaroos leaned forward to better hear. Emma’s voice was husky with the tears tangled in her throat. Haakon dabbed at her nose with his handkerchief. She smiled a watery smile at him and took his handkerchief.

  “I can do it myself,” she said, and blew her nose. “Will you stand by the bench over there and hold my compact mirror for me?”

  “Yes, I will,” Haakon said, and kissed her forehead. The kangaroos sighed and smiled. The half-grown joey yawned widely and loped away. The lion muttered a half-roar and cuffed a cub lying nearby. Haakon sat down and took the mirror from Emma. She tossed her head and shook her hair several times before she flipped it in front of her face and began brushing the inside. Twenty-five strokes for each strand she counted. As she brushed her hair, it began to shine as though it had captured the sunlight. Her aura expanded until it filled the Zoo cages and glossed the kangaroos’ fur and the llamas’ coats.

  Haakon saw the sun glow in Emma’s hair. The kangaroos saw only the misty tears in their own eyes. The llamas, for politeness’ sake, bent their heads to graze. As Emma finished brushing her hair, the unicorn whirled one last pirouette into the shelter. There it unscrewed and stowed its horn, and pulled on its llama suit. Haakon gave Emma the mirror. She tossed her hair behind her and put the mirror and the brush in her purse.

  “There,” Emma said; “I feel like an entirely new person.”

  “You are lovely with your hair down,” Haakon said; “your face is more relaxed, and softer. Much lovelier.”

  “Oh, Haakon,” Emma said, pushing away, and then drawing him to her. Then she kissed him. “I’m afraid we put on quite a show for the llamas and the kangaroos.”

  “I suppose so,” Haakon said. He kissed her. The llamas went on grazing. The kangaroos clapped to see such sport. The lions snored in the afternoon.

  The fog that had lain all day a gray blur on the Western horizon began to tumble, bubble, and boil as though witches off the coast had overturned their brewing kettles. The wind rattled the eucalyptus leaves. Haakon squeezed her. She squeezed him back. “I am a new woman,” she said. The kangaroos sighed in unison, as the man and woman walked away.

  Noah Count Collects Collateral

  Noah sighed. The Swami was being difficult. “Look,” he said. “I’ve already given you a clergy discount, and then I extended you credit for the past month. It’s time to pay up, Swami, and no more herbals until you do.”

  “How can I continue my proper devotions without the herbals?” the Swami asked in a pleading tone.

  The Swami deemed the herb integral to his devotions. The authorities deemed it illegal. Noah survived by supplying folk like the Swami what they needed in defiance of the authorities. Noah had no charity to waste on customers. Noah advanced the Swami, and one or two other regulars, small amounts of herb on credit. If they were slow to pay, Noa
h demanded items as collateral he was sure they would redeem with their first bit of money.

  “Not my problem. Your gods need you stoned, let them supply you with the grass, man. I’m just a small businessman, trying to make a living. I have to keep my suppliers happy, don’t you know. They don’t give me credit.”

  “Just until the first of the month, Noah. I just need until the first of the month.”

  “That’s nine days from now. I’ve got a shipment coming in I need to pay for. I can’t keep carrying you.”

  The Swami slumped in his chair. Part of the money he owed Noah he had in his saffron robe’s pocket. It was only part. The Swami had been hoping to use it for something besides rice and weary vegetables for his dinner (his beliefs did not exclude eating meat, though often his budget forbade it).

  “I can pay you part of what I owe you,” he said, sighing.

  “How much?” Noah asked.

  “Twenty.”

  “Twenty out of thirty, and you want me to carry you for ten more. Can’t do it, not without collateral. What happened to the other ten? You said you’d have the whole amount for me today.”

  “I spent it on objects of devotion.”

  “What objects?”

  The Swami gestured at the statues he had bought at the St. Edmunds Thrift