Ben Soul

beside the little toe of his right foot. This seemed to satisfy him, and quiet the dog. Still shaking, the merry band made its way to the Half Shell tied up at the end of the dock.

  Captain Anna Locke stood on the deck. She had hired a sailor to assist her. The sailor’s papers gave the name as Dijee Tully. Most people, when they first met Dijee were unsure whether they met a man or a woman. Dijee was barrel-bodied, with a noticeable pair of breasts that might or might not be accoutrements of a stocky man. Dijee kept her hair cut very close to her head, so close the irregular lumps and bumps of her skull were apparent. The voice, as well, was androgynous, husky and low, for a woman, gravelly and high for a man. Dijee’s strength was not in question. She (for biologically Dijee was female, a fact recorded on her sea person’s papers) heaved the heavy ramp that made the Half Shell’s gangplank onto the dock without assistance or ropes.

  “Come aboard,” she growled. La Señora led the unicorn on. The others followed, leading their llamas.

  “I’ve reserved the aft cabin for the cargo,” Captain Locke said. “Who among you will go with these beasts up the coast?”

  “I will,” Willy said.

  “Do you have warmer clothes?” she asked him. Willy was dressed in the thin cotton uniform issued to Zoo workers.

  “This is more than I need,” Willy said. “I usually don’t wear this much.”

  “Dress as you like, then,” Captain Locke said. “But stay with the cargo at all times. Don’t come on deck in anything less than you’re wearing now.”

  “At sea, Willy,” La Señora said, “the captain’s word is law. Stay inside with the llamas. They will need you to reassure them.”

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Willy said. He went into the aft cabin, leading his llamas. The others brought their llamas in. Willy assigned each of them stalls, reserving the most comfortable for the llama with cría.

  On deck Captain Locke and La Señora made final arrangements. La Señora and the rest of the Villagers would make their way to San Danson with moving vans. It would take at the most three days to load, drive there, and unload. Each resident had reduced the clutter of his or her life to a minimum. Captain Locke estimated five to seven days to sail northward, not that her vessel couldn’t cover the distance in far less time, but that she wanted to proceed slowly, as though she was searching for fish schools, to throw off any pursuit.

  To cries of “Godspeed” on all sides, La Señora, Dickon, Elke, and Rosa left the Half Shell. Dijee heaved the gangplank aboard the ship, untied the docking ropes, and the Half Shell slowly backed away from the pier. La Señora and her friends watched it make its way onto the Bay, and turned to walk toward the Mission, to begin packing their old life into the new.

  Later Letters from Osso Del Oso

  Afterward, when he had time for remembering, Ben realized the years he and Len spent in Osso Del Oso were years of great contentment. He continued advancing with Indigent Aborigine, going from computer operations into programming, and from programming into managing software projects. The small house they rented began to cramp them after a couple of years, so they bought a larger place in a new section of Osso Del Oso. Ben discovered he greatly enjoyed landscaping the larger yard. A dog, Roscoe, of uncertain parentage and a great shaggy tail, came to own them and discipline their lives.

  When the plague came, Len was able to use his county work connections to help establish an early AIDS victim help organization. He wrote to Elke about it.

  Ms. Elke Hall

  San Danson

  April 11, 1986

  Dear Elke,

  Long time no write, I know. We’ve been busy here. Ben’s been working overtime (some program to control a lot of other programs, due, as always, yesterday) and I’ve taken on some volunteer responsibilities.

  I’m working with a charitable group that has formed to bring meals and company to people shut in with AIDS related diseases. We discovered none of the county programs had funding to cover meals for the large (surprisingly large to this straight-laced county) number of people, mostly gay men, who have lost their jobs because they can’t work, or because some deleted expletive fired them for having the disease. We’re making some difference, anyway. Part of our plan is bring one hot meal a day to these shut-ins, and also to spend a half-hour to an hour visiting with them.

  Ben was going to help out, too, until his job consumed him. I’m hoping he’s freed soon. So does Roscoe, our dog. He’s lonesome.

  Our new home has three bedrooms, one of which Ben promptly turned into a computerized office. I’m only allowed in there under supervision.

  Your small village sounds impossibly remote and peaceful. The peace I could handle, for a few days. The remoteness would drive me crazy in no time. So far to go to get a loaf of bread or a dozen donuts!

  Blessings for you and yours,

  Len

  Ben and Len found time to romp with Roscoe in the nearby deserts, and occasionally on the distant beaches along the southern coast. They prospered, not only in material things, but in the intangibles that come from love growing comfortable as an old pair of jeans that fit every bulge of one’s body. Roscoe brought them joy, and they brought him treats, and all was well with their little world.

  Llamas at Sea

  Willy spent the first twenty-four hours at sea helping one of the pregnant llamas deliver her cría. None of the llamas liked the pitch and roll of the Half Shell under their feet. Only the calming influence of the unicorn with the unique horn kept the herd quiet. Gradually they got used to the movement, and Willy was able to snatch naps in the llama hold. He was just waking from one when Dijee Tully came in with a bowl of stew.

  “Hello, youngster,” she said. “Food. Eat. Good for you.” She set the bowl on the floor beside Willy. Willy took the spoon and tasted the stew. Miracle of miracles, it was palatable. Rosa Krushan had trained Willy’s palate to appreciate the exquisite delicacy of her cuisine. Dijee’s stew was adequate for the hungry adolescent. He did wish he had a couple of Rosa’s feather-light biscuits to sop up the gravy, but he didn’t say so. Dijee’s size intimidated him. She watched him eat, standing over him. Her overall cuffs were frayed above her deck shoes. She wore no socks.

  When he had finished the stew, Willy looked up at her face, lined with fine stress wrinkles and settled into a permanent mask of ferocity. “Good stew,” he said. “Thanks for bringing it.”

  Her smile transformed her face into a glow of good will. This emboldened Willy. He pushed his slim body to his feet. He still wore the thin cotton uniform from the Zoo. It was an unrecognizable color by now. The cría’s birth and the upset stomachs of the llamas had contributed a muddy rainbow of colors to the clothes. They also had an odor. Dijee narrowed her nostrils against the miasmic vapor that wafted from Willy.

  “We’ll have to clean those in the sea water,” she said. “Take them off.” Willy hesitated. He had only the smallest of briefs on under the loose trousers.

  “If I take them off,” he said, “I can’t go on deck. Captain Locke won’t like it.”

  “I’ll wash them for you,” Dijee said. “There’s a trick to washing in salt water, anyway. Be best if I do it.” Willy began to disrobe.

  “Dijee, is ‘Dijee’ a boy’s name or a girl’s name?” Dijee looked at Willy from under fierce eyebrows.

  “In my case, it’s a girl’s name,” she said, “though I never met anybody else who has it.” She contemplated Willy’s eager young face with its pouting lips and dark eyes. “It’s not really a name,” she said. “It’s what my niece called me when she was little. I’ve always used my initials, D. G., and ‘Dijee’ was as close as she could get.”

  “Oh,” Willy said. “What do the D and G stand for?”

  “Promise you won’t make fun of me.”

  “I promise.”

  “Desdemona Gertrudis. That’s what they stand for.”

  “I see,” Willy said. “La Señora tells me I?
??m named for a wild wind that blows off the mountains of South America.”

  “Yes, the williwaw.”

  The engine changed tone. So suddenly had it changed from the familiar background grinding noise to a bell-toned groan that even the llamas were startled.

  “What the…” Dijee said. “Why’s she stopping here?”

  “Ahoy the Half Shell,” a booming male voice called. “Heave to.”

  “Pirates?” Willy asked. He had discovered adventure fiction in the past year.

  “No, worse, more than likely,” Dijee said. “No pirates around here. Probably the Coast Guard.” She put a finger to her lips. “Stay here,” she said. “I’ll go topside to help the Captain.”

  When Dijee had left, Willy stationed himself by the open door to listen. The booming male voice was closer this time. “Prepare to be boarded,” it said.

  A man in a blue Coast Guard uniform heavily decorated with gold braid and pierced by the pins of many medals came over the rail. His face was lined with very fine wrinkles from years of exposure to the vagaries of the sea winds, and slightly ruddy, as if it were permanently sunburned. His figure was tightly muscled and trim, except for the stomach, which was an untidy bulge that rolled over his belt.

  “Captain Keane,” Captain Locke greeted him. “What business does the Coast Guard have with the Half Shell?”

  “We’ve been advised that some Zoo animals have been smuggled out of the City. I know you have