Ben Soul

sat a small pan. A little cupboard over the desk opened to reveal several packets of dried food, all fortified with textured vegetable protein supplement. Haakon selected one labeled “chili” and laid it on the desk. Then he went outside and approached the odoriferous rest rooms and the faucet behind them. At least the water was clear, and had no smell of its own.

  Haakon carried it back, read the directions on the packet he had selected, and put the water to boil. When it boiled, he added the dry material from the packet. It miraculously blossomed into beans and a thin red sauce. One or two whiffs of spice and tomato rose from the steaming mess. In a drawer of the desk, Haakon found a spoon, and used it to slowly eat the “chili.” Despite the promising whiffs of flavor, it tasted only of textured vegetable protein supplement.

  That first night Haakon carefully removed his clothes and slept under the blankets in his underwear. He expected the windowless room to be chilly, but he had not expected the fog and dampness that intruded through a small series of openings that ran along the top of the wall above the bed. That wall was on the shed’s west side, and the sea breeze, this high above the surf, was wet with the ocean’s breath. Haakon shivered, half asleep, through the night. When he judged daybreak was coming, from the slight graying of the fog in the room, he got up, dressed, and went out carrying the pot he’d cooked the “chili” in the night before.

  Day had broken, a white glow masked with the fog. Haakon took the pot to the faucet and washed the residue from it. Then he filled it with clean water, took this back, and put it to boil. One packet had “EGGS” on the label. He presumed this was appropriate for breakfast. He rummaged through the cupboard and found a bowl. He put the yellow powder from the packet in the bowl and poured the suggested cup of hot water over it. With the remaining water, he made a cup of instant coffee. Then he took up his spoon and tried the eggs. They tasted exactly like last night’s chili. As his time in the tool shed lengthened, Haakon learned the labels on the packets meant nothing; everything tasted like textured vegetable protein supplement. He longed for ketchup, the universal flavoring agent of prison food. A search of the cupboard yielded none.

  When he had breakfasted, Haakon washed out his dishes and set them on the desk to dry. Then he carefully closed the tool-shed door behind him, felt in his pocket to be sure he had the key, and locked the padlock. He turned toward the sea, and began to look for llamas. He had only a vague notion which way they might be; Bertha and Vanna were so familiar with the San Danson area they forgot to tell Haakon to go south. He might still have gone wrong; Haakon’s world had never included places without streets and street signs to guide him.

  He wandered all day, at times lost, though he finally realized that if he walked away from the shed with the ocean on his left, keeping it on his right going back he’d eventually find it again. He saw many birds, some large and white and flying and screaming, some down on the bits of beach that sheltered between the surf pounded rocks that were very tiny and played “catch me if you can” with the waves, others that wheeled and called in the sky. He knew no gull from any murrelet from any killdeer, but all the birds he saw were apparently healthy and, he presumed, satisfied with their lives.

  As the sea slowly swallowed the sun in bloody gold, Haakon found the tool shed. He went in, hungry enough to eat textured vegetable protein supplement in whatever guise came to hand. A dark green Coastal Commission truck stood outside the shed. A large florid man in a khaki uniform was in the doorway. He watched weary Haakon struggle up the hill to the shed.

  “See any llamas?” he asked. His voice was high pitched and grated on Haakon’s nerves.

  “No,” Haakon said. He came to a stop at the side of the truck, breathing heavily.

  “Go up the coast?”

  “I went that way,” Haakon said, and pointed to where he had been.

  “Llamas are down coast, the other way,” the man said. He pointed. “Nothing to report, then, to Commissioner Dee.”

  “No.” Haakon held out his hand. “I’m Haakon Spitz, sometimes known as Haven Fitz. You are?”

  “Billy Bong,” the man said. “William for official, Billy for everyday.” He shook Haakon’s hand. “New at this outdoors stuff?”

  “Yes. Spent most of my life in cities and big towns.”

  “Outdoors will be good for you. More healthy. By the way, Bertha had me bring you some canned goods to go with that dehydrated junk the Commission supplies.” He gestured toward the back room. “Hope there’s something you’ll like.”

  “Thank you. Any change will be for the good.”

  “Commissioner Dee says write down what you see. I put a notebook in with the canned goods. I’ll pick it up when I come by. I’ll be going, now. Check back with you in about a week. We don’t get out here too often, this time of year.” Billy walked around to the driver’s side of his truck and got in. He leaned over and opened the passenger window. “Watch out for the weather; TV’s saying a storm could come in later this week.”

  “Thanks, again.” Haakon watched the truck disappear into the trees that went down the mountain toward the highway. He sighed, and thought of the supplement to his provisions. He went in, switched on the light, and examined the three cans Billy had left. One held tuna, another beans, and the third had Spam. Haakon accounted them a treasure.

  After another cold and foggy night huddled under the blankets, Haakon woke, dressed, and went down the coast. He saw no murrelets, not that he’d have recognized them if he had. It was not time for them to be ashore. Llamas he did find, and he watched them for the next four days as they grazed, well away from the coast. The animals seemed undisturbed by his watching them.

  Every evening he returned to the tool shed, slept in the cold, foggy room, and hoped he was gathering the information Commissioner Dee wanted. On the fourth evening, the rain began before he got back to the shed. He slept wet that night. On the fifth day, when his supplies of beans, tuna, and Spam were gone, he woke with a nauseous headache, and decided to forego the “waffle with included maple syrup” that was all that remained of the breakfasts in the cupboard.

  He went out into the cold gray morning. He lost his sense of direction, and eventually came down to the Chapel. He thought it was the tool shed, and forced his way in. He was weak from hunger, and feverish, and collapsed on the chapel floor before he realized where he was.

  Emma and Notta Reminisce

  Emma and Notta were finishing their morning coffee in Emma’s kitchen.

  “Your neighbor seems like a nice man,” Notta said to her mother. It was the morning after Ermentrude’s invasion of Butter’s cottage.

  “He is,” Emma said. “I’ve enjoyed feeding him cookies. And his dog, Butter, is so sweet to me.” Emma brushed the toast crumbs by her plate into her hand and dusted them onto her plate.

  “I don’t think Butter took to me.” Notta reached down and rubbed purring Ermentrude’s ears. Prime Pussy rumbled discontent from Emma’s feet.

  “Well, she maybe smelled Ermentrude’s scent, or something else she’d rubbed off on you.” Emma shook her head. “That cat’s a pill, for sure.”

  “Yes, but she’s my pill. She’s a wonderful companion to me.”

  “At least she’s not as wild as that first cat you had, Riggertigger. He was a terror on four paws.” Emma chuckled. “It’s a wonder the curtains and drapes survived him!”

  Notta smiled. “He meant so much to me. I was so sad when he disappeared. I’ve always wondered if Barry, next door, did away with him. He scratched Barry so badly, you know.”

  “Barry probably had it coming. He was a lot like Riggertigger. Wild. Never thought he’d settle down like he has.”

  “Barry Cooda? Settled down?” Notta’s eyes widened in surprise.

  “Yes. He’s an assistant district attorney in Las Tumbas. Quite a promising career, I understand. Not married yet, either.”

  “No woman would have h
im, I suppose.”

  “He’s turned out quite handsome, if his picture in the paper is any sample. Would you like some more coffee?”

  “No, Mother, I’ve had quite enough. I’ll be wired for the day.” Notta stood up and took her cup and plate to the sink. Then she collected her mother’s dishes and rinsed all the dishes. “We can wash these later,” she said. “Right now I’d like to go for a walk.”

  “Yes. Do put Ermentrude in her carrier. We don’t want her braving Butter’s wrath again.” Ermentrude, of course, in typical feline fashion, chose that moment to avoid capture. Only after several minutes of laughing and chasing did Emma and Notta trap the wily pussy and lock her in her carrier. Ermentrude commenced howling in great anguish. Prime Pussy switched her tail and jumped onto her favorite windowsill. Emma and Notta got jackets and went for their walk.

  “I see why you love it here so, Mother,” Notta said. “It’s so quiet and peaceful. Nothing ever happens here, does it?”

  “Notta, you’re naïve. Wherever there are two or more humans, troubles can spring up.” Emma sighed. “Why, that Coastal Commissioner, Vanna Dee, tried to evict Ben, next door, from his place. She wound up losing the argument, but she kept that nice deputy busy for several hours.” Emma looked sidelong at Notta. Notta pretended not to notice.

  “You know the