A Perfect Friend

by Reynolds Price

  Duffy wasn’t smiling, “When I was a boy I heard it was rude not to speak to grown-ups who’d been kind to me.”

  Ben said “I’m sorry, sir. My friend here turned up unexpectedly, so I got flustered and left in a hurry.”

  Duffy said “But you shut up Sal’s tent good. That was one thing you did right.”

  Ben said “There was no way I’d risk harming Sal.”

  Duffy said “Did she show you she knew you? Sometimes she pretends not to know people. It’s either to tease them or to show she doesn’t like them.”

  Ben said “At first she seemed glad to see me. Then she got fairly sad and stopped noticing me.”

  Duffy said “She does that to everybody lately. I told you the boss thinks maybe she’s sick like the others before they croaked. I’m sure, though, that after this long a time it’s nothing but grief. Nobody’s poisoned her. She’ll slowly get well.”

  That was good news to hear. If Ben had been alone, he might have loosened up and told Duffy the whole story—how he and Sal had talked and how she’d turned against him now. But Dunk was too close. Dunk would tell the whole world that Ben had gone loony and was talking to beasts. Ben just said to Duffy “I wish I could help her, but there’s not enough time.”

  Duffy said “You’ve got your passes for tonight. She’ll see you in the crowd—she notices everybody she’s ever known. And maybe you’ll get to speak to her later when she’s finished her act.”

  Ben said “I thought you were headed straight out.”

  Duffy said “No, the boss is a religious man. He won’t make the animals, or any of us, work on Sunday. We’ll head out just after dawn Monday morning.” He waited as if to let that sink in. Then he said “Go on now. I’ve got to get Sal fed and rested for the evening show. Look for me tonight and at least say goodbye. If you’re half as polite as you need to be, maybe I’ll loop back by here someday and give you a job as my elephant boy. I’ll have a better job by then—more pachyderms to tend to.”

  It was the first time Ben had heard him say that word. Privately he figured Duffy had little chance of working elsewhere. Duffy was too old, too fat, too slow-moving. Ben gave a short wave of his hand and looked behind him.

  As Duffy turned to go, Dunk said “Mr, Duffy, you got any more of those passes left?”

  Duffy said “Sorry, boy. Those come from the boss, and he’s gone right now.”

  Dunk’s face fell He had no money of his own for a ticket, and his father would never give him any. But he knew Ben well enough not to ask who was going with him tonight.

  Before Duffy had turned again to leave, Ben had already headed toward the woods and his bike. From behind, to Dunk’s eyes, Ben looked small somehow and hunched on himself almost as if his back were broken and he was in pain. So Dunk half trotted till he got within four steps of his friend. When Ben didn’t pause and didn’t look backward, Dunk kept his distance. And they didn’t speak, though they rode off together, aimed the same way.

  Dunk lived considerably nearer to town, but he showed no sign of turning off at his own driveway. He rode with Ben the whole way out to the Barks’s house. When they got to the drive, they paused on their bikes; and Ben was on the verge of telling Dunk goodbye when he suddenly felt a wave of loneliness pouring over him. At such times Ben mostly went off alone and walked in the woods or rode to Robin’s and joined with her in acting out the plot of some movie they’d recently seen or a story they’d read. That would usually raise his spirits.

  Today, though, before Ben could say a word, Dunk did a strange thing. He said “Look, I know you’re smarter than me. You and your folks live nicer than we do, and none of your family beats you the way my dad beats me. But I don’t really feel jealous of you. To tell the truth, in my mind you’re still my favorite person. So I wish you’d have more patience with me and teach me some things that would make me less of a loud jackass.”

  As Dunk said that, Ben’s loneliness deepened. For the first time he saw how his own weird pride, and his wanting to be alone for all that really mattered to him, had forced Dunk to run down his own good nature—nobody Ben knew was any more honest or loyal than Dunk, not even Robin; and she was his cousin. He kicked in the gravel, trying to think of a way to say that. But when he looked up, Dunk’s face was so unusually solemn that Ben nearly laughed. Then he managed not to.

  Dunk was plainly saying what he meant. For instance, till now he had only once let Ben know how his father beat him. Maybe Dunk, after all, knew things Ben didn’t know—serious things about pain and shame and how to last through them and come out laughing. Maybe Ben should learn those things at least and whatever other secrets Dunk might know. Ben looked past Dunk to the edge of the woods—he was giving himself a moment to think. On a high bare limb of the tallest tree sat a red-tailed hawk, an enormous bird, nearly the size of a full-grown eagle. It seemed to be watching both boys very closely. So Ben said “Dunk, there’s a hungry-looking hawk. He thinks you look tasty.”

  Dunk flung his arms out toward the bird. “You can have me right now. I’m not much good for anything else but truly I’m tasty!”

  Ben silently thought “That may be the truth.” But what he told Dunk was “Whoa, not so fast. You’ve got to go with me to the circus tonight.”

  Normally Dunk would have thrown down his bike and hopped around happily, yelling “Wahoo!” But now he kept on staring at the hawk till it spread its wide wings, flew on upward, and was soon out of sight. Dunk still didn’t look back to Ben, but he told him “You want me to stay here with you all day? I haven’t got anywhere else I want to be. I could help you clean out the garage like you’ve been promising your dad you would. And then we could head for the circus early.”

  Ben glanced at his wristwatch. It was a Lone Ranger watch he’d bought from a boy in school. The boy had claimed the watch was broken and only charged Ben half a dollar. But in the three years Ben had worn it, it told perfect time. Since the long nights he’d spent last year, hearing his mother suffer, he seldom looked to his watch— time was too slow. But as he looked now, it said twelve noon. His father’s car was gone from the yard, and he had to eat lunch, so he said to Dunk “Let’s make some fresh banana sandwiches and see what happens.”

  Dunk had never eaten a whole banana—his mother said they cost too much. He didn’t drop his bike, but he finally did throw his arms up again. He said “Wa-hoo, Benjy Boy, banana time!” When Dunk really wanted to tease Ben, he called him Benjy; and Ben would howl, which he did right now as they biked down the drive.

  By midafternoon the sun had shone so brightly for hours that the March air was almost hot. Ben and Dunk had wandered in wide circles, imagining that a comet made of solid gold had landed last night and must be found soon; or it would fall into evil hands. When the game wore out, they worked their way back toward the creek and built an elaborate dam that soon backed up a deep pool behind it. At first Ben tried to stay clean, but he finally gave up and waded into the pool with Dunk. They’d rolled their jeans above their knees, but in no time they were soaked to the waist. So Ben led the way to a clearing farther up the creek, and they lay down there to dry off and rest.

  With dark red mud Dunk had painted Indian markings on their faces. Then after they’d lain awhile in silence, they propped up on their elbows to talk. But the sight of their markings made them seem really strange to each other. They felt as if they were talking to somebody they’d never met. Still it helped them somehow to be more honest than they usually were.

  Dunk started by saying “That elephant didn’t live up to your hopes.”

  It was such an odd idea that Ben took a good while to try to understand it. He finally said “You asking a question or telling me news?”

  Dunk said “I’m saying that, since I told you the circus was coming, you’ve been living for this week; and it hadn’t turned out like you expected.”

  Ben had known for a long time that Dunk, with all his craziness, was keen-eyed as any Indian brave in the movies or in real lif
e on the prairies. But Dunk didn’t often try to say what he knew. Whatever he thought, he’d mostly just grin and make fun of himself. Ben knew, for instance, that when Dunk’s dog Phil Campbell vanished for six weeks last Thanksgiving, Dunk tried to act as if it didn’t matter. Ben had noticed, for years, that Dunk trusted Phil more than any of his family; so Ben had tried to be extra friendly to Dunk in the days after Phil disappeared. Now he waited awhile and then asked Dunk “Can you talk to Phil Campbell?”

  Dunk said “Talk to who?”

  “Your bulldog.”

  Dunk crossed his eyes and stuck out his tongue. But then he got calmer and said “Dogs are dogs, Ben. I mainly talk to people.”

  Ben nodded. “You know I talk to Hilda; she talks back to me. Not often, not every day but some mornings when I least expect it.”

  Dunk crossed his eyes again and kept them crossed. “Does she speak in Spanish or Dog or what?”

  Ben said “Your eyes are going to stick that way.” He put out a hand and covered Dunk’s eyes to make him look normal. Then he said “Get serious. We can speak without words. Hilda started it when I was maybe six. I’d be sitting by her and then very slowly I’d feel her voice seeping into my mind.”

  Dunk said “Have you had your brain tested lately? Boy, you may be in trouble.”

  “Don’t lie to me—I know you talk to Phil sometimes.”

  Dunk waited a long time before he looked at Ben with a serious face and said “When did you hear Phil and me say a word?”

  “Just once—that night you hiked out here when your dad had beat you bloody and my mother made you spend the night. Remember? Phil had followed you and stayed on the floor by the side of that extra bed in my room. It was late and dark, but I could tell you two were talking.”

  “Then what did we say?”

  Ben said “I couldn’t hear that. See, I think that people who can talk to animals speak private words that nobody else knows.”

  Dunk was still facing Ben. “Phil saved my life and I let him wander off Thanksgiving Day and stay gone so long—” Dunk’s eyes almost filled with water. He was never ashamed of anything his body did.

  Ben said “Dunk, don’t you think Phil is old enough to die? You know dogs sometimes wander off and die alone, so they don’t scare us and make us try to stop them.”

  Dunk nodded but said “Phil may be old enough, but don’t you try to help him wander off again.” He looked straight ahead past the creek to a tall beech tree. This one had an owl asleep on the shortest limb. At last Dunk said “You tried to talk to that elephant, didn’t you?”

  “The elephant’s name is Sala, Dunk. You can call her Sal.”

  “Did Sal tell you anything?”

  Ben said “Not enough.”

  “But you understood each other?”

  Ben said “I thought we did for a while. Then she turned quiet and wouldn’t look at me or say another word.”

  Dunk sat up and took a long look at Ben. “You seem to have all your arms and legs still.”

  Ben said “What does that mean?”

  “It means that pachyderms can get really mad if you break their rules.”

  Ben said “Listen, I told you everything you ever heard about elephants. Don’t try to teach me, O Wise One.”

  Dunk said “All right. What did you tell Sal?”

  Ben said “Cross your heart you won’t tell a word of this to anybody else.”

  Dunk crossed his heart and raised his right hand as an extra promise. Then he lay back on his elbows again.

  Ben sat up so he wouldn’t have to meet Dunk’s eyes. He saw that same sleepy owl in the beech tree and said these words in that direction. “I talked to Sal twice. The first time was yesterday afternoon and that went fine. It was all about safety—how we’d keep each other safe. Then this morning I’d been with her for maybe twenty minutes when you came in. See, you have to know this first—the other three elephants in the circus died a few months ago. They were maybe Sal’s sisters, and so she’s been gloomy.

  “Today I tried to tell her I knew how she felt. Yesterday, like I told you, she said I was safe in her tent forever. Today I was trying to give her the same kind of feeling by telling her how I loved her and all her kin and how I’d love to stay right with her for the rest of our lives but that I had duties to help my father and would have to stay here till I grew up. I told her I knew she’d be safe on her own—”

  Dunk was impatient to know one thing so he broke in. “Did you tell Sal that your own mother died?” Dunk had gone in to speak to Ben’s mother several times after she was bedridden; but knowing how it all hurt Ben, he’d never mentioned that fact again.

  Now the actual words of Dunk’s question made Ben shiver, even in the hot sunlight pouring down. Finally he said “I mentioned it, sure.”

  “And after that Sal wouldn’t speak anymore?”

  Ben said “More or less. She might have been starting to speak when you got there, but the sight of you stopped her.”

  “Whoa, pal. That’s one piece of blame you can’t lay on me. Before Sal even saw I was there, she was sad as could be. I saw that the minute I walked in her tent. If I was you I’d run off with her and live in the circus the rest of my life.”

  Ben said “Yeah, but you don’t love your dad the way I do.”

  “You got that right. I may have to kill mine if he doesn’t kill me first.”

  Till now Ben had always thought that Dunk was exaggerating when he talked of harming his father, but now he sounded serious. Ben said “Better not. See, I won’t be able to drive a car for five more years; so I couldn’t pay you visits in prison.” He was watching the sleepy owl still, but then abruptly he burst out laughing.

  Dunk joined in till they both were lying on their backs, all but helpless. When the noise died down, they both noticed that they’d waked up the owl. It had walked along its short tree-branch and was leaning against the trunk, staring at them with round black eyes that looked really furious. Dunk cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled out “Suzy, we know you’re drunk. Just go back to sleep. We’re harmless nuts.”

  Whatever the owl thought, she shut her eyes again and stayed where she was. It was the tree she had been born in long years ago. She had spent most days of her life sleeping there. She hunted from there through most dark nights. If Ben and Dunk had watched her longer, they might have begun to understand more than they knew about the wide world of animals, trees, rocks, and everything living beyond themselves. They might have begun to see how their worries about Ben’s silent elephant or Dunk’s reckless father were large and real. But those real worries were ringed on all sides by needy creatures, like this one owl, who have as much right to homes and lives as any two boys in the new spring sunlight.

  That night the show was almost exactly the same as when Ben had seen it on Thursday. One clown got whacked too hard by another clown, and his scalp started bleeding. The other clowns pretended to be scared of the blood, and all began to run for the exit. The wounded clown stayed calm, though, and bowed to every side of the tent before he left. The lion tried to creep up on the panther, but the animal tamer whipped them back to their stools in the cage.

  Dunk liked it all and talked and laughed through every act.

  That of course made Ben a little nervous. If Sal appeared with the acrobats again, Dunk would almost certainly stand up and yell and say things about Sal that might spoil the chance to concentrate on her. But Ben kept quiet and went on waiting.

  Finally Duffy in his ringmaster suit announced the astonishing Ringoes, Phyllis and Mark. They ran out again to take their first bow, and they kissed in their peculiar way like dolls kissing. Then they climbed to the top of the tent and took their separate trapeze bars.

  Dunk said to Ben “Is this going to be dangerous?”

  “Yes, you’d better cover your eyes.”

  Dunk tried that for a second but quickly put his head back and looked up again. He wanted everything this show had to offer.

  Ben alm
ost looked over toward the entrance to see if Sal was already there, but then he thought he should let that be the same kind of surprise it had been on Thursday. When Ben faced the Ringoes, he noticed they weren’t smiling nearly as wide as before. He even thought they both looked more than a little scared. Had something gone wrong with them or with Sal?

  In another few seconds Phyllis and then Mark started down the wire on their separate bars. They were going fast from the start this time. But they still looked all right—even when they sped up— and yes, by the time the spotlight followed them the whole way down, they were safe on the platform on Sal’s broad back. For the first time tonight, they’d earned the name “astonishing.”

  Ben could feel that his eyes were quickly misting over. He wiped them at once so Dunk didn’t see; Ben knew Dunk was braver. Then Ben watched as Sal moved slowly toward the center of the tent. The whole crowd around Ben—Dunk included—were yelling and waving. Ben had to stand up to see, but he stayed very still. He was trying to memorize every one of Sal’s features and moves. He intended to keep them the rest of his life.

  Through the next twenty seconds, the act went the way it had on Thursday. But then there were some changes. The first that Ben noticed was the way Sal dropped the flag on the ground when she took her first step into the ring—a few patriotic men in the audience gave loud groans. Duffy was leading Sal and tried to make her take up the flag. She held it a few seconds, dropped it again, and kept on walking. When she got to the center of the ring, Duffy gave the sign for her to make a whole circle, facing everybody briefly. But she stopped in one place and stood completely still. Whether she knew it or not—and how could she?—she was looking straight at the dark bleachers where Ben sat.

  Duffy didn’t try to force her to turn around. He still hadn’t used the stick he carried with the bright brass hook that could tear her ears if she got out of line.

  Ben thought “He knows her too well—she might hurt him.”