her.
In the bedroom, she sniffed at Dickon’s hand, which was outside the blanket. He was snoring softly. Then she licked Dickon’s hand. He murmured in his sleep, and rolled over to huddle completely under the covers, except for his forehead and nose. Butter would have shrugged, had her anatomy permitted such an expression of resignation. She went around to Ben’s side of the bed. He was half-uncovered and snoring rather more loudly than Dickon. Butter whined. Ben snored more loudly yet. Butter yipped, softly. Ben snored on. Butter gathered her strength and leaped onto the bed, staggering over Ben’s body to lie between him and Dickon.
She crawled forward, until her head was even with the pillows. Then she licked Ben’s ear. He mumbled, grumpily, but did not waken. Then she licked Dickon’s nose, her tongue as liquid as she could make it. He did not waken. She licked Ben’s ear again, and, just as she was ready to bark in his ear, he rubbed her head.
“Got to go out, girl?” he said. She whined again. Ben threw back the covers, sat up on the edge of the bed, and rubbed his eyes. Then he stood slowly, for he had come to an age where a quick jumping up from sitting often induced dizziness. Without bothering to clothe himself in any way, he went to the kitchen, Butter racing ahead of him, and opened the door for her to go into the yard. Then he checked her water dish, and filled it. He was bending over, putting it on the floor, when Dickon emitted a low wolf whistle from the doorway. Ben straightened up, blushing.
“Good morning,” Dickon said. “How are you this morning?”
“A little sore, from the unaccustomed exercise,” Ben said, turning to Dickon. Dickon had not dressed either. “Tea? And maybe some breakfast?”
“Tea, yes, breakfast, no. I remember, if you don’t, that you’ve got to go to lunch today with La Señora, and it’s already almost ten o’clock.” Dickon grinned, his green eyes sparkling mischievously. “Probably better dress for lunch. Even Willy Waugh wears his briefs to La Señora’s house.”
“Right,” Ben said. Butter barked at the door just then. Ben let her in.
“I’ll get dressed, and run along,” Dickon said. “Want to have dinner with me, tonight?”
“Yes,” Ben answered. “Can I bring something?”
“Just yourself. I’ll make something simple, probably out of a box or a can.”
“Okay. And I can tell you all about lunch with La Señora.”
“Right,” Dickon said, and went toward the bedroom. He dressed quickly, and had nearly finished when Ben came in for his clothes.
“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, and gave Ben an awkward kiss on the cheek. Ben responded with a peck on Dickon’s stubbly cheek.
“Maybe we should talk some more,” Dickon said.
“Perhaps,” Ben said. “Until tonight.”
La Señora’s Request
Elke met Ben at the garage to escort him to La Señora’s in the funicular. She motioned him silently into the funicular, engaged its controls, and the car began its slow crawl up the mountain. The fog hung low, painting a hazy film over the vegetation on the hill.
“What’s wrong?” Ben asked Elke about half way up. Her worn face and shadowed eyes suggested to Ben she had been stressed for some time. Her silence loomed larger as she frowned, apparently contemplating her answer. Ben let his concern show from his gray eyes. He waited.
“Much,” Elke finally said. “I’m not at liberty to tell you what. That’s for La Señora to do.” Elke’s voice was thick in her throat. Ben guessed sadness thickened it, and maybe a little fear mixed with the sadness. Ben did not pry. He doubted Elke had a chink that any man could open.
“I’m sure she’ll talk to you,” Elke said. “That’s why she invited you to lunch today.” Elke turned away and stared at the gray landscape. The fog was thicker as they neared the top of the mountain. Only the plants just along the funicular showed. They were bejeweled with drops of fog, but the drops did not glitter in the half-gloom of the mist. For Ben the rest of the funicular ride went forward in a world he could not see, could not touch, and could hear only in muffled sounds.
“La Señora is feebler than she was when you last saw her,” Elke said as they exited the funicular. “Please do not let your shock show on your face. She needs all the encouragement she can get.” She touched Ben’s arm with her fingertips, as if to guide him to the carved door. It was just visible through the fog. She opened it, and ushered him in.
“I will take your jacket,” she said. “La Señora is in the library. I will bring tea, unless you’d rather have something stronger?”
“Tea will be fine,” Ben said, shedding his jacket and handing it to her. He made his way along the hall to the library. The door was open. He coughed quietly, to let La Señora know he was coming, and entered the room. La Señora occupied a wheelchair. She was indeed frailer looking; she seemed like a bit of dandelion fluff about to blow away. Then she spoke, and her feebleness disappeared like an illusion in the presence of truth.
“Thank you, Mr. Soul,” she said, “for coming. We’ll go in to lunch in a little while.” She gestured toward the chair he had sat in the last time he’d been in the library. “Do be seated.” La Señora looked at her hands, rubbing the back of the left with the fingers of the right.
“You’re looking well,” Ben said, in an effort to start conversation.
“Nonsense. I’m an old lady. I’ll be dead one of these days not too far along. I’m over ninety, you know.” She stared at him with her fierce eyes; her smile softened their ferocity. “As any old lady will tell you, I like to hear that sort of nonsense now and again,” she went on. Ben opened his mouth; she raised a hand to forestall his speaking. He saw the hand tremble.
“I need to ask you for a favor,” she said. “It is a favor that may be very burdensome, so don’t leap to assure me you’ll do it until you hear me out.” She coughed then, a great rattling sound that began in her chest and rose to whistle out her throat. Ben half rose from his chair to help her. She waved him off with her trembling hand. She cleared her throat and began again.
“The favor I want of you is to be my estate’s executor.” She gathered her breath for another cough, but it did not come. As she had bid him, Ben stayed silent. She looked at him with a wry smile. Her black eyes sparked fire. “Despite the sound of my lungs, I’m not ready to die just yet. I have things I must accomplish first.” She coughed again, a gentler sound than her earlier cough.
“The job of executor of my estate will include godparent duties for an infant not yet conceived.” Ben looked at her, and read determination on her face. “You have discovered I am not an ordinary woman.”
Ben nodded. La Señora went on. “I am a Keeper of the Balance.” She stopped again to cough, gently this time, into her handkerchief. “My successor will be born soon before or soon after I die. She, for balancing is a feminine obligation, will be born to someone who is of the Village.” La Señora paused to study Ben. She nodded, after a moment, as though she read something agreeable in his expression.
“You will have a companion godparent. I intend to ask Dickon Shayne to stand for this child, as well.” She stopped to gather her breath. “There is another child to oversee, as well. One day very near to the new balancer’s birth a llama will drop, not a cría, but a unicorn. You see, when I die, my unicorn will die also, within days, if not hours, of my death. I think you may rely entirely on Willy Waugh’s judgment for the foal’s physical needs. Willy must rely on you to provision his work.”
La Señora paused, stared at her hands. “I don’t think I fear death,” she said. “It seems to me more and more a promise of rest.” She looked up at Ben. “I do not wish to hasten it, though. I still like living.” She rang a small bell on the table beside her. “Also, preparing to die is its own journey, not to be hastened.” Elke came in very soon, as though she had been listening in the hall. “It’s time for tea,” La Señora said. “English Breakfast,
I presume, Elke?”
“As you requested, Señora.”
“Please pour for us, Elke.”
“Certainly, La Señora.” Elke filled two cups, presenting the first to La Señora, and the second to Ben. La Señora set hers aside on the little table near her. Ben cupped his hands around the warm china, glad of its heat. The library seemed cold to him.
“Thank you, Elke. Please tell Willy we shall be ready for luncheon in three quarters of an hour.”
“Certainly, Señora.”
“That is all, Elke, for now.”
“Yes, La Señora.” Elke left in a rustle of skirts.
“Elke and Willy have been faithful companions for long years,” La Señora said. “I shall, of course, provide for them and for others in the Village. I trust you will be able to carry out these sorts of provisions of my will without undue difficulty. Now, do you have questions?”
“I’m not sure where to begin,” Ben said, slowly. He looked at her. “Why me?” he said. “I mean, I’m the newest kid in the Village. Why not Elke, or Emma, or Dickon, even?”
“They are valuable members of my community,” La Señora said. “They are not the executor the unicorn suggested.”
“The unicorn suggested me?”
“Yes.”
“Again, why?”
“I have investigated your history, and I have read your aura,” La Señora went on, “and these
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