The Ghost in Love (12 page)

He had been sneaking peeks at her ever since she'd appeared in his apartment and revealed her identity, but he still couldn't get over it.
This
was a ghost?

A child walked up to the fence near Ben and, addressing him directly in a commanding lisp, said, “Stop wasting time thinking about that and look around you instead.” Without another word, the child turned and ran back into the playground hubbub. Feeling as though he'd been caught in the act, Ben looked at Ling sitting on the bench. She widened her eyes and wagged a scolding finger at him, as if to emphasize what the little kid had just said. Get going—do what I told you. No more dilly-dallying.

He thought about all of the books and corny movies he had seen where this same scenario was played out ad nauseam: the novice commanded by the wise man (or woman) to look closely at the world around them and try to see through the surface of it into the heart of the matter. It was such a cliché. That's what this situation
was: a living cliché. He wanted to walk over to Ling and say exactly that. But, judging by recent experience, she already knew what he was thinking. Maybe saying something confrontational would set her off. Then the ghost might do something grisly to Ben and he would never find out the meaning of all this.

So he did as he was told and looked carefully around the park. He did not know the names of flowers or trees. The subject had never interested him, so he had never made the effort to learn. He knew that the big trees in the center of the playground were chestnuts, but only because as children he and Gina had collected the nuts in their prickly green or yellow jackets after they fell from the trees. It was always one of the first signs that summer was ending. Accompanied by their parents every year, the two inseparable friends brought their full bags of chestnuts to the city zoo, where they were purportedly fed to the animals there. Neither child ever saw that happen, but they hoped it was true because it made them both feel useful.

Staring into the trees now, adult Ben put up a hand to shade his eyes against the sun dappling down through the leaves. Looking toward the playground again, he saw that little Ben and Gina were swinging high and hard side by side but staring straight ahead and not speaking to each other. Both of their faces were set and very serious. Most likely they were having a contest to see who could swing higher. He remembered that, too: how in the old days he and Gina were always competing for everything. Who could swing the highest, who could find more chestnuts, who could stuff the most potato chips into his or her mouth at one time without laughing.

For a few seconds, on the far periphery of his vision, Ben saw someone vaguely familiar. But the person didn't really register in his thoughts because Ben was too caught up in the scene close by.

Yes, he had seen this man before, but he didn't remember that. The memory was lost in the reality of what was happening right now. Ben Gould was in the presence of himself as a child. At the same time, he was trying to do what the ghost had ordered: see beyond what he was seeing.

Ling watched Ben watching the children. That was a real mistake on her part, especially since she knew she was supposed to be vigilant at all times when they were together. As a result, for too many valuable seconds the ghost did not see the man moving steadily toward them.

The bum's eyes were much clearer and calmer today than the night he had stabbed Ling's boss. In fact, Stewart Parrish looked altogether different today despite the fact he was still obviously a street person. That might have been one of reasons that he didn't immediately register in either of their minds.

There are bums and there are
bums
. The worst look as if they are simply waiting for Death to pass by and notice them. If it's in a charitable mood, instead of dropping a coin in their filthy outstretched hands, Death will say, “Okay, you can come with me today.” And these human fingernail clippings will be relieved. Because the only dim signs of life left in them by then are mutter, stupor, and stagger.

On the opposite end of that number line are the almost-bums, the ones who are either new to the role or still holding on tenuously to scraps of hope and tattered dignity. They've come to some kind of cul-de-sac in life, for sure, but they haven't given up yet. Not so far past the days of a real job, responsibilities, and a deserved place at the table, they still dress and act decently most of the time, albeit oddly. A good many of them carry combs that they use and wear their hats tipped at jaunty angles. They check their appearance in
mirrors. If they have an odor, it is mostly from infinite numbers of cigarettes and the kind of cheap booze sold at the nearest market. It's a strong smell if you get too close to them, but not so bad.

These almost-bums often say funny or striking things when begging for money.

“Would you give me a hundred dollars, please?”

“A
hundred
dollars? That's asking a lot.”

“Yes, well, I'm an optimist.”

It's hard not to smile at their wit. More often than not you give them a few coins for having brightened your day an inch or two.

The last time Ben Gould encountered this bum now walking their way, Stewart Parrish had been an alarming wreck of a human being. Today he looked as though he lived just on the outskirts of normal. He was wearing a threadbare gray pinstriped suit that nevertheless looked pretty good and almost fit. A road-cone–orange shirt was buttoned right up to the top of his neck. Heavy-duty brown Red Wing work boots entombed his long feet. He'd had a haircut not long ago. He was not filthy, nor did he reek of fetid, sickening things, as he had the last time Ling and Ben had seen him. Most important, his eyes were clear: he was entirely present in the moment and not
persona non gravity
, as he had been that horrifying night in the pizza place. He was all here today and clearly focused on what he had been sent to do.

Both Ben and Ling smiled as they watched the two children leap off their swings together in mid arc. They soared through the air a short way before landing with the natural grace and elastic legs only kids possess. Next they ran over to Mrs. Kyte, who spilled M&M's candies into their small cupped hands from a black-and-white bag.

Ling was wondering what the candy tasted like when she caught
a glimpse of Stewart Parrish. He entered her line of sight at a distance as he moved purposely toward them.

Seeing the bum, the ghost stood up and walked straight over to Ben. “We have to leave here right now.
Right now
.”

“What are you talking about? We just got here.”

“Listen to me, Ben: Remember the tramp who came into the restaurant and stabbed the guy? He's here now in this park and he's coming to get you.”

“
Me
? Why? Where is he?”

She pointed toward Parrish, now only thirty or thirty-five feet away.

“What do we do? He'll be here in a second.”

Ling said, “Tell me a place where you felt safe in your childhood. We'll go there. It'll take them a while to figure it out and find us. By then we'll be gone. Come on, come up with a place.”

Watching Parrish approach, Ben said, “Gina's basement. The Kytes' basement playroom.”

Ling and the bum made eye contact and then she suddenly disappeared. That slowed him. He hadn't come for the ghost, though, but for the man. It took Ben several seconds longer to vanish, but he was gone, too, by the time Parrish reached where they had been standing.

Impressed, the bum rubbed his jaw and said a long “Hmm.” Unfazed, he walked over to a bench and sat near where Ling had been only minutes before. From that vantage point he turned his full attention to the two children nearby eating M&M's candies, one by colorful one. Embroiled in a heated disagreement about who had won the swinging contest, they were completely oblivious to the shabby-looking man in the orange shirt.

“This was not a good idea.”

Ben blew out his lips in annoyance at the obviousness of Ling's statement. Still, he felt defensive about having chosen to come here. “I know. But how was I supposed to know, you know?”

“How long do you think they'll be?” Ling whispered.

“I don't know.”

“Well, do you think you could at least move over a little and give me some more room?”

“Move to where, Ling? We're in a closet!” Ben whispered.

The basement playroom of Gina Kyte's house was decorated in a kind of combination pirate ship/tiki lounge motif. While in the Navy, Mr. Kyte had been stationed in Honolulu. He had tried to recreate the look of his favorite bar there in the basement of his house. He even gave it the same name as the bar: The Boom Boom Room.

On the walls were fake-flower leis, a hula skirt, a copy of a pirate hat expertly carved out of balsa wood, models of sailing ships, three loud Hawaiian shirts, lots and lots of bamboo, et cetera. The façade of the bar itself was a construction of coconut-shell halves glued together. It didn't look good but it certainly looked genuine.

Mr. Kyte prided himself on being an adept and creative drink “mixmeister.” He spent many hours in his Boom Boom Room trying out different recipes for exotic cocktails.

“What is that awful music? It's giving me a headache.”

“Don Ho.”

“Don't be rude, Ben. I was only asking about the music.”

“I was answering you: the singer's name is Don Ho. He was famous back then for his Hawaiian music.”

“Is that what that is, Hawaiian music? It's terrible. What's he saying?”

“ ‘E lei ka lei lei.' ”

“What?”
Ling lowered her chin and looked doubtfully at Ben to check if he was joking.

He wasn't. “You heard me. I know those words by heart. That's the title to one of his most famous songs. Gina used to play this record all the time when we came down here.”

Out in the playroom Mr. and Mrs. Kyte were sitting next to each other on a couch covered with a yellow and flaming red batik bedspread. They were sipping strawberry-banana daiquiris that Mr. Kyte had created from scratch and fresh fruit especially bought for this occasion. Both of them were naked. That is, except for matching magenta flip-flop sandals on their feet, which Mrs. Kyte insisted they wear because she was a bit neurotic about bugs that lived on basement floors.

The kids were in bed, the phone was off the hook, and their favorite music was playing in the background. The stage was set for the time both Kytes anticipated most all week: Pupu Platter Night in the Boom Boom Room.

On a wobbly bamboo table in front of the couch a platter was filled to overflowing with a savory variety of hors d'oeuvres and finger
food. Whenever they went to a Trader Vic's restaurant, the Kytes always ordered a pupu platter and this was their home version.

Grape-leaf
dolmadakias
and feta cheese fresh from the Greek grocer, little cocktail hot dogs in golden-brown rolls just out of the oven, potato chips and crinkle-cut carrot sticks for Mrs. Kyte's secret-recipe crab dip, celery stalks filled with cream cheese and dusted with their favorite Hungarian paprika . . . the couple had the fixings for their platter down to a science. Some of the things were specifically for her, some for him. Most of the selection they liked equally.

In the closet, Ling sniffed the air. Ben was squatting down with his face to the door, trying to see anything out there through the keyhole.

“What do you see?”

“Pubic hair.”

“What?”

Twisting uncomfortably, he looked up at Ling. “The only thing I can see from here is their pubic hair. I have a perfect view of their crotches.”

“Oh. Uh, we really do have to get out of here.”

“Yeah, well, you're the ghost. How about a magic spell? Make us invisible or something.”

She shook her head. “No can do.”

“Why not?”

“It's technical. You wouldn't understand.”

The rich unmistakable aroma of marijuana glided under the door and into their noses.
That's
what Ling had been sniffing before: cannabis.

Ben's eyes widened. “The Kytes are smoking grass! Gina's parents were potheads?” He rejoiced at this new revelation.

Don Ho stopped and was replaced on the record player a few moments later by the Moody Blues' classic album
Days of Future Past
. Ben hadn't heard that one in years. Smoking dope and listening to the Moody Blues. Gina's parents toking up naked in the Boom Boom Room while Gina slept upstairs. Ben relished the whole picture. He was so glad to be here if only for this moment alone.

“You can't change anything when you visit it.”

Ben's concentration was all on the Kytes when Ling made this statement. It took a while for his mind to change course and tack toward what she'd just said.

“What do you mean by ‘change'?”

“I can bring you to any place in your history, any place in your past. But there are two conditions: Whenever you want to leave, you must find the way out of these places by yourself. I can't help you. The second condition is that wherever you do choose to visit, you can't have any contact with the people, and you can't change anything there, although you may want to very much. It's not possible.”

“Did you just hear something?” Mr. Kyte asked in his stern voice. The music stopped and was followed by a long silence.

Next came the sound of frantic scurrying in the basement playroom as the Kytes tried to put on their bathrobes and erase all traces of the marijuana at the same time.

“What do we do now?” Ben mouthed the words silently to Ling. She held up a hand for him to be still and see how this played out.

Before the Kytes came downstairs, there had been fifteen minutes when Ben and Ling had had the Boom Boom Room to themselves. Ling sat on the couch while Ben moved slowly around, getting reacquainted with this landmark from his past. His fingertips as much as his mind helped him to recall. He touched everything; he needed to touch everything.