The Unbearable Lightness of Benson by Israel Lewis
In Beltsville there was a botanist named Benson. Beltsville lies on the Beltway outside of Washington and is the home of the Agricultural Research Center of the United States Department of Agriculture. In the laboratories of this place Baruch Benson, PhD., toiled and gained renown in the hybridization of cabbage species, creating the now famous brassica oleracea capitata bensonii, known to horticulturists as "Benson's Boast," and brussels sprout brassica oleracea gemmifera bensonii.
Two great passions consumed Benson: botany and women. Of the reciprocation of these passions by the brassica oleracea little can be known-- of the women perhaps more. For he was loved by many women. His female colleagues opened their smocks and advanced toward him, swaying and singing paeans like priestesses of an ancient religion. His conquests were a source of wonder, amazement, and envy among the male staff of the laboratory, and his friends.
Amazement there should have been, indeed. For the myth that is perpetrated in our culture is that the attractiveness of the sexes, one for another, is proportional to physical beauty. And of what is this beauty? In a male: tallness, slightly greater than the anthropometric norm. He is youthful, and if not young, he has an appearance of youthfulness, a boyish visage. His hair is full and tonsorially elegant, his body athletic and trim; physiognomy fair. His attire is always stylish and neatly pressed.
And what can be said of the beauty of Benson? He was short. At the time of this account he was in his late thirties, his appearance hardly boyish. His hair was kinky and black, already retreating back over his forehead, the barber's shears long overdue. His eyes, bloodshot from long hours peering into microscopes, hid behind thick glasses. His body was rotund: sole exercise consisting of waving his arms when he talked. His face was fleshy, his nose bulbous, his lips thick and sensual over his receding chin. His clothing was rumpled with collar curled and tie askew.
The beauty of Benson was both mysterious and primordial.
It was rumored among men that Benson had an exceptional endowment of nature. It was rumored among women that he did not. The men speculated that he had a childlike nature that aroused the maternal instinct. But the women opened all the buttons on their smocks, whereas only a few would have sufficed for suckling.
Behind the thick lenses of his glasses, Benson's eyes were merry. He laughed inwardly at an obscure Joke, known only to himself. To his fellows he appeared to be odd; there were those who thought he was somehow disconnected. With his cabbages, his women, and his Joke, Benson floated airily, his feet not touching the ground.
Wendy worked beside Benson, but did not open her smock. Women named Wendy never grow up. They believe in Peter Pan. Wendy's hair was long and straight with a bang over her forehead. She spoke in a little girl's voice and said, "Golly!" She watched Benson with big blue eyes and saw that there was daylight under the soles of his shoes. It was unbearable to her. It was unbearable because she loved Benson and she knew that he floated off the ground because he wasn't serious.
"Baruch," she said one day, "Your feet don't touch the floor."
"These stools are too high. They're for tall people."
"All the time. Even when you stand up."
"I hadn't noticed."
"Everybody else does. Maybe you should go to a doctor."
"Is it offensive, like bad breath?"
"No."
"So what kind of doctor?"
"I think an orthopedist. It must have something to do with your bones." "Forget it. I like my bones the way they are. Does it bother you, my feet not touching the ground? Does it really bother you?"
"I can't bear it."
"Try not to look."
Pauline loved Benson and Benson loved Pauline because she understood him. She laughed at his jokes. Pauline was a comedian. She greeted Benson wearing black underwear and a battered old brown fedora, set cockily on her head. As they rolled into bed he threw the hat across the room, spinning. The hat landed flat on the floor and sat watching. Pauline was an artist. Her feet also did not touch the floor.
Benson got up and retrieved the hat and put it on Pauline's head. She lay back on the pillow, the hat sideways, covering one eye.
"Pauline. I have to ask you something," said Benson.
"Get on with it."
"Wendy says my feet don't touch the ground. She says I should go to a bone doctor."
"I never heard of such a thing."
"It makes her nervous."
"That's her problem."
"That's what I said."
Pauline and Benson laughed together. He sent the fedora spinning across the room. It landed flat on the floor and sat watching. It was a voyeuristic hat.
An Investigator came to visit Benson in his laboratory. His vest stretched tightly across his portly stomach, and his shoes shone like polished mirrors, as did his bald pate, revealed when he lifted his bowler hat to peer under the soles of Benson's shoes. "No question about it," he said, "Daylight under the feet. A clear violation of the Code. Namely, your feet do not touch the ground."
"This is a free country. Maybe it's my way of expressing myself. It doesn't hurt anybody. Anybody can express themselves any way they want."
The Investigator tamped the bowler back down onto his head. "There are limits," he said.
"Who told you about it?" Benson wondered if it was Wendy who had informed on him. "What are you doing here? What do you want?" he asked.
"What's the difference? Everybody notices it. It happens to people who aren't serious. The Authorities are upset. They want you to get serious. It's easy. You sign up for a course. It's called, 'The Joy of Seriousness.' The course is given at night. Tuition is paid by the Authorities. After that, you sign a pledge that you'll be serious and your feet will touch the ground." "Suppose I don't go along with the Authorities?"
"They're very understanding."
"I have to talk it over with somebody."
"Of course. Take as much time as you need. By the way, you may not have heard, but there's an opening for a botanist at the Sonora Desert Station." "It sounds very interesting. But I specialize in cabbage. I can't do cabbages in Arizona."
"Cacti, Doctor Benson. Cacti."
Benson felt the ominous pull of gravity. His feet lowered a fraction of an inch towards the floor.
Pauline greeted Benson in her battered brown fedora. It complemented her eyes, which were a darker brown, and her skin, which was rosy and beige, but not her underwear, which was black. The hat rolled off as they tumbled into her bed. It landed right side up and sat alongside the bed, watching.
"I am under investigation," said Benson. "There have been complaints about my feet not touching the ground. They want me to take a course. They want me to be serious. They want me to sign a paper."
"What can they do to you?"
"They are threatening to send me to a desert in Arizona."
"What can a botanist do in the desert?"
"Cactus."
"What will you do?"
Benson picked up the hat and lay back with the brim covering his eyes. "I will come with you," said Pauline. "I will paint the desert. I'll need my hat." She lifted the fedora from Benson's face and put it on her head.
Benson and Pauline got married and moved into a little house. Alongside the house was a pine tree. In the tree was a magpie. They had a boy child and named him Isaac which means "He laughed." The child was merry, and when he walked his feet did not touch the ground.
They bought a horse that laughed and they named him Laughing Horse. Pauline rode among the red rocks with the boy before her, clutching the saddle horn. Benson said that the man he bought the horse from told him it was a quarter horse.
Pauline asked, "What's a quarter horse?"
"Half mule, one quarter steer, and the rest horse," Benson replied. His jokes were getting less obscure. He forgot the Joke.
Pauline sat on the desert under her brown fedora and painted the sun and rocks while the child played with lizards. Benson came behind and put his arms around her. "I have never been so happy," he said. He took off the brown fedora and sent it skimming in the air. The hat made a wide slow loop and went flying off into the sky, wobbling and spinning, Fedora Style. They watched until it disappeared over the mountains. Their feet dropped to the ground, raising little puffs of red dust.
Benson discovered a new species of cactus. It was named echinocereus bensonii.
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