The Ghost in Love by Jonathan Carroll Page B

Stanley?”
    â€œThat’s right, Ling. So please come out now.”
    Ben closed his eyes
and slowly slid a forkful of egg into his mouth. Tasting it with eyes closed, paying attention to nothing else in the world but what had just arrived on his tongue, was the only possible way to do this food the justice it deserved. Because without question he had just placed another morsel of masterpiece into his grateful mouth. These were the greatest scrambled eggs he had ever eaten in his life. They were so transcendently good that they almost made him quiver with delight, despite the fact that Benjamin Gould had tasted many scrambled eggs in his life. Maybe they were so good because a ghost had made them for him. This female ghost, named Ling, had asked if he was hungry after telling him who she was and why she was there. She thought it was a good way to calm things down before continuing.
    Chewing slowly, he again savored the rich and subtle flavors that somehow swirled and danced into every corner of his mouth. How on earth could a dish this simple taste so spectacular?
    When this “Ling” put the first serving of scrambled eggs down in front of him—he was now well into his second and thinking seriously about having a third—he had been more interested in her than the food. But a single whiff of that hot food forced him to lower hiseyes to the plate. He made a mental note to get back to her as soon as he had investigated this most remarkable aroma.
    That was half an hour ago, and the eggs still held him in their thrall. Although tempted, he hadn’t asked for either the ingredients or how she had prepared them. You did not ask a master magician how they performed an astounding trick. That was one of the things Ben loved most about food and cooking: with creativity and imaginative combinations, a masterful cook could make new worlds every time they prepared a meal. Or they could wholly reinvent something as simple as a plate of scrambled eggs.
    â€œIt’s called Ofi.”
    Ben was in such a state of bliss that he didn’t realize she was addressing him. His eyes remained closed as he chewed. If he’d been a cat he would have been purring.
    She waited a few beats and then repeated what she’d said, only this time a bit more forcefully. “It’s
called
Ofi.”
    She’d said the odd word twice now. Both times it sounded so silly that, out of curiosity, Ben opened his eyes to see what she was talking about. Directly across the table she stared at him.
    â€œ
Ofi
? What’s Ofi?”
    â€œThe ingredient that makes those eggs taste so good. You were wondering—”
    Straightening his back, Ben asked, “How did you know what I was wondering?”
    From down on the floor Pilot said in an annoyed voice, “Because she’s a ghost. How many times do you need to be told that?”
    Ben dropped the fork loudly onto the plate—threw it down really. A clatter rang off every wall of that three-in-the-morning room. Aggrieved, he protested, “Excuse me! I would like to repeat one more time that everything I ever believed in my whole life haseither been destroyed or hijacked tonight, okay? Every single thing.
Tutti
. And you, Pilot, are one of the hijackers. So if I’m not quite up to
speed
yet with female ghosts, being dead, talking dogs, and Ofi, then you’ll just have to be a little more patient with me, okay? Okeydoke?”
    â€œ
Ofi
doke,” Pilot said in a smart-ass voice, and then tried to catch Ling’s eye. But the ghost was embarrassed by the man’s rant and wouldn’t make eye contact.
    Ben had had enough. “What? What did you say?” Despite the heavenly meal, he was about to explode with frustration. The tone of his voice announced that loud and clear.
    â€œI said
all right
, Ben, we’ll go more slowly.”
    The air in the kitchen felt like the air in August just before a ripping thunderstorm: electric, loaded,