How Like an Angel

by Margaret Millar

  “It sounds reasonable,” Quinn said. Except for two possible errors. Instead of a friend in a car, it might have been a brother in a green Pontiac station wagon.

  The clams had communicated, the planners were at work.

  “Maybe,” Frisby said, “she’s coming back here.”

  “Why?”

  ‘“On television, when someone escapes from prison, they always return to the scene of the crime to straighten out a miscarriage of justice. It could be she’s innocent and she’s going to try and prove it.”

  “Whatever she’s trying to prove, Mr. Frisby, she’s not in­nocent. Good night.”

  For a long time after he went to bed Quinn lay awake listening to the whine of the air-conditioner and the loud angry voices of the couple in the next room quarreling over money.

  Money, Quinn thought suddenly. Sister Blessing’s money had come from her son in Chicago, and the letter Martha O’Gorman had destroyed had been postmarked Evanston, Illinois. A son in Chicago, a letter from Evanston. If there was a connection, the only person to ask about it was Sister Bless­ing.

  SIXTEEN

  Even while the new day was still no more than a barely per­ceptible lightening of the sky, Sister Blessing knew it was going to be a good one. Her bare feet sped down the dark path to the shower room, and she sang as she washed herself, unmindful of the coldness of the water and the grittiness of the gray homemade soap: “There’s a good day coming, yes, Lord, there’s a good day coming, yes, Lord.”

  “Peace be with you,” she called out when Sister Contrition came in, carrying a kerosene lantern. “A fine morning, is it not?”

  Sister Contrition put the lantern down with a clank of dis­approval. “And pray, what’s the matter with you all of a sudden?”

  “Nothing, Sister. I am well, I am happy.”

  “You’d think a person would have more to do in this world than going around being happy.”

  “You can be happy and do things, too, can’t you?”

  “I don’t know, I’ve never tried.”

  “Poor Sister, is your head bothering you again?”

  “You attend to your head, I’ll attend to mine.” Sister Con­trition poured a little water into a basin, rinsed her face and dried it on a scrap of wool salvaged from a worn-out robe. “You’d think a person would take a more sober viewpoint, especially after the Punishment.”

  “The Punishment’s over.” But she became a little less cheer­ful at the memory of it. It had been a black time for her, in spite of her satisfaction in knowing that things had not been easy in the colony while she was gone. The Master was finally forced to cut her isolation to three days instead of five be­cause he couldn’t manage Mother Pureza without her and be­cause Brother Crown had sprained his ankle falling off the tractor. They need me, she thought, and her spirits soared again, beyond the dark grimy room and above the disgruntled face of Sister Contrition, still oily after its brief bath. They need me and I am here. She hung on to the words like a child to the string of a kite riding a high wind.

  She began singing again. “There’s a good day coming, yes, Lord.”

  “Well, it’s about time,” Sister Contrition said irritably. “I’ve had enough of the other kind lately, what with Karma acting up. I hear there’s a new convert.”

  “It’s too early to tell but I have hopes, very high hopes. It may be a whole new beginning for the colony. Perhaps it’s a sign from Heaven that we are to prosper again like in the old days.”

  “Is it a man?”

  “Yes. His soul is very troubled, I hear.”

  “Is he young? I mean, is he young enough so I’ll have to keep an eye on Karma every minute she’s awake?”

  “I haven’t seen him.”

  “God grant he’s old and feeble,” Sister Contrition said, sighing. “And poor eyesight wouldn’t hurt, either.”

  “Haven’t we enough old and feeble ones as it is? The Tower needs youth, strength, vitality.”

  “That’s all very well, in theory. In practice, I have Karma to consider. Oh, what a terrible problem it is to be a mother.”

  Sister Blessing nodded soberly. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

  “At least it’s over for you. My worries are just beginning.”

  “About Karma, Sister. Perhaps she should go away for a while.”

  “Where?”

  “You have a sister in Los Angeles. Karma could live with her—”

  “She’d never come back here once she got away. Worldly pleasures look good to her because she’s never known them, how trivial they are, how treacherous. To send her to my sister’s would be consigning her to hell. How could you even suggest such a thing? Has the Punishment caused you to lose your senses?”

  “I don’t think so,” Sister Blessing said. She wasn’t sure, though. It was certainly very odd to feel so good after so much suffering, but then the punishment had ended nearly a week ago and it was becoming blurred in her mind like an image in a cracked and dirty mirror.

  Outside she began to sing again, pausing only to call out a greeting to the people she passed on her way to the kitchen. “Good morning, Brother Heart. . . . Peace be with you, Brother Light. How is the new wee goat?”

  “She’s a frisky one, fat as butter.”

  “Is she now.”

  A new dawn, a new goat, a new convert. “Yes, Lord, there’s a good day coming. Good morning, Brother Tongue of Proph­ets. How are you feeling?”

  Brother Tongue smiled and nodded.

  “And your little bird is all better?”

  Another nod, another smile. She knew he could talk if he wanted to, but perhaps it was just as well that he didn’t. “Yes, Lord . . .”

  She made a fire in the kitchen stove with the wood Brother Tongue brought in from the shed. Then she helped Sister Con­trition fry ham and eggs, hoping that the Master would ap­pear for breakfast and announce the admission of the new convert. So far only the Master and Mother Pureza had seen him: he spent his time in the Tower, observing the colony at work, talking to the Master, asking questions and answering them. It was a difficult period of testing for both of them. Sis­ter Blessing knew it was no easy matter to qualify for entrance and she hoped the Master would be a little lenient with the man and not scare him off. The colony needed new blood, new strength. There had been too much sickness lately among the Brothers and Sisters because they were overworked. How welcome an extra pair of hands would be to help with the milking and the gardening and the wood-chopping, an extra pair of good strong legs to herd the cattle—

  “You are dreaming again. Sister,” Brother Crown said in an accusing voice. “I’ve asked you three times to slice a little more bread. My ankle will not heal on an empty stomach.”

  “It’s practically healed already.”

  “No, it’s not. You’re just saying that because you’re holding a grudge against me for reporting your sins to the Master.”

  “Nonsense. I don’t have time for grudges. Your ankle doesn’t show the faintest trace of swelling. Let’s look at it.”

  Brother Tongue had been listening to the exchange, jealous of the attention Sister Blessing was giving someone else. He put his hand on his chest and coughed loud and hard, but the Sister was onto his tricks and pretended not to hear.

  “It’s as good as new,” she said, touching Brother Crown’s ankle lightly.

  New ankle, new dawn, new goat, new convert. “Yes, Lord—”

  But the Master didn’t appear and Sister Contrition took breakfast for three over to the Tower while Sister Blessing helped Karma clear the table and wash the dishes.

  To the banging of tin plates and cups Sister Blessing re­sumed her singing. “There’s a good day coming, yes, Lord.” It was music strange to the Tower, whose only songs were old somber hymns with new words written by the Master.
They all sounded alike and cheered and comforted no one.

  “Why are you making so much noise?” Karma said, clear­ing the crumbs from the table with a disdainful air, as if each and every one of them was personally offensive to her.

  “Because I feel full of life and hope.”

  “Well, I don’t. All the days are the same around here. Noth­ing changes except we get older.”

  “Hush now, and stop copying your mother. Crankiness is a habit hard to break.”

  “I don’t care. What reason have I got for not being cranky?”

  “You mustn’t let the rest of them hear you speak such words,” Sister Blessing said, trying to sound very severe. “It would hurt me deeply to see you punished again.”

  “I’m being punished twenty-four hours a day just by having to stay here. I hate it. When I get another chance I’m going to run away.”

  “No, Karma, no. It’s hard to think of eternity when you’re young, but you must try. Having trod the rough earth, your feet uncovered, you will walk the smooth and golden streets of heaven. Remember that, child.”

  “How do I know it’s true?”

  “It is. It is true.” But her own voice echoed falsely in her ears: Isn’t it? “You must fill your mind with visions of glory, Karma.” Mustn’t you?

  “I can’t. I keep thinking of the boys and girls at school, and their pretty clothes, and the way they laughed a lot, and all the books they had to read. Hundreds of books about things I never heard of before. Just touching them and knowing they were there—oh, it was such a wonderful feeling.” Karma’s face was pale under the bright red pimples that spotted it like a clown’s make-up. “Why can’t we have books here, Sister?”

  “How could the colony survive with everyone’s noses buried in books? There’s work to be—”

  “That’s not the real reason.”

  Sister Blessing looked uneasy. “Now, now, this isn’t a safe subject. The rules clearly state—”

  “No one’s listening. I know the real reason. If we find out from books how other people live, we might not want to stay here and there wouldn’t be any colony.”

  “The Master is the best judge of our welfare, you must understand that.”

  “Well, I don’t.”

  “Oh, Karma, my child, what are we to do with you?”

  “Let me go.”

  “The outside world is a cruel place.”

  “Crueler than this?”

  There was no answer. Sister Blessing had turned away and was scrubbing a tin plate she had already scrubbed twice in the past minute. It is time, she thought, time for Karma to leave and for me to help her. I would give the breath in my body to help her but I don’t know how. Oh Lord, give me guidance.

  “Mr. Quinn doesn’t think the world’s such a cruel place,” Karma said.

  The name caught Sister Blessing by surprise. She had been deliberately suppressing it for days now. When it popped up in her mind like a jack-in-the-box, she forced it down again, pressed the lid over it and held it tight. But the lid was slippery and her hand not always strong and quick enough, and out he would come, the young man she wished she had never seen. She said sharply, “What Mr. Quinn thinks is of no importance. He has gone out of our lives completely and forever.”

  “No, he hasn’t.”

  “What do you know about it?”

  “I’m not telling if I don’t want to.”

  Sister Blessing turned away from the tubful of dishes and, her hands still wet, grasped Karma by the shoulders. “You saw him? You talked to him?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “When you were in isolation,” Karma said. “I told him about my acne and he promised to come back and bring me some lotion for it. And he will.”

  “No, he won’t.”

  “He promised.”

  “He is not coming back,” Sister Blessing said, pressing the lid down, holding it tight. “He must let us alone. He is our enemy.”

  Malice spread over Karma’s face like a blush she couldn’t prevent. “The Master says we don’t have any enemies, only friends who have not yet seen the light. What if Mr. Quinn comes back to be shown the light?”

  “Mr. Quinn has returned to the gambling tables of Reno where he belongs. If he gave you any promise he was foolish, and you’re even more foolish to believe him. Listen, Karma,” I made a bad mistake which involved Mr. Quinn and I have been punished for it severely. Now that must be the end of it. We won’t see him again and there’ll be no more talk about him, is that clear?” She paused, then added in a quieter, more reasonable voice, “Mr. Quinn’s intentions were all right but he has caused trouble.”

  “Trouble over Patrick O’Gorman?”

  “Where did you get that name?”

  “I—I just sort of heard it,” Karma said, frightened by the Sister’s intensity which she couldn’t understand. “It just— floated through the air. I guess, into my ears.”

  “That’s a lie. You heard it from Mr. Quinn.”

  “No. I swear, it just sort of floated through the air into my ears.”

  Sister Blessing’s hand dropped from Karma’s shoulders in a gesture of futility. “I despair of you, Karma.”

  “I wish everybody did,” Karma said in a soft, stubborn voice. “Then they’d banish me and I could go away with Mr. Quinn when he comes with the lotion.”

  “He is not coming. He performed the service I paid him for in my moment of weakness and indiscretion, and there is no good reason for him to return. A promise to a child means nothing to a man like Mr. Quinn. You were very naive to take him seriously.”

  “You must take him seriously, too, or you wouldn’t act so scared.”

  “Scared?” The word fell into the middle of the room like a stone thrown through the skylight. Sister Blessing attempted to hide the stone by surrounding it with camouflage: “You are a dear girl, Karma, but what a flighty imagination you have. And I strongly suspect you developed a bit of a crush on Mr. Quinn.”

  “I don’t know what that means, a crush.”

  “It means you’re indulging in a silly dream about his com­ing back here to rescue you, to make you beautiful with a magic lotion. That’s all it is, Karma, a dream.”

  The Sister returned to the tub of dishes. The water was cold by this time, grease floated on top of it and the harsh soap would not lather. As she forced her hands into the dirty water she tried to resume her song but she couldn’t remember the music, the words no longer seemed prophetic, only wistful: Isn’t there, surely, a good day coming, Lord?

  At noon the official announcement was made in the shrine in the inner court. A tall, thin, bespectacled man, already shaved and robed, was introduced briefly by the Master: “It is with humble rejoicing that I acquaint you with Brother Faith of Angels who has come to share our lives in this world and our salvation in the next. Amen.”

  “Amen,” said Brother Faith, and the others echoed, “Amen.”

  There was an undercurrent of excitement among the breth­ren but they dispersed quickly and quietly and returned to their jobs. Brother Light trudged back to the barn, thinking, with satisfaction, of the new convert’s soft white hands and how soon they would be changed; and Sister Contrition ran toward the kitchen, her face contorted by anxiety and lack of breath: He is not old but he is certainly not young, either, and perhaps his eyesight is failing and he will not notice Karma. How cruelly fast she has developed into a woman.

  Brother Crown headed for the tractor, whistling jubilantly through the gap between his two front teeth. He had seen the new convert’s car, and oh, what a beauty it was, and how the engine’s purr grew into a deep, powerful roar. He pictured himself behind the wheel, foot hard on the accelerator, taking the curves of the mountain road with a shrieking of tires. Zoom, zoom, here I come. Z
oom, zoom, zoom.

  Brother Steady Heart and Brother Tongue resumed hoeing weeds in the vegetable garden.

  “Does he have a strong back, that’s the important thing,” Brother Heart said. “Arms, legs, hands, these you can strengthen by work and exercise, but a strong back is a gift of God. Isn’t that so?”

  Brother Tongue nodded agreeably, wishing that Brother Heart would shut up, he was becoming a terrible old bore.

  “Yes sir, a strong back in a man, and fine, delicate limbs in a woman, these are the gifts of God, eh, Brother Tongue? Oh, the ladies, I miss them. Shall I tell you a secret? I was never much to look at, but I used to be a great hit with the ladies, would you believe it?”

  Brother Tongue nodded again. Somebody shut this bastard up before I kill him.

  “You appear a mite peaked today, Brother Tongue. Are you feeling all right? Your pleurisy may be acting up again, maybe you’d better take a rest. Sister Blessing says you must not overdo. Go on now and have yourself a nice little nap.”

  The Master climbed the stairs to the top of the Tower and looked down at the blue lake in the green valley, and up at the green mountains in the blue sky. Ordinarily, the view in­spired him, but now he felt old and tired. It had been a diffi­cult period, testing Brother Faith of Angels and being tested in return, and at the same time trying to handle Mother Pureza, to keep her quiet and contented. Her flights into the past were becoming wilder as her body grew feebler. She gave orders to her servant, Capirote, who had been dead for thirty years, and became violent when her orders were not obeyed. She called out to her parents and her sisters and wept bitterly when they did not answer. Sometimes she fingered the rosary no one had ever been able to take from her, and in spite of the Master’s efforts to stop her she said the Hail Marys she had learned as a child. She had disliked the new Brother on sight, cursed him in Spanish, accused him of trying to rob her and threatened him with a flogging. The Master knew the time was approaching when he would have to send her away. He hoped she would die before it became necessary.