How Like an Angel (21 page)

Quinn waited. A sense of foreboding shook his body, and he wasn't quite sure whether it was imagination or whether he'd experienced the shockwaves of an actual earthquake. He said, “I have my key, thanks, Mr. Frisby.”

“I know that. But I figured, being as the radio in your room is on the blink, you maybe missed the big news.” The words tumbled moistly around Frisby's mouth like clothes in a washing machine. “You'll never believe it.”

“Try me.”

“Such a nice quiet little woman, the last person in the world you'd expect to pull a stunt like that.”

It's Martha,
Quinn thought,
something's happened to Martha.
He wanted to reach out and put his hand over Frisby's mouth to prevent him from saying any more, but he forced himself to stand still, to listen.

“You could have knocked me over with a feather when I heard about it. I yelled to the wife and she came running in, thinking I was having a fit. Bessie, I told her, Bessie, you'll never guess what's happened. ‘The Martians have landed,' said she. ‘No,' I said, ‘Alberta Haywood has escaped from prison.'“

“God.” The word was not an expression of surprise but of gratitude and relief. For a minute he couldn't even think about the news of Alberta Haywood, his mind refused to go beyond Martha. She was safe. She was sitting, as he had last seen her, in front of the campfire, and she was safe.

“Yes, sir, Miss Haywood escaped clean as a whistle in a supply truck that was servicing the candy machines in the canteen.”

“When?”

“This afternoon some time. The prison authorities didn't release the details, but she's gone all right. Or all wrong, as the case may be, ha ha.” Frisby's laugh was more like a nervous little hiccough. “Anyway, the police haven't been able to find her yet because the supply truck stopped at three or four other places and she could have gotten off at any one of them with nobody the wiser. Maybe it was all planned ahead of time and she had a friend waiting for her in a car. That's my story. What do you think of it, eh?”

“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 comin
g. 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.”