How Like an Angel (3 page)

“It's a very odd thing that you should turn out to have a detective's license. I can't believe it's a coincidence. I have a feeling in my bones that it was the will of Lord.”

“Your vibrations must be improving, Sister.”

“Yes, I think so,” she said earnestly. “I think they are.”

“Now if you don't mind telling me what my being a detec­tive has to do with—”

“I haven't time right now. I must go and inform the Master that you're here. He doesn't like surprises, especially at meal­times. He has a weak stomach.”

“Let me go with you,” Quinn said, getting up from the cot.

“Oh no, I couldn't. Strangers aren't allowed in the Tower.”

“Well, would any of the Brothers and Sisters object if I wandered around a little?”

“Some will, some won't. Although all of us here are dedi­cated to a common cause, we have as many personality differ­ences as you find in other places.”

“In brief, I'm to stay here. Is that it?”

“You look tired, a little rest will do you good.” Sister Bless­ing went out and closed the door firmly behind her.

Quinn lay down on the cot, rubbing his chin. He needed a shave, a shower, a drink. Or a drink, a shower, a shave. He dozed off trying to make up his mind about the exact order and dreamed he was back in his hotel room in Reno. He'd won ten thousand dollars and he didn't notice until he spread it out on the bed to count that the bills were all fives and all bore a picture of Sister Blessing instead of Lincoln.

It was still daylight when he awoke, sweating and confused. It took him a minute to remember where he was, the little room looked like a prison.

Someone pounded on the door and Quinn sat up. “Who is it?”

“Brother Light of the Infinite. I've come about the mat­tress.”

“Mattress?”

The door opened and Brother Light of the Infinite entered the room, carrying a gallon tin can. He was a big man with a face crisscrossed with lines like an old paper bag. His robe was dirty and smelled, not unpleasantly, of livestock.

Quinn said, “This is very kind of you, Brother.”

“Ain't kindness. Orders. Me with a hundred things to do and that woman can think of a hundred more. Go fix the mattress, she says. Can't let the stranger get all bit up, says she, so here I am wasting my time on fleas. You all bit up?”

“I don't think so.”

Brother Light put the can of sheep dip on the floor. “Take off your shirt and look at your belly. They like bellies, the skin's softer, easier to get their
teeth
into.”

“While I'm undressing, is there any chance of a shower around here?”

“There's water in the washroom, can't call it a shower exactly. . . . Why, you ain't even bit. Must have a hide like an elephant. No use wasting this stuff on you.” He picked the can up again and started toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” Quinn said. “Where's the washroom?”

“Off to the left a piece.”

“I don't suppose you have a razor?”

Brother Light fingered his shaved scalp which bore numer­ous nicks and scratches like Brother Tongue's. “We got razors, you think I was
born
this way? Only today's not shaving day.”

“It is for me.”

“You take it up with Brother of the Steady Heart, he's the barber. Don't come bothering me, with all the things I got to do, cows to be milked, goats to be watered, chickens to be fed.”

“Sorry to have put you to any trouble.”

As he left, Brother Light banged the can of sheep dip against the door frame to indicate his low opinion of apologies.

Quinn, too, went outside, carrying his shirt and tie. He guessed, from the position of the sun, that it was between six and seven o'clock and that he'd slept for a couple of hours.

From the chimney of the communal dining room smoke billowed and the smell of it mingled with the smell of meat cooking and pine needles. The air was crisp and cool. It seemed to Quinn very healthful air and he wondered whether it had cured the rich old lady who'd built the Tower or whether she had died here, a step closer to heaven. As for the Tower itself, he still hadn't seen it and the only indication he'd had that it actually existed had been the gong sounding the termination of prayers. He would have liked to wander around the place and find the Tower for himself but Brother Light's attitude made him doubt the wisdom of this. The others might be even less friendly.

In the washroom he pumped water into a pail by hand. It was cold and murky, and the gray gritty bar of homemade soap resisted Quinn's attempt to work up a lather. He looked around for a razor. Even if he had found one it wouldn't have done much good, since the washroom contained no mirror. Perhaps the sect had a religious taboo against mirrors. That would account for the necessity of having Brother of the Steady Heart act as barber.

While he was washing and dressing, he considered Sister Blessing's remarks about the Lord guiding his footsteps to the Tower.
She's got bats in the belfry,
he thought.
Which is fine with me unless one of them flies out and bites me.

When he went back outside, the sun was setting and the mountains had turned from dark green to violet. Two Brothers passed him on their way to the washroom, bowed their heads briefly and silently, and went on. Quinn heard the clinking of metal dishes and the sounds of voices coming from the dining room and he started toward it. He was halfway there when he heard Sister Blessing calling his name.

She came hurrying toward him, her robe flapping in the wind,
hike a bat's wings,
he thought, without amusement.

She was carrying a couple of candles and a package of wooden matches. “Mr. Quinn? Yoohoo, Mr. Quinn.”

“Hello, Sister. I was just going to look for you.”

She was flushed and out of breath. “I've made a terrible mis­take. I forgot this was the Day of Renunciation, I was so busy getting Brother Tongue settled back in his own quarters in the Tower. He's well enough now not to need the heat of the stove at night.”

“Take a minute to catch your breath, Sister.”

“Yes, I must. I'm so flustered, the Master's stomach is bother­ing him again.”

“And?”

“This being the Day of Renunciation, we can't eat with a stranger among us because of—dear me, I've forgotten the reason, but anyhow it's a rule.”

“I'm not very hungry anyway,” Quinn lied politely.

“Oh, you'll be
fed,
have no doubt of that. It's just that you'll have to wait until the others are through. It will take an hour, perhaps longer, depending on poor Brother Behold the Vision's teeth. They don't fit very well and he gets behind the others. It taxes Brother Light's patience since he works in the fields all day and has a manly appetite. You don't mind waiting?”

“Not at all.”

“I've brought you candles and matches. And look what else.” From the folds of her robe she produced a dog-eared book. “Something to
read”
she said with an air of triumph. “We're not allowed books except about the Faith but this is from one year when Sister Karma had to go to school. It's about dinosaurs. Do you think that will interest you?”

“Oh yes. Highly.”

“I've read it myself dozens of times. I'm practically an ex­pert on dinosaurs by this time. Promise you won't tell anyone I gave it to you?”

“I promise.”

“I'll let you know when the others have finished eating.”

“Thank you, Sister.”

Quinn could tell from the way she handled the book that it was something very precious to her and that it was a sacri­fice on her part to lend it to him. He was touched by her gesture but also a little suspicious of it:
Why me? Why do I get the special treatment? What does she want from me?

Back in the storage shed he lit the two candles, sat down on the cot and tried to make some plans for the future. First he would hitch a ride in the truck with Brother Crown as far as San Felice. Then he would drop in on Tom Jurgensen and collect his three-hundred dollars. After that—

After that no plans were necessary. He knew all too well what would happen. If he scraped together enough money he'd go back to Reno. If he couldn't make Reno, Las Vegas. If he couldn't get to Las Vegas, one of the poker parlors out­side Los Angeles. A job, money; a game, no money. Every time he ran around the circle, the grooves got deeper. He knew he'd have to break out of it some time. Maybe this was it.

All right, he told himself, he'd get a job in San Felice where the only gambling was bingo at the country club once a week. He'd save some money, mail a check for his back rent to the hotel in Reno and have the clerk send on his clothes and the rest of the things he'd left as security. He might even, if every­thing turned out well, ask Doris to join him. . . . No, Doris was part of the circle. Like most of the other people who worked at the clubs, she spent her off-hours at the tables. Some of them had their whole lives under one roof; they slept, ate, worked and played there, with as much single-minded dedication as the Brothers and Sisters of the Tower.

Doris. It was only twenty-four hours since he'd said good­bye to her. She'd offered to lend him money but for reasons he wasn't sure of, either then or now, he'd refused. Maybe he turned it down because he knew money had strings at­tached, no matter how carefully they were camouflaged. He looked down at the book Sister Blessing had given to him and he wondered what strings were attached to it.

“Mr. Quinn?”

He got up and opened the door. “Come in, Sister. Did you have a good Renunciation Day dinner?”

Sister Blessing glanced at him suspiciously. “Good enough, considering the troubled state of Sister Contrition's mind.”

“Just what is one supposed to renounce? Not food, I gather.”

“None of your business, Come along now and no smart talking. The dining room's empty and I have your lamb stew heated up and a nice cup of cocoa.”

“I thought you didn't believe in stimulants.”

“Cocoa is not a
true
stimulant. We had a meeting of the Council about that last year, and it was decided by a large majority that cocoa, because it contained other important nourishment, is quite permissible. Only Sister Glory of the Ascension voted no because she's so stin—thrifty. I told you about the hair in the mattress?”

“Yes,” said Quinn, who preferred to forget it.

“You'd better hide the book. Not that anyone would spy on you, but why take a chance?”

“Why, indeed.” He covered the book with a blanket.

“Have you read it?”

“Some.”

“Don't you think it's very interesting?”

Quinn thought the strings attached to it might be more in­teresting but he didn't say so.

They went outside. An almost full moon hung low in the redwood trees. Stars studded the sky, hundreds more than Quinn had even seen, and even while he stood and watched, still more appeared.

“Haven't you ever seen a
sky
before?” Sister Blessing said with a touch of impatience.

“Not this one.”

“It's the same as always.”

“It looks different to me.”

Sister Blessing peered anxiously up into his face. “Do you suppose you're having a religious experience?”

“I am admiring the universe,” Quinn said. “If you want to put a tag on it, go ahead.”

“You don't understand, Mr. Quinn. I prefer that you
not
have a religious experience right at the moment.”

“Why?”

“It would be very inconvenient. I have something I want you to do for me and a conversion at this time would inter­fere.”

“You can stop worrying, Sister. Now, about this something you want me to do—”

“I'll tell you later, when you've eaten.”

The dining room was empty, and Brother Tongue's rocking chair was gone and so was the bird cage. One place was set at the end of the table nearest the stove.

Quinn sat down and Sister Blessing filled a tin plate with lamb stew and another with thick slices of bread. As she had in the afternoon, she watched Quinn eat with a kind of maternal interest.

“Your color's not very good,” she said, after a time. “But you have a hearty appetite and you seem healthy enough. What I mean is, if you were frail, I naturally couldn't ask you to do me any favors.”

“Contrary to appearances, I am extremely frail. I have a bad liver, weak chest, poor circulation—”

“Nonsense.”

“All right, what's the favor?”

“I want you to find somebody for me. Not find him in per­son, exactly, but find out what happened to him. You under­stand?”