The Messenger

by T. Davis Bunn

  Manny had fished up a sickly grin, wiped off the sweat, and gotten down to business. But he still hated the sound of that electric bolt snapping into place.

  Spider slid a hand the color of a fish’s belly through the little slit-opening at the base of his wire cage. Overlong fingers beckoned impatiently. “C’mon, Manny, let’s see what you got for your friend Spider today.”

  Manny walked over, all his sensors on overdrive. This kind of eagerness was new. Spider always acted reluctant when it came to fencing goods, pulling these long faces and talking in mournful tones about how tight the market was for whatever Manny had brought in, dried up or flooded or just not there anymore, sorry, the best he could do would be five cents on the dollar, max.

  Manny was used to playing the game. It was part of the price he paid for staying independent. He always entered the pawnshop knowing he was in for a hard-fought battle. But something was wrong now. Spider’s new attitude left the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

  “Got some top quality goods, Spider,” he said, forcing himself to play it cool, strutting over, reaching for the hidden pockets in his vest and down inside his boot, all the while keeping one eye and an ear tuned for something, anything, either from behind the curtained back door or out front. Yeah, a single whisper of sound, a flicker of movement, one isolated footstep, and Manny would vanish like smoke in the wind. “Check this out, a gold Rolex. And a diamond bracelet, no less. Markings on the back are solid, I already checked. Platinum and fourteen carat.”

  “You’re the best, Manny, the best, I always said it.” Impatiently Spider shoved the items to one side. “What else you got?”

  “Hey, hang on a sec, we’re talking top drawer here.” Manny risked a complete swivel, searched the street in both directions as far as he could see. Nothing. Not a movement, not even a car. Still the nerves in his gut jangled their constant warning. “Couldn’t take less than an even thou.”

  “Right, right.” The unseen drawer slid back, the roll was plucked out, impatient fingers counted to ten. “Thousand on the nose. Just like you asked. I always treated you good, right, Manny? Always played it straight with my number-one man. Now what else you got?”

  “What is this?” Manny asked, his heart rate soaring for the third time that day. “You setting me up, Spider?”

  “Me?” A bead of perspiration dribbled down from his hairless temple, across the skin of a cheek that had not felt the sunlight in years. “There ain’t no future in that. Why’d I want to do in my number-one source of prime goods?”

  “Something ain’t right,” Manny muttered and crept to the door. He sprang the catch, swung the door wide, searched the empty street, then slammed down the rubber doorstop. “We’ll finish our business with the door open, that all right with you?”

  “Open, closed, what difference does it make to me? Only reason I lock it is for your protection, you know that, Manny.”

  “Right. Then you won’t mind if I just check out back.” Without waiting for a reply, Manny walked over and pushed open the back door hard enough to flatten anyone waiting on the other side. He searched the back hall, found nothing but dust and stale odors.

  “You satisfied now? Can we get down to it?”

  “Yeah, guess so.” Manny walked back and squinted at the white-faced man with undisguised hostility. “Why are you sweating, Spider?”

  “Who wouldn’t be, the way you’re acting.” The shoulderless man raised one limp hand and swiped at the sweat that glistened on his upper lip. “Now c’mon, Manny, let’s see the rest.”

  “An alligator wallet, a dozen credit cards, a pocket watch, that’s the lot,” Manny said, handing over the goods while keeping his attention on the front door. All he wanted was to be away.

  Frantic fingers flipped through the credit cards, opened the wallet, searched all the pockets, then the tightening voice croaked, “It ain’t there!”

  Manny swung back. “What’re you talking about?”

  “Didn’t you get something else today, Manny? Think hard, big guy. Anything else you wanna show your old buddy Spider?”

  Manny squinted through the wire cage. The pale-white man was sweating fiercely now. “Like what?”

  “Anything, you know, like maybe something you forgot, maybe you slipped into another pocket, you know. Maybe a card or something.”

  “Give me the money,” Manny hissed.

  Spider peeled the bills off the roll with hands that moved with the desperate motions of two frightened animals. “Hey, sure, but look, don’t you want to just check, you know, look through your pockets, maybe one more time for old Spider, you know, just to make sure?”

  “That’s all there is,” Manny said, shoveling the money into his pocket without counting.

  “Look, hey, you’re my main guy, right? Don’t you just want to—”

  Manny gripped the wire. “Who’s been following me, Spider?”

  “Nobody, hey, c’mon, what is this—”

  “What else am I supposed to have, then?”

  “Look, hey, it’s no big deal. Just a card, maybe a little different, I dunno, silver kinda.” Both hands wiped down a sweat-drenched face. “I just heard, you know, maybe you’d gotten hold of this card.”

  “From who?” Manny growled, feeling the walls closing in, wanting to flee, but needing to know who was dogging his steps.

  “You don’t want to know.” The white face turned even paler, the colorless eyes opened wider. “Believe me, big guy, it ain’t in your best interest. You’ll live longer.”

  “Tell me,” Manny demanded.

  “Look, I can’t, really. But if you’ve got anything like what they want, then you’d better let me have it. I mean, it’s just a card, right?”

  “See you, Spider,” Manny said, turning away.

  “Manny, wait!” Panic raised the man’s voice an octave. “These guys, they ain’t the kind you want to tangle with, you know what I mean? Manny, don’t go, hey, it ain’t smart—”

  Manny hit the sidewalk already powering toward liftoff, his eyes searching every nook and cranny and shadow, seeing nothing, yet feeling eyes follow him everywhere. Evil eyes. Eyes that promised nothing but menace and terror.

  ****

  It was raining hard the next morning. Ariel had never imagined that such rain could exist. All the trees she could see through the little kitchen window were bowed and shaking, their lower limbs so wind-tossed they scraped the ground, back and forth, shivering and heavy and wishing for a way out of the cold storm.

  Which was exactly the way Ariel felt, too.

  “Oh, good morning, dear.” Sister Clarice tottered in, looking decidedly older and more frail in her pink bathrobe than she had the day before when wearing her blue uniform. “Have you been up long?”

  “No.” Ariel sighed and turned away from the window. No answers there. No answers anywhere, as far as she could tell. “Thank you so much for bringing me home last night.”

  “Oh, my dear.” Sister Clarice came around and patted her hand. “You looked so lost and so worried, how could I not help?”

  The kindness in the woman’s touch and the warmth in her eyes gave Ariel such a powerful feeling of home that she felt a burning misery collect in her eyes. She was indeed lost.

  “Now, now,” Clarice murmured. “Why don’t you just come right over here and sit down at the table while I make us both a nice cup of tea. Would you like some toast and honey for breakfast?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied honestly.

  “Well, I’ve always said when the mind is too busy worrying to be hungry, that’s usually when the body could do with a good feeding.”

  Sister Clarice bustled about, filling a pot and placing it on the stove, then cutting bread with a long serrated knife. Ariel watched her deft motions and asked, “Have you ever been worried?”

  Clarice laughed so hard she had to set down the knife and hold the kitchen cabinet with both hands. “How on earth do you think I earned all these wrinkl
es? Each and every one is a graduation present from the school of hard knocks.”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that place.”

  “Then you are one lucky young woman.” She popped two pieces into the toaster. “Bet you’ve never had homemade bread before either.”

  “Never,” Ariel agreed.

  “Child, this world has a way of surprising us almost every day. Some of these surprises are so good they make us want to shout to the heavens with joy. Others, well, the best thing we can say is that these too shall pass. And why can you always say that for certain?” Clarice picked up the whistling pot and answered her own question as she poured water into two cups. “Because this is not our home.”

  “I know,” Ariel said softly.

  “Of course you do. The first time I saw you I said to myself, now there is the face of a believer.” Clarice set a steaming cup in front of Ariel. “Then you should know that no matter what you are facing, you must remain steadfast in your faith, and pray.”

  “Pray,” Ariel repeated faintly.

  “That’s right. Pray with all your might. Pray without ceasing. Pray for guidance, pray for strength, pray for wisdom. And one day you will hear the Lord’s clarion call, and the angels will lift you from this vale of trials and temptations, and carry you to where you will never worry again. Not ever.”

  “I wish that were true,” Ariel said, her voice very quiet.

  Instead of answering sharply, Clarice inspected Ariel’s face. “Is it truly that bad, child?”

  “Terrible,” Ariel replied and felt the sudden burning return to her eyes.

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  She thought it over, then said doubtfully, “I’m not sure that I can.”

  “Well, if you ever feel the need to unburden, I’ve been called a fair listener in my day.”

  “Thank you,” Ariel said. “You are a friend.”

  Clarice beamed at that, then continued to bustle about the little kitchen, setting down toast and butter and honey. “Now you just put your mind at ease about one thing. You can stay here as long as you like. In the meantime, though, I need to help with a new church project. It will take me to Washington, but I’ll only be gone three or four—”

  “Washington!” Ariel brightened. “I know that name.”

  “That’s our nation’s capital, dear.” Clarice looked more closely at the young woman seated across from her. “Where was it that you said you were from?”

  “I have a friend there. I think I do. I think she said she needed to stay longer. Miss . . .” Ariel scrunched up her forehead in concentration, then remembered. “Simpkins! Yes, I’m sure that’s right. And she was working at a hospital just like me.” The pretty forehead scrunched up again. “But what was the hospital’s name?”

  “And can she help you with your problem?”

  “Oh yes,” Ariel said, more certain than she had been all morning. “I’m sure she can.”

  “Well, that settles it then.” Clarice set one firm hand on the tabletop. “You’ll just have to come with me.”

  “Oh, could I?”

  “I don’t suppose you have any money, do you? No, it would all have been taken by the pickpocket.” Clarice did some swift calculations. “I think I have enough for two tickets. I’m afraid we’ll be traveling rather rough, though. I don’t have much extra to my name.” She looked at her watch and rose from the table. “If we’re going, we’ll have to start now. The bus leaves in less than an hour. Come along, my dear. Let us see if you can fit into any of my clothes.”

  ****

  “I tell you, I have been visited by an angel!”

  Manny froze at the words. He had been searching the hospital corridors for some sign of the young woman, not sure what he was going to do if he found her, but knowing he had to look just the same. He had found nothing at all and was heading back down toward the entrance, wondering at his next step, when he heard the old lady’s proclamation.

  “I’m sure she was, mother,” said a younger woman, her tone oozing false comfort. “Now, why don’t you just lie back and let’s wait for the doctor.”

  Manny hung back around the corner, pretending to read down a list of doctors’ names and office numbers, his attention remaining focused on the conversation in the next room. Actually, it was more like an argument, except that the couple in the old lady’s room were too polite to actually say in words what they thought, so they said it with the tone of their voices. And what they thought was that the old lady was making about as much sense as a loon.

  Only Manny was beginning to think differently.

  “I tell you, I don’t want to lie back down.” The old lady was beginning to grow angry. “Has this visitation robbed me of my ability to speak clear English? Listen to what I am saying, daughter. I am healed.”

  “Now, mother—”

  “Oh, let her get out of bed if she wants to,” said an impatient male voice, one filled with the weight of his own importance. “Then we can help her up off the floor and maybe have some peace around here for a change.”

  “You’re a fat lot of help,” the young woman snapped.

  “All I said was—”

  “Oh, go see what’s holding up that blasted doctor, why don’t you?” And then back to the wheedling tone: “Now, Mom, let me just—”

  “Keep your distance, daughter. I’m in no mood for any of your mollycoddling.”

  A starched figure strode impatiently past Manny, scarcely noticing him as he swept around the corner and into the room. “Oh, good. You’re all together. Right. Well. I honestly don’t know how to put this to you folks, but there appears to be a complete and total remission.”

  There was a stunned silence, followed by the young man’s demanding, “Just exactly what are you saying, doctor?”

  “What I am saying,” the physician replied, “is that I can find no indication of your mother’s illness. Not a trace. Not anywhere.”

  “Then do some more tests,” the young woman insisted.

  “I have already done every test known to science,” the doctor replied. “Twice. And I am telling you that your mother appears to be completely healed.”

  “I could have told you that and saved everybody a lot of bother,” the old lady retorted.

  “But you said—”

  “I know what I said,” the doctor butted in. “And these test results fly completely in the face of modern medicine. But there you are.”

  The silence descended once more. Finally the young woman said in a numb voice, “I don’t know what to think.”

  “Well I do,” the old lady said. “If you people will kindly step outside for a moment, I am going to put on my clothes and get home just as fast as these old legs will carry me.”

  “Mother—”

  “You heard me. Now scat.”

  Manny took a few steps toward the elevator as the trio emerged and walked past him, the couple too deep in discussion with the doctor to pay him any mind. He waited as long as he dared, fearing that the daughter would return at any moment, then retraced his steps and knocked softly on the door.

  “If that’s you, daughter,” came the muffled reply, “you are about to get a piece of my mind.”

  “It’s not her,” Manny said. “Can I come in?”

  “No, wait, just a minute. All right.” The door opened to reveal a seamed face with brightly inquisitive eyes. “You’re not with the hospital staff.”

  “No, I’m . . .” Manny stopped. Who was he? “I’m looking for someone.”

  “There’s nobody in here but me.”

  “No, wait, I, well, I was looking for a girl.”

  “Ah.” The gaze focused in more tightly. “You saw her too, did you?”

  “I’m not sure,” Manny said, feeling somehow defeated. “Maybe. No, probably.”

  “I wasn’t sure either until the miracle opened my eyes.” The woman pushed the door open wide, searched the corridor, asked, “Have you seen that daughter of mine?”
<
br />   “I think she left with the doctor.”

  “She’s a wonderful child, but unfortunately she inherited her father’s bullheadedness, God rest his stubborn soul. Once she gets an idea into her head, you need a blowtorch and a bulldozer to shift it.” She turned back and walked to her closet. “Come in, young man.”

  He crept into the room. “What did she look like, the girl you met?”

  “Girl, woman, angel, who knows the right word.” She offered him her coat. “Would you be a gentleman and help me on with this?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  “Thank you. Well, what I saw at first was a young girl with hair the color of sun-ripened corn and eyes like an early summer sky. So open and trusting you would have thought she had been raised in a convent.”

  Manny remembered the way she had looked at him, with a gaze so clear he felt as though he could hold her heart in his hands. Then he remembered how he had acted and what he had said, and suddenly he felt dirtier than he had ever felt in his entire life. “That’s her,” he mumbled.

  “Yes. But afterward . . .” The old lady buttoned up her coat and turned, her face glowing as she looked at him. “After the miracle, I could only remember her, you see, because she had already left. But I knew. Oh my, yes, there wasn’t any room for doubt then. God had heard my prayer, and He had sent me an angel of mercy.”

  Mercy. He felt stabbed by the power of a word he scarcely knew the meaning of. “Do you know where she went?”

  “Back home, I suppose.” The old lady patted his arm. “My advice to you, young man, is to pray to God. If you pray hard and long, He will hear. Whether or not He will send you an angel, I can’t say. But He will hear. And He will answer. Of that you can rest assured.”

  ****

  “The Philadelphia bus station is not a very pleasant place,” Clarice said apologetically. “But I’m afraid it’s all I can afford.”

  Ariel stood at Clarice’s side, moving in step with her as the ticket line inched forward. She did not know where to look in the station. The once grand structure had been reduced to an echoing den of noise and confusion and dirt and squalor. Several of the hard central seats were occupied by homeless people, slumped over in exhausted or drugged slumber. Around them, groups of young men played games that truly frightened Ariel, though she did not understand why.