How Like an Angel

by Margaret Millar

  She sat down on the bench opposite him and watched him eat. “Who told you about us, Mr. Quinn?”

  “A man I hitched a ride with, he’s a hand on a ranch near here.”

  “That sounds plausible.”

  “It should. It’s true.”

  “Where do you come from?”

  “First or last?” Quinn said.

  “Either, perhaps both.”

  “I was born in Detroit and the last place I lived was Reno.”

  “A wicked place, Reno.”

  “At the moment I’m inclined to agree with you.”

  Sister Blessing gave a little grunt of disapproval. “I assume that you were, as they say in the vernacular, taken to the cleaners?”

  “Thoroughly.”

  “Did you have a job in Reno?”

  “I was a security officer at one of the clubs. Or a casino cop, however you want to put it. I still have a detective’s license in Nevada but it probably won’t be renewed.”

  “You were fired from your job?”

  “Let’s just say I was warned not to mix business with pleas­ure and I didn’t get the message in time.” Quinn started on the second sandwich. The bread was homemade and quite stale, but the cheese and ham were good and the butter sweet.

  “How old are you, Mr. Quinn?”

  “Thirty-five, thirty-six. Thirty-six, I guess.”

  “Most men your age are at home with their wives and families, not skittering about the mountainside looking for a hand­out ... So you’re thirty-six. Now what? Are you going to start your life all over again, on a higher plane?”

  Quinn stared at her across the table. “Look, Sister, I appre­ciate the food and hospitality, but I may as well make it clear that I’m not a candidate for conversion.”

  “Dear me, I wasn’t thinking of that at all, Mr. Quinn. We don’t go out seeking converts. No, they come to us. When they weary of the world they come to us.”

  “Then what happens?”

  “We prepare them for their ascension of the Tower. There are five levels. The bottom one, where we all begin, is the earth level. The second is the level of the trees, the third mountains, the fourth sky, and fifth is the Tower of Heaven where the Master lives. I’ve never gotten beyond the third level myself. In fact”—she leaned confidentially toward Quinn, frowning— “I have some difficulty staying there, even.”

  “Now why is that?”

  “It’s because of the spiritual vibrations. I don’t feel them properly. Or when I do feel them it turns out there’s a jet plane overhead, or something’s exploded, and the vibrations aren’t spiritual at all. Once a tree fell, and I thought I was having the best vibrations ever. I was bitterly disappointed.”

  Quinn attempted to look sympathetic. “That’s too bad.”

  “Oh, you don’t really think so.”

  “But I do.”

  “No. I can tell. Skeptics always get a certain twist to their mouths.”

  “I have a piece of ham caught in my front tooth.”

  Before she covered her mouth with her hand, a little giggle escaped. She seemed flustered by the sound of it, as if it were a frivolous memento of the past she thought she’d left behind.

  She got up and walked over to the icebox. “Shall I pour you some goat’s milk? It’s very nourishing.”

  “No, thank you. A cup of coffee would be—”

  “We never use stimulants.”

  “Maybe you should try. Your vibrations might improve.”

  “I must ask you to be more respectful, Mr. Quinn.”

  “Sorry. The good food has made me a little light-headed.”

  “Oh, it wasn’t that good.”

  “I insist it was.”

  “Well, I admit the cheese isn’t so bad. Brother Behold the Vision makes it from a secret recipe.”

  “Please congratulate him for me.” Quinn rose, stretched, and concealed a yawn. “Now I’d better be on my way.”

  “Where?”

  “San Felice.”

  “It’s almost fifty miles. How will you get there?”

  “Walk back to the road and hitch another ride,”

  “You won’t find many cars. Most people going to San Felice prefer to take the long way around, by the main high­way. And once the sun goes down, cars aren’t so likely to stop for a hitchhiker, especially in the mountains. Also, the nights are very cold.”

  Quinn studied her for a minute. “What’s on your mind, Sister?”

  “Why, nothing. I mean, I’m concerned with your welfare. Alone in the mountains on a cold night, with no shelter, and wild animals roaming about—”

  “What are you leading up to?”

  “Well, it occurred to me,” she said carefully, “that we might find a simpler solution. Tomorrow morning Brother Crown of Thorns will probably be driving the truck to San Felice. Something’s gone wrong with our tractor and Brother Crown has to buy some new parts. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you rode along with him.”

  “You’re very kind.”

  “Nonsense,” she said with a frown, “it’s pure selfishness on my part. I don’t want to lie awake worrying about a tender­foot wandering loose around the mountains. . . . We have a storage shed you can sleep in. There’s a cot in it, and a couple of blankets.”

  “Are you always this hospitable to strangers, Sister?”

  “No, we’re not,” she said sharply. “We get thieves, vandals, drunkards. We handle them as they deserve.”

  “How is it I get the royal treatment?”

  “Oh, it’s not very royal, as you will find out when you try sleeping on that cot. But it’s the best we can offer.”

  From somewhere nearby a gong began to ring.

  “Prayers are over,” Sister Blessing said. For a few seconds she stood absolutely still, her right hand touching her fore­head. “There. Well, we’d better get out of the kitchen now. Sister Contrition will be coming to start the fire for supper and it makes her nervous to have a stranger around.”

  “What about the others?”

  “Each Brother and Sister has a special task until sundown.”

  “What I meant was, how do the others feel about having a stranger around?”

  “You will be treated with courtesy, Mr. Quinn, to the extent that you display it yourself. Poor Sister Contrition has many problems, it might be wise to avoid her. It’s the schools. She has three children and the authorities keep insisting she send them to school. And what would they learn in school, I ask you, that the Master can’t teach them here if it’s fit to learn?”

  “It’s a subject I’m not prepared to take sides on, Sister.”

  “You know, for a minute when I first saw you, I thought you might be one of the school authorities.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “You needn’t be,” Sister Blessing said brusquely. “They’re an officious, thick-headed lot. And the trouble they’ve caused poor Sister Contrition you wouldn’t believe. It’s no wonder she has as much difficulty with spiritual vibrations as I have.”

  Quinn followed her outside. Brother Tongue of Prophets was dozing in his rocking chair under a madrone tree, little patches of sunlight glistening on his shaved head.

  A short broad-shouldered woman came around the side of the building followed by a boy about eight, a girl a year or so older, and a young woman of sixteen or seventeen. They wore identical gray wool robes except that those of the two younger children reached just below the knees.

  They went silently into the communal eating room, with only the young woman giving Quinn a brief questioning glance. Quinn returned the glance. The girl was pretty, with brilliant brown eyes and black wavy hair, but her skin was blotched with pimples.

  “Sister Karma,” Sister Blessing
said. “The poor girl has acne, no amount of prayer seems to help. Come along, and I’ll show you where you’re to sleep. You won’t be comfort­able but then neither are we. Indulge the flesh, weaken the spirit. That’s what you’ve always done, no doubt?”

  “No doubt at all.”

  “Doesn’t it worry you? Aren’t you afraid of what’s com­ing?”

  Quinn was more afraid of what might not be coming, money and a job. But all he said was, “I try not to worry about it.”

  “You must worry, Mr. Quinn.”

  “Very well, Sister, I will begin now.”

  “You’re joking again, aren’t you? You’re a very peculiar young man.” She looked down at her gray robe and at her bare feet, wide and flat and calloused. “I suppose I must seem peculiar to you, too. Be that as it may. I would rather seem peculiar in this world than in the next.” She added, “Amen,” as if to close the subject.

  From the outside the storage room appeared to be a small replica of the other building. But inside, it was divided into compartments, each of them padlocked. One of the compart­ments had a small window and was furnished with a narrow iron cot with a thin gray mattress and a couple of blankets partially eaten by moths. Quinn felt the mattress with both hands. It was soft but without resilience.

  “Hair,” Sister Blessing said. “The Brothers’ hair. It was an experiment on the part of Sister Glory of the Ascension, she’s very thrifty. Unfortunately, it attracts fleas. Are you sus­ceptible to fleas?”

  “I’m susceptible to a lot of things, fleas are probably in­cluded.”

  “Then I’ll have Brother Light of the Infinite dose the mat­tress with sheep dip. First, you’d better test your susceptibility, though.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “Sit down and stay still for a few minutes.”

  Quinn sat down on the cot and waited.

  “Are you being bitten?” Sister Blessing said, after a time.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, do you feel anything?”

  “Not even a vibration.”

  “Perhaps we won’t bother with the sheep dip, then. You might not like the smell, and poor Brother Light of the Infinite has enough to do.”

  “As a matter of curiosity,” Quinn said, “how many people live here at the Tower?”

  “Twenty-seven, right now. At one time there were nearly eighty, but some have strayed, some have died, some have lost faith. Now and then a new convert comes to us, perhaps just casually appears on the doorstep as you did. . . . Has it oc­curred to you that the Lord might have guided your footsteps here?”

  “No.”

  “Think about it.”

  “I don’t have to. I know how I got here. This man, New­houser, picked me up in Reno, said he was going to San Felice. That’s what I understood anyway, but it turned out he meant —oh well, it doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me,” Sister Blessing said.

  “How?”

  “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. Th
at 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?”