delectation and delight ladies " (bang) "gentlemen" (bang) " boys " (bang) "and girls , a never-before-seen novelty, an Angel from the Realms of Glory! Cap tured from the Heavenly Circus, a real, bona fide, hundred percent cardcarrying gilt-edged angel !" (bang bang) "Yes, roll up, roll up, good citizens, only fifty centavos for five minutes with this wonder of the Age; fifty centavos, good people, can you really afford not to witness this unique phenomenon? " (bang bang) "If you would be so kind as to form an orderly line, thank you ... no pushing please, there's time enough for everyone."
Rajandra Das had come late to the show. He had been comfortably asleep by his fire when the Chautauqua train drew up and as a consequence had to stand in the cold for over an hour before his turn came.
"Just the one?" asked Adam Black.
"Don't see anyone else."
"Fifty centavos then."
"Ain't got fifty centavos. You take two honeycombs?"
"Two honeycombs are fine. Five minutes."
It was warm in the coach. Black drapes covered the windows and whispered as the hot air from the ventilators stirred them. In the centre of the car stood a large and heavy steel cage, most solid, without doors or locks. Sitting on a trapeze suspended from the roof of the cage was a melancholy creature Rajandra Das was meant to believe was an angel, though it was no angel he had ever been taught about as a child on the pious knee of his dear and departed mother.
Its face and torso were those of an extraordinarily beautiful young man. Its arms and legs were made out of riveted metal. At shoulder and hip, flesh blended into metal. There were no distinct boundaries between skin and steel. Rajandra Das could see that this was no mere fusion of human with prosthetic. This was something distinctly other.
A glowing blue aura outlined the angel and provided the only illumination in the black, warm carriage.
Rajandra Das did not know how long he stood and stared before the angel extended its mechanical legs into long stilts and stepped down from its trapeze. It telescoped to human height and pressed its face close to the bars, eye-to-eye with the staring Rajandra Das.
"If you've got only five minutes, I suggest you ask me something." the angel said in a thrilling contralto voice.
The staring spell was broken.
"Hoee!" said Rajandra Das. "Just what sort of thing are you?"
"That's usually the first question," said the tin-pot angel with the weariness of long-established routine. "I'm an angel, a seraph of the Fifth Order of the Heavenly Host, hand-servant of the Blessed Lady of Tharsis. Now, would you like me to petition Our Lady on behalf of yourself or others, or take a message to a departed beloved beyond the veil of death? That's usually the second question."
"Well, it ain't mine," said Rajandra Das. "Any fool can see you're not taking any message anywhere, not while you're in that cage performing for Mr. Adam Black. No, what I want to know is what the hell kind of angel you are, sir, 'cause I was always taught angels were like ladies with long hair and pretty wings and glowing shifts and all that."
The angel pouted in petty offence.
"No damn dignity these days. Anyway, that's the third question most mortals ask. I expected better of you after you missed out question two."
"Well, how's about answering question three, then?"
The angel sighed.
"Behold mortal."
Out of its back unfolded two sets of collapsible helicopter vanes. The cage was too small to permit the rotors to open fully and the drooping blades made the angel seem even more pathetic and futile.
"Wings. And as for the gender question." The angel's halo flickered. Peculiar swellings rose and moved under its fleshly parts. Its features melted and ran like rainwater off a roof. The subcutaneous moundings converged, solidified, and formed a new terrain of features. Rajandra Das let out a low whistle of appreciation.
"Nice teats. So you're either."
"Or neither," said the angel, and repeated
Rajandra Das had come late to the show. He had been comfortably asleep by his fire when the Chautauqua train drew up and as a consequence had to stand in the cold for over an hour before his turn came.
"Just the one?" asked Adam Black.
"Don't see anyone else."
"Fifty centavos then."
"Ain't got fifty centavos. You take two honeycombs?"
"Two honeycombs are fine. Five minutes."
It was warm in the coach. Black drapes covered the windows and whispered as the hot air from the ventilators stirred them. In the centre of the car stood a large and heavy steel cage, most solid, without doors or locks. Sitting on a trapeze suspended from the roof of the cage was a melancholy creature Rajandra Das was meant to believe was an angel, though it was no angel he had ever been taught about as a child on the pious knee of his dear and departed mother.
Its face and torso were those of an extraordinarily beautiful young man. Its arms and legs were made out of riveted metal. At shoulder and hip, flesh blended into metal. There were no distinct boundaries between skin and steel. Rajandra Das could see that this was no mere fusion of human with prosthetic. This was something distinctly other.
A glowing blue aura outlined the angel and provided the only illumination in the black, warm carriage.
Rajandra Das did not know how long he stood and stared before the angel extended its mechanical legs into long stilts and stepped down from its trapeze. It telescoped to human height and pressed its face close to the bars, eye-to-eye with the staring Rajandra Das.
"If you've got only five minutes, I suggest you ask me something." the angel said in a thrilling contralto voice.
The staring spell was broken.
"Hoee!" said Rajandra Das. "Just what sort of thing are you?"
"That's usually the first question," said the tin-pot angel with the weariness of long-established routine. "I'm an angel, a seraph of the Fifth Order of the Heavenly Host, hand-servant of the Blessed Lady of Tharsis. Now, would you like me to petition Our Lady on behalf of yourself or others, or take a message to a departed beloved beyond the veil of death? That's usually the second question."
"Well, it ain't mine," said Rajandra Das. "Any fool can see you're not taking any message anywhere, not while you're in that cage performing for Mr. Adam Black. No, what I want to know is what the hell kind of angel you are, sir, 'cause I was always taught angels were like ladies with long hair and pretty wings and glowing shifts and all that."
The angel pouted in petty offence.
"No damn dignity these days. Anyway, that's the third question most mortals ask. I expected better of you after you missed out question two."
"Well, how's about answering question three, then?"
The angel sighed.
"Behold mortal."
Out of its back unfolded two sets of collapsible helicopter vanes. The cage was too small to permit the rotors to open fully and the drooping blades made the angel seem even more pathetic and futile.
"Wings. And as for the gender question." The angel's halo flickered. Peculiar swellings rose and moved under its fleshly parts. Its features melted and ran like rainwater off a roof. The subcutaneous moundings converged, solidified, and formed a new terrain of features. Rajandra Das let out a low whistle of appreciation.
"Nice teats. So you're either."
"Or neither," said the angel, and repeated
Similar Books
