Robert Sheckley: An Infinity of Angels

The way it all began, Herbie Bloom was taking the short cut home across the overrun little field in the center of the town of Hopesville, Pennsylvania. The field was lumpy and overgrown with weeds and stunty little trees, and there was an irrigation ditch along one side filled with stagnant water.

There was some question as to who owned this field. Old Mrs. Succher had a deed that went back to 1889. It gave her clear title. On the other hand, no property taxes had been paid on this land for almost fifty years. That gave the town council of Hopesville the right to condemn it, appropriate it, and pay Mrs. Succher a fair market price for her property.

But the problem was not just Mrs. Succher's rights. There were several other claimants to the property, old people living in Michigan and California who had papers to prove their claims. These papers looked bogus on the face of it. But they had not yet been proven bogus.

Until the rightful owner of the property had been ascertained, nothing could be done. There wasn't even a fund to provide the town government with money to make the tests that would prove or disprove the various claims. In fact, for the town to disprove the claims might cost more than the worth of the property itself.

And there was also the claim by the Lehigh and Hudson railroad, which had a paper claiming that Mrs. Succher's grandfather Antonio, had granted the railroad a right of way across the property, and had also assigned the mineral rights, if any, along with the easement.

The railroad claim looked even more bogus than the others, but it could not be ignored, since the railroad owners were litigous in t he extreme, and not in the habit of letting go of anything they had any sort of a claim to. That was why the field had not yet been paved over to allow Sycen Builders to put up a shopping mall.

This field had been chosen for the first test case of the current period. Its ambiguous status as to ownership was certainly a factor in the selection. Herbie Bloom might himself have been a factor, though there's no proof as to this.

A simple meeting of man and angel, one on one, no hysterical crowds around. That would come later, when Mrs. Succher put up an unauthorized stand on her field, with a sign proclaiming it the first place of the angel visitation in the current period, with suitable souvenirs of the occasion for sale. These souvenirs were little rag angels, made by Mrs. Succher's three nieces, and sold for a dollar each: Mrs. Succher was no gouger.

(Later, after she died, the field and the stand were sold by her heirs to Angel Enterprises, Inc., who sought to commercialize the holdings. They even went so far as to try to get a signed statement from the original angel that this was the place where he had first appeared. But angels had no sense of commerce and nothing ever came of it.)

So Herbie was walking across the field one fine June morning, on his way from Mrs. Succher's house, where he rented a room, to the Hopesville gymnasium, where he ran the concession that rented out track shoes and other gym equipment, and sold Gatorade and Power Bars. Cutting across the field saved him almost half a mile, and, except for the ragweed, made it a pleasant stroll most days.

Today was not most days, however. As he walked his usual route, Herbie noticed a figure reclining on the little knoll in the middle of the property. The figure was dressed in light-colored clothing and seemed to have something white on its back.

Herbie strolled over, thinking this might be a person in distress. He was a good person, this Herbie. You can be sure the angel study council had ascertained this in advance.

As he approached, Herbie saw that it appeared to be a youngish man. And this youngish man had a pair of large white wings either attached to or growing out of his back.

"Are you all right?" Herbie asked.

"Never better," the man said. He stood up. Herbie saw now that the wings were taller than the man himself, extending up to his ears, and downward to brush the ground.

"How are you?"

"I'm fine," Herbie said. "Are you sure you're not in trouble of any sort?"

"No, no," the man said. "I was just passing through and this looked like a nice place to lie down so I lay down."

"It is a nice place," Herbie said. "I sometimes come here myself on my day off. There's a park in town, also, but it's too--manicured, if you know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," the man said. "This looked like a better place to take a nap and then a sip of nectar." Herbie noticed only then that the man was holding a small golden bottle.

"Yeah, it's a good place for a drink of nectar," Herbie said. "Well, if you're OK, I'll be getting along. Mustn't be late for work, you know."

He started to walk on. He had taken no more than a few steps when the man said, "By the way..."

"Yes?" said Herbie, stopping and turning.

"Did you happen to notice my wings?"

"As a matter of fact, I did," Herbie said. "But I didn't want to mention it. In case--well, in case they were an embarrassment to you."

"Thoughtful of you. But why should they be an embarrassment to me?"

"I saw on a tv show the other night how some people are born or develop extra body parts, like an extra arm or leg, and I thought you might be one of those. I thought you might be sensitive about it."

"No. I'm not. Where I come from, wings are perfectly normal."

"Oh... Where do you come from, if I'm not out of line asking."

"Not at all. I come from heaven."

"Heaven? Is that a city in California?"

"If it is, it's not the one I'm referring to. I'm taking about--" He gestured upward, and his wingtips twitched. "The heaven up there."

"If you're from heaven and drink nectar and have wings, then you must be an angel."

"You've got it," the angel said. "I didn't want to just blurt it out. I thought you'd catch on to it."

"It took me a little while," Herbie admitted. "Angelic appearances are unusual... Would it be prying for me to ask what you're doing here? I mean, why did you come to Hopesville, and why did you appear to me?"

"I had to begin somewhere," the angel said. "Now that you've seen me, you can begin to spread the word."

"Oh, no," Herbie said. "I'm not going to tell anyone."

"Why not?"

"Do you want people to think I'm crazy?"

"There's that," the angel admitted. "But don't you have the courage of your convictions?"

"I don't have any convictions," Herbie said. "Unless... You wouldn't happen to be a Jewish angel, would you?" The angel shook his head. "Non-sectarian."

"This God you represent... I don't suppose he's a Jewish God?"

"God, too, is non-sectarian. But He has His likes and dislikes, like all of us."

"What are you trying to say to me?" Herbie asked.

"I'm just pointing out that God is not likely to like people who won't help his angels."

"Is this a threat?"

"Not at all. Neither God nor one of his representatives, of which I happen to be one, would ever threaten a person. But on the other hand, if you ever need a favor...well, in that case you should ask yourself, what have I ever done for God before asking him to do something for me."

"I see your point," Herbie said.

"And what do you think?"

"I think it's tough being the only Jew in a small American town. Why didn't you pick on somebody else?"

"I'm not picking on you," the angel said. "I'm offering you a rare and wonderful opportunity."

"To be stoned by the goyim?"

"To be our prophet. And also, to be our liason man at the United Nations, once we get our accreditation." Herbie stared at him. "You think they'll let you guys into the United Nations?"