In one of his manlike hands he carried two tools, so familiar and
ordinary that I knew my body by the kitchen table had laughed in
startled recognition. But after all, a garden spade and rake are basic.
Once invented--I expect we did it ourselves in the Neolithic--there is
little reason why they should change much down the millennia.
This farmer halted by the angels, and the three conversed a while.
The big head nodded agreeably. I believe the young angel made a joke;
certainly the convulsions in the huge green face made me think of
laughter. Then this amiable monster turned up the grass in a patch a
few yards square, broke the sod and raked the surface smooth, just as
any competent gardener might do, except that he moved with the relaxed
smoothness of a being whose strength far exceeds the requirements of
his task....
* * * * *
I was back in my kitchen with everyday eyes. My angel was exploring
the table. I had a loaf of bread there, and a dish of strawberries in
cream. She was trying a breadcrumb, seemed to like it fairly well. I
offered the strawberries. She broke off one of the seeds and nibbled
it, but didn't care so much for the pulp. I held up the great spoon
with sugary cream. She steadied it with both hands to try some. I think
she liked it.
It had been stupid of me not to realize that she would be hungry. I
brought wine from the cupboard; she watched inquiringly, so I put a
couple of drops on the handle of a spoon. The taste really pleased her.
She chuckled and patted her tiny stomach, though I'm afraid it wasn't
very good sherry. I brought some crumbs of cake, but she indicated that
she was full, came close to my face and motioned me to lower my head.
She reached up until she could press both hands against my forehead--I
felt it only enough to know her hands were there--and she stood so a
long time, trying to tell me something.
It was difficult. Pictures come through with relative ease, but now
she was transmitting an abstraction of a complex kind. My clumsy brain
suffered in the effort to receive. Something did come across, but I
have only the crudest way of passing it on. Imagine an equilateral
triangle; place the following words one at each corner--"recruiting,"
"collecting," "saving." The meaning she wanted to convey ought to be
near the center of the triangle.
I had also the sense that her message provided a partial explanation
of her errand in this lovable and damnable world.
She looked weary when she stood away from me. I put out my palm and she
climbed into it, to be carried back to the nest.
She did not talk to me tonight, nor eat, but she gave a reason, coming
out from Camilla's feathers long enough to turn her back and show me
the wing-stubs. The protective sheaths have dropped off; the wings are
rapidly growing. They are probably damp and weak. She was quite tired
and went back into the warm darkness almost at once.
Camilla must be exhausted, too. I don't think she has been off the nest
more than twice since I brought them into the house.
* * * * *