“I don’t know. Please stop it. Please be quiet and go to your room.”
“You never help me think any more,” she said, moving her head back and forth. “You used to help me think, you used to explain everything to me. Now you tell me to be quiet, to go to my room, to watch the sky and wait. Why did we come here, Harry? I know there was a reason.”
“For eternal salvation.”
“Is that all?... Oh, oh, oh, there’s a strange young man standing over there, Harry. Tell Capirote to show him out, and in the future not to admit anyone without a proper calling card. And hurry up about it. My orders are to be obeyed immediately, I am Dona Isabella Consrancia Querida Felicia de la Guerra.”
“No, no, you are Mother Pureza,” the Master said softly. “And you are going to your room to take a rest.”
“But why?”
“Because you are tired.”
“I am not tired. I am lonely. You’re the one who’s tired, aren’t you, Harry?”
“Perhaps.”
“So tired. Poor Harry, muy amado mio,”
“I’ll help you, Pureza. Hang onto my arm.”
Over the old woman’s head he beckoned to Quinn to follow, and the three of them started off down the stairs. At the fourth level the Master opened the door and Mother Pureza went inside with just one small moan of protest. The Master leaned against the door and closed his eyes. A minute went by, two minutes. Quinn was beginning to think the man was in a trance or had gone to sleep standing up.
Suddenly his eyes opened. He touched his forehead. “I feel your pity, Mr. Quinn. I do not accept it, you are wasting your time and energy on pity as I wasted mine on anger. You observe I am no longer angry? Kicking a loom, how trivial it was, how small it will look in eternity. I am purified, I am cleansed.”
“Good for you,” Quinn said. “Now I’d like to see Sister Blessing.”
“Very well, you’ll see her. You’ll regret your evil thoughts and dark suspicions. She is in spiritual isolation. Did I put her there? No, she went of her own accord. She is renewing her vows of renunciation. At my insistence? No, no, Mr. Quinn. At her own. Your simple mind cannot grasp the situation.”
“It can try.”
“In spiritual isolation, the senses do not exist. The eyes do not see, the ears do not hear, the flesh cannot feel. Perhaps, if the isolation is complete, she will not even know you are there.”
“Then again perhaps she will. Especially if I can see her alone.”
“Of course. I have total faith in the Sister’s devotion to the spirit.”
She was in a small square room on the ground floor. It contained no furniture but the wooden bench she sat on, facing the window, in a shaft of sunlight. Sweat, or tears, had streaked her forehead and cheeks, and there were moist patches on her robe. When Quinn spoke her name she didn’t answer but her hunched shoulders twitched and her eyelids blinked.
“Sister Blessing, you asked me to come back and I did.”
She turned and looked at him, mute and suffering. The fright in her eyes was so intense that Quinn felt like shouting at her: Snap out of it, get away from this bughouse before you’re as nutty as the old woman, recognize the Master for what he is, a schizo and a fear peddler. His racket’s as old as the hills. It doesn’t take the curse off it because he believes in it himself, it only makes it doubly dangerous.
He said, in a conversational tone, “Remember those pink fuzzy slippers you told me you saw in a Sears catalogue? There was a pair just like that in a store window in Chicote.”
For a moment something besides fear showed in her eyes, interest, curiosity. Then it was gone, and she was speaking in a listless monotone: “I have renounced the world and its evils. I have renounced the flesh and its weakness. I seek the solace of the spirit, the salvation of the soul.”
“It’s lucky you don’t lisp,” Quinn said, trying to coax a smile out of her. “I didn’t find O’Gorman, by the way. He disappeared five and a half years ago. His wife thinks she’s a widow, so do a lot of other people. What do you think?”
“Having done without comfort, I will be comforted by the Lord. Having hungered, I will feast.”
“Did you know O’Gorman? Was he a friend of yours?”
“Having trod the rough earth, my feet uncovered, I will walk the smooth and golden streets of heaven.”
“Maybe you’ll meet O’Gorman,” Quinn said. “He seems to have been a good man, no enemies, nice wife and kids. In fact, a very nice wife, it’s too bad she’s wasting her life in uncertainty. I think if she knew definitely that O’Gorman wasn’t coming back, she could start living again. You’re listening, Sister. You’re hearing me. Answer just one question, will O’Gorman be coming back?”
“Having here forsaken the pride of ornament, I will be of infinite beauty. Having humbled myself in the fields, I will walk tall and straight in the hereafter, which does belong to the True Believers. Amen.”
“I’m going back to Chicote, Sister. Have you any message for Martha O’Gorman? She deserves a break. Give it to her if you can, Sister. You’re a generous woman.”
“I have renounced the world and its evils. I have renounced the flesh and its weakness. Having done without comfort—”
“Sister, listen to me.”
“—I will be comforted by the Lord. Having hungered, I will feast. Having trod the rough earth, my feet uncovered, I will walk the smooth and golden streets of heaven. Having here forsaken the pride of ornament, I will be of infinite beauty.”
Quinn went out and closed the door quietly. Sister Blessing was as far beyond reach as O’Gorman.
Nine
The inner court contained rows of crude wooden benches placed around a stone shrine that reminded Quinn of a barbecue pit. The Master was standing in front of the shrine, head bowed, arms folded across his chest.
He said, without turning, “Well, Mr. Quinn? You found Sister Blessing alive and in good health?”
“I found her alive.”
“And you are still not satisfied?”
“No,” Quinn said. “I’d like to know a lot more about this place and the people in it, their names, occupations, where they came from.”
“And what, pray, would you do with such information?”
“Try to solve the O’Gorman case.”
“You’re a stranger to me, Mr. Quinn. I have no obligations to you, but purely out of generosity I’ll tell you one thing. The name O’Gorman is unknown here.”
“Sister Blessing just picked it out of a hat?”
“Out of a dream,” the Master said quietly. “Or you would call it a dream. I do not. I think the spirit of Patrick O’Gorman is wandering in hell, seeking salvation. He spoke to Sister, he asked her help because that is her name, Sister Blessing of the Salvation. Otherwise he would have chosen me to help him since I am the Master.”
Quinn stared at him. The man obviously believed what he was saying. It would be useless to argue with him, possibly dangerous. “Why is O’Gorman in hell, Master? All indications are that he led an exemplary life, according to his lights.”
“He was not a True Believer. Now, of course, he repents, he pleads for a second chance. He calls out to the Sister while she is asleep and her mind is receptive to his vibrations. The good Sister was both curious and afraid. The combination dulled her wits and made her do a very foolish thing.”
“Hiring me.”
“Yes.” There was a trace of pity in the Master’s faint smile. “You see, Mr. Quinn, you were asked to find someone who is wandering through the eternal abysses of hell. A formidable task, even for a brash young man like you, don’t you agree?”