May

Issue 32

   The ad appeared in the classified section of a magazine for stay-at-home moms:
    "Rent an angel. Ten minutes, variable fee. No job too small."
    Two angels had set up a small office with a computer, a wireless prayer-to-fax router, and a filing cabinet. Zadkiel was installing a coffee maker for décor when the first order came.
    "We've got a mom who wants us to watch her baby for five minutes." Zadkiel scanned the message with her crystalline blue eyes. "She wants to run to the ATM, but he's sleeping in his car seat."
    In an instant, Tanniel appeared in the passenger seat of the woman's car, green wings crammed in all around him.
    "That was quick." The woman scooted sideways to make room for his wings. "I'm sorry about this, but he's so comfortable—"
    "It's no problem at all." Tanniel shifted to get one wing untrapped from alongside the seat. "For payment, I'd like you to write your grandmother and send photos of the baby."
    The woman agreed, and off she went to the ATM.
    Good job, Zadkiel sent. By the way, there's a woman who can't loosen her gas cap at Ronnie's Shell station.
    Her fee was a donation of canned goods to the soup kitchen. Someone else needed help finding her library books. Monday was a slow day.
    On Tuesday, someone couldn't turn off the water valve and had a kitchen flood. A woman needed help getting her groceries to the car, and an onlooker needed help getting a can off the high shelf. The fees added up: extra trips to church, visits to homebound neighbors, meals for a new mom, and a call to apologize to one's mother-in-law. Three women had locked their keys into various places (one into her car, two in their houses.) A little boy who had wandered away from his apartment was found three blocks away.
    On Wednesday, one woman wanted them to make sure she'd turned off the oven (an injunction to always tip at least fifteen percent) and another wanted to tape a specific song from the radio (sure, but delete three illegal mp3s from the hard drive. After all, Tanniel said, the worker is worth his hire.) Soon the kids were getting in on it too: "Can you find my special rock that Mommy threw away?" (Yes, but clean your room.) "What's seven times five?" (Thirty-five. Of course I'm sure!)
    The service grew by word of mouth. Zadkiel delighted at all the good they could bring to the world.
    
    "This is no good," said the Archangel Gabriel, grey eyes steely.
    Zadkiel bit her lip. "Is God mad at us?"
    "Absolutely not." Gabriel crossed his arms and pulled his grey wings closer to his body. "You just forgot you were dealing with human beings."
    "But the good we've done—"
    "Let's audit." The archangel took a seat on Zadkiel's desk, turned the monitor to face him, and typed with the keyboard on his lap. "You found this lost boy for the second time. Sounds terrific."
    "He'd learned to unlock the front door. We found the child, and we got a really good donation because it was a repeat."
    Gabriel took a deep breath. "Why wasn't the mom watching her son the second time? Why did it take her an hour to realize he was missing?"
    Zadkiel and Tanniel both looked startled.
    Gabriel said, "How long did it take to find the kid?"
    "Seven minutes."
    Gabriel snapped, producing a sheet of paper covered with type. "This is called an anonymous tip, and it can be faxed to Social Services in under three minutes." He handed the letter to Tanniel. "By the way, before you tell me the mom is just overwhelmed, she's had time to file seven complaints with the Most High, the Better Business Bureau and the Pope over you two jacking up the prices. Calls it extortion."
    Zadkiel's eyes sparked.
    "What do you do for non-payment, by the way?" A grin played over Gabriel's lips. "Turn their ovens back on?"
    Zadkiel drew a deep breath. "I was hoping their consciences would prevail."
     "This one stiffed you three times," Gabriel said, paging through the database. "Oh look, a fake coupon. Free large soda with miracle. You honored it?"
    "Isn't the customer always right?"
    "Nine times out of ten, no. Next thing, they'll want you to price-match."
    Zadkiel and Tanniel exchanged an uncomfortable look which Gabriel ignored.
    Gabriel extended his hand toward the fax machine, calling the requests over. "Here's a good one: Please return this to Blockbuster and make their computers think I did it last Thursday. Even better: Is that my brother-in-law on the phone? Because I don't want to talk to him. We're angels, not caller ID." Gabriel glanced back at the computer screen. "And this--someone asked you for two dollars?"
    "She'd made a special trip to the post office and was short."
    He looked pained. "Where did you get two dollars?"
    Zadkiel and Tanniel stayed silent.
    "Counterfeiting is bad. Watering down the currency is bad. Theft is also bad. What were you two thinking?"
    "We saved her a trip to the bank and back to the post office, which saved gasoline and pollution."
    Gabriel looked at the next entry, then muttered, "I don't believe this one. I want this man's guardian angel here. Now."
    The angel appeared before Gabriel had finished speaking. Gabriel looked right at Tanniel. "Your client got cut off in traffic, and she asked you to give the other driver--"and he pointed to the other angel, "--who is his charge, a dope-slap?"
    The angels all avoided his gaze.
    Looking right at Tanniel, Gabriel said, "And you did it?"
    "Technically speaking," the driver's guardian angel said, "I did it."
    When Gabriel stared in disbelief, the guardian added, "I've wanted to do that for years."
    Tanniel added, "And my client was ordered not to fudge the speed limit for the rest of the week."
    Gabriel dismissed the guardian angel, then looked at the office, the computer, and finally the two entrepreneurs. He folded his arms. "I understand you two want to help, but remember: God sends us to do things for them that they can't do for themselves, or to reveal things so incredible they couldn't figure them out alone."
    Zadkiel folded her arms. "Everyday annoyances separate them from God."
    "And solving them separates them from each other." Gabriel's eyes glinted. "Giving them carte blanche like this, it's like having a preschooler set the menu. You're going to get a lot of Twinkies, and maybe it looks good because the child is eating, but is the resulting malnutrition really the child's fault?"
    Zadkiel bit her lip.
    "If you bail them out of so many things that they never reach for God's grace," Gabriel added, "will they die of spiritual malnutrition? So I'm sorry," and here he stepped away from the desk, "but no more Twinkies."
    Behind him, the fax machine beeped. Zadkiel looked at the paper before handing it to Gabriel. He glanced over it, and after a moment he quirked a smile. "Well, I guess the occasional Twinkie has its place."
    
    "Rent-an-angel is no longer taking customers. We apologize for the inconvenience. God bless."
    
    Late that night, a guardian angel appeared in a cramped yellow kitchen to stand before a woman drinking tea from a mug with a chipped handle. She looked up, resigned. He approached as she stood, and then he gave her a hug. "Don't worry. God loves you," he said, pulling out a chair to join her at the table. "And so do I."