Angel Encounters 1: The Tree
Shelley J Alongi

 

The rain slammed the window in large droplets, clattering in sheets pushed against the plate glass by the cold, arctic-driven wind. I sat at the kitchen table facing the curtainless window, watching the rain. Rainy days were my favorite days. This morning the slamming rain drowned out sight and sound, leaving room for only taste and fragrance in the senses, the rhythmic brewing of the coffee in the background taking up what little space was left. I moved as my black and white cat jumped up on the table, rubbing against my hand. She turned away from me, looking at the man who sat on the other side of the table, his gaze focused out the window. A soft friendly meow exited from the cat as she made her way to him. She rubbed against the fingers of his left hand. He looked back inside the kitchen, seeing the cat sniffing his fingers. She seemed to gaze thoughtfully at his hand, seeing work-worn fingers, rough patches of skin. She rubbed against it and sniffed, letting her tongue flick out to rub its sandpapery brushes gently against the skin covering the shapely fingers. He took that hand and laid it on her back, rubbing his fingers across the short fur, and smiled. In the distance a rumble of thunder turned his attention and mine to the window.

"More rain," I said unnecessarily.

"Not yet."

He spoke with authority, as if he knew the rain lay further in the distance than was suggested by the rumble of thunder. We both knew the town's inhabitants prepared for the coming onslaught.

"It's already wet enough," I said. "I hope I can dig out that tree."

"Which tree?"

He turned his gaze back to what lay beyond the window, his eyes scanning the thick branches and leaves that stretched like an awning between the window and the fence that separated me from my neighbor.

The gurgle of the coffee pot kept me from answering his question.

"Hold on," I said and got up from the table. I took two cups down from the top cupboard and filled them placing one in front of me and one in front of the hand the cat seemed to be enthralled with.

"Do you feel brave?" I asked, smiling.

"Because?"

"Well, this might be your first try of coffee."

"It is."

"You've missed the whole Starbucks thing."

"I prefer personal encounters with new things. Starbucks is too impersonal for a first encounter, anyway."

"Lots of philosophical discussion goes on there," I told him. "I bet they'd be shocked at what you had to say."

"Perhaps. That hasn't changed."

He looked sad.
The cat walked around his cup and made its way to the edge of the table where he sat, shifting his gaze between the ominous sky and the coffee cup and the cat. The cat put out a paw and placed it on his shoulder. He reached out and petted her, laying his hand softly on her fur.

"Hello, Pearl," he said easily. She purred in his arms, her affection seemed to lift the sadness.

"Are you going to help me drink this?"

I chuckled at the amused tone of his voice.

"You know, she would help you drink it if you let her."

"She is a friendly kitty."
"I suppose you know that."

"I do know that. But I asked you about the tree."

"Oh, yes."

I sat down and took a sip of the coffee I had carefully made, pouring its granules into the filter, being careful to measure it out perfectly. I didn't want my guest's first taste of coffee to be in the too strong range.

"Look out that window. Do you see the air conditioner unit?"

He nodded.

"Right behind it is a tree. I think a squirrel planted it there in its forgetfulness. I always look behind the air conditioner. The person who owned this place before told me to keep an eye on what grows around it. Well, I discovered this tree growing there so I'm trying to dig it out before it causes problems there. I've been digging around it and so now that it's raining I'm letting the water soak into the dirt and hoping I can reach the root down there. I detached the four feeler roots or whatever they call themselves. I'm hoping this is easier than it looks."

The man smiled.

"You have the right tools."

"I think so."

�You've been thinking about that tree," he said. "I could do it for you, if you like. I am taller than you so I could get more leverage. Besides, with the rain, the dirt is softer now. I can push that spade further down. The job might go faster."

I looked at the man in relief.

"I won't turn your offer down if you'd like to give it a try. I've been meaning to do that for a while and finally started it last week. Then they said it was going to rain and I decided it would probably be better to wait. When the rain started two days ago I decided to do it while the dirt was soft. But I�m having trouble.�"

He sat and thought for a moment, his eyes distant.

"Where is your axe?" he finally asked me.

"In the tool bag in the library."

"Get it. And if you have a hatchet, get that, too. We'll have to detach the root with it. I see your problem here. The tree is growing between the side of the house and the concrete slab the unit is on. That root is pretty strong, you know," he said. It is a tree.," he reminded me.

"Yes, don�t' I know it. It is a tree. Trees are not meant to be weak things, I suppose."

"Definitely not," he said.

While we talked, pearl planted herself on his chest. He reached up and held her. She put her head on his shoulder. I smiled.

"Pearl likes you."

"She likes her master."

"You mean me?"

His eyes danced.

"Yes, of course. She's a friendly cat. She likes coffee?"

"No, I don�t' think she likes coffee." I smiled at my cat. "But she does like her meat." This time we both smiled at the cat. "She's a good girl."

The man took his free hand and laid it on Pearl�s back, his other hand lifted the warm cup to his lips. He sipped the medium roast coffee and looked out the window and then back at me, a thinking expression in his eyes.

"Is it bad?"

"Bad? No, no. I don't know if I can describe it. I don't have anything to compare it to."

"It can be stronger or weaker. This is medium."

"I'll finish it."

"That's a good thing," I said. "I'm happy you like it."

A threatening rumble, ominous and low reminded me of the approaching storm. I went to the window and looked out. The distant cylindrical cloud loomed on the horizon.

"I hope you're staying," I said. "Please stay the night with us. It looks nasty out there."

"You have a guest room?" he asked me.

"I do. You're welcome to it. Pearl might want to stay with you. Or the other one. Brandy hides."

"She's in the guest room under the bed," he told me.

"Yes, I think she is. We'll try that tree in the morning."

"I'll leave you early," he said. "I need to visit some others. I'll take that spade and dig up that tree."

"I'll see you early. The outside cats will require my early rising, also."

"Okay."

The thunder sounded again, a wind began to blow in the distance, weakly at first, and then gradually strengthened. The man finished his coffee and got to his feet. Pearl moved to follow him.

I looked at the clock on the wall.

"8:00, I said. You know, some people don't drink coffee this time of night because it keeps them awake. But I guess I don't fall into that category."

He smiled at me, looking over his shoulder. Pearl stood off in the distance waiting for him to decide where he was going.

"You know. It's been a pleasure serving you. I'll just do these dishes. It's going to be an early night, I think. I will see you in the morning."

I felt this urge to get on my knees. I did. Pearl looked at me as if she approved. He did not move to stop me. He came and took my hands.

"Keep up your work," he told me. "Keep talking to me."

"I will. You will help me, I know."

I got up and took the dishes to the sink. I filled the sink with hot, warm soapy water and looked up to see him holding the towel. He took the cups and the coffee pot and dried them, putting them back in my cupboard. I stood amazed for a moment.

"You know exactly where they go," I said.

"Of course. I'm with you always. I know where things go in your house. And I know you have a guest room."

"I'm so glad you came by to see us," I said. "But mainly I want you to go with me in my heart."

He smiled.

"I'm there. Don't let your heart be troubled. Good night, dear one."
***
I lay in my bed, covered up to my chin, the softness of flannel sheets keeping me cozy. Since it was a rainy night, I knew that the cats might come and curl up with me. But then I remembered that pearl had been attached to our guest in the room. Maybe she knew that he spoke her language? Brandy didn't seem to be affected by the fact that her Creator was here. She was probably hiding. Or she might show up here and want to settle in with me for a few minutes. It was pearl who would stay with Yeshua in the other room, burrowing in deep, if not under the covers, then perhaps mirrored against his side. She had a thing about hips. She would curl against that pierced side. I wondered if she would know? But of course she would know something. They would communicate just like we did. Pearl and I could figure each other out, and so unless there was a serious effort to hide identities going on, Pearl most likely would have figured it out by now. She would be lying against him, purring. I hoped he slept well.

The rain fell in buckets on the roof, pattering happily and then insistently against the wooden shingles. There was no wind, only the insistent dropping of the water. I sat up and looked at the clock that was on the wall opposite my bed. It said 11:30 PM. The weather forecast promised rain for the next day. Was he really going to dig up that tree? The mud would suck against the spade, the hole I had started around it already filling, soaking deep down. I felt warm in the room here, not entirely related to the flannel sheets. How had the man come to see us? And how did I knwo who he was?

The knock had come at my door on a rainy, drizzly day when everything was going well, except for one thing. It wasn't really a problem, just something that needed dealing with. Sitting on my couch with Pearl on my lap I had been trying to piece together a solution. Now, here I stood opening my door to find a tall slightly built traveller with a large bag slung easily over his shoulder. He was walking, he said, between towns.

"In the rain?"

"Well, this is the best time to walk, I think. It's not raining too hard. I'm walking the road here and I saw the light on in your house. My request is simple. I just want a drink. I am on a long journey and I simply want water."

He looked simple and humble in his t-shirt and jeans, his head with the short locks of one who had gotten a hair cut in preparation for the heat. And now it was raining. But the haircut was easy to care for and the hair was not so long that it collected water.

"Of course," I said to him. "Won't you come in and rest. You do look like you've been walking quite a ways."

He wiped his shoes on the door mat I had bought only months earlier. He sat in my kitchen, his hands on the table.

"You know," I said, "there aren't many people who walk between towns here. Where are you from, exactly?"

"I'm passing through here. I've come from a far country. A middle eastern country; a country that your townspeople may not like."

I looked at him.

"Well, I can't tell by looking at you," I said, "which just goes to prove that one's origins can't be told in the face."

His eyes were black, his body lean and strong as if he worked hard for his living.

"But I know what you mean," I told him. "I come from a different part of the country here and I know there are people here who don't want people here from middle eastern countries."

"There are people where you come from who don't want them."

I nodded.

I set one of my best glasses filled with ice and water in front of him. He smiled in grateful acknowledgement.

"Thank you."
I had another glass at the ready.

"What is in your bag?" I asked him. "I'll fill it with supplies for your trip. I don't know where you are going but you might need food. We are supposed to get rain later on."

"The rain will be here in an hour."

I looked out my kitchen window and wondered what he might be talking about.

"The clouds cleared."

"There will be more clouds. We will have a storm, soon."

"Texas weather," I murmured not thinking about how or why he knew this.

"You don't think those words are strange?"

"I live in Texas. I've started to think that nothing here is strange. "It's a normal day in Texas if it's raining so much everything just is soggy or so hot one can't walk in the town."

A deep, easy laugh emanated from him. It was clear he was genuinely amused.

"You sweat either way," he said.

"Yes."

He finished the water and then turned his attention to the trees in the yard. He leaned back in the chair, happy.

"What can I get you to eat? You know I just went grocery shopping and I have a larder full of food. You must be hungry."

"How about," he said, "a ham and cheese sandwich with pickles and mayonnaise."

I blinked.

"That's my favorite sandwich," I told him. "I just went and bought all the supplies."

I put the offering before him. He looked at it and ate ravenously.
"Just like you like it," he said. "I like it, too."

"How do you know so much about me?" I asked him.
"And how do you know so much about the rain? I don�t' see any radar or iPhones or anything that you have that would tell you what the weather is like. I don�t have the TV or the radio on."

He took his hands from the table and turned them to me. He took my hand and put it on his wrist. I hadn't noticed the scars and the prints.

"Those were made by nails," I said. "You are my Messiah. You've come to stay with me?"

"I am on a journey," he said. "I ask for water at houses where I know people believe in me to see what their responses are."

"And have some turned you down?"

"There have been some," he said. "I don't always take the same form."

"Angels unawares," I said.

"Do this to the least of these," he said. "And you do it to me. You offered food. It shows."

"But there are people I don't always want to help," I said, thinking of some of the unwashed I've seen on buses who needed a place to shower and wondered if I would offer my place."
"Of course," he said. "But you do offer help many times. You love your God. You love me."

"I do love you," I said. "I do."

I looked up from the table to see that the sandwich was gone and he still sat there.

"Did you like that?"

"It was good. You have good taste, my dear."

***
The clock in the kitchen above the sink said 5:00 AM. I went to the window and looked out. My guest was concentrating on the tree behind the air conditioner. He stood over the unit the spade pushed down in the hole I knew was full of water. I could almost hear the sucking of the mud. He pushed on it, laying work-worn hands on the top of the spade and pushed it down again. He knelt down and held that position for a few minutes, then stood up and stretched the kinks out of muscles that had been cramped too long. He pulled the spade out of the hole. He set it beside the unit against the side of the house. He looked at the top of the unit, saw the axe and the hatchet he had brought out with him. He chose the hatchet and went back to his knees, stretching at a painful angle to reach the cramped space where the tree stubbornly stood. in a moment with a few strong pushes he stood up again. He took the spade and smoothed the dirt in the hole.

He looked toward the window. Catching his eye, I waved. He gave me a thumbs-up and showed me the four-inch thick beginning of the tree, its root dangling anemically from his hand. I smiled.
I met him at the back door. He shifted the hatchet to his left hand and reached out with his right to take a towel I held out to him. Sweat dripped from his face. I looked at him, remembering the last time he had sweated. My heart clenched. He wiped his right hand on the t-shirt and on the towel I handed him. Then he put his hand on my shoulder as if in memory.

"You always remember that, don't you," he told me.

"You know I do," I said. "And you know my other picture."

"Which one? The one you imagined as a child on your school swing set? The hammer and the nails."

"There's that one. And the early morning one."

"Oh, the grave. You beat Mary there."

"In my head, at least."

He smiled. The cool breeze that swept into the house reminded me that we stood in the doorway, his hands muddy and full of tools, his eyes full of love.

"This," he said, "is why I wanted to come to your house. You think of me. If you seek me I will come near you."

I looked at him standing there and suddenly remembered myself. I nodded and looked fully into his eyes for the first time since he had arrived yesterday morning.

"I would hug you" he said, "but you're clean and I'm a mess."

The fragrance of the coffee finished the job of bringing me back to my senses.

"Goodness. I'm sorry. You look like a drowned rat. Go hop in that shower," I invited. "That was some job you did out there. That place is a child's dream for making mud pies."

"You aren't kidding! That was a nice job. You gave me a good start. I enjoy doing that."

"how many times have you been an angel?" I wanted to know.

"Many many," he said.
"You probably don't know how many times I've been your angel."

He went into the house.

"Bring me those clothes. We'll get that laundry done. When you get out of the shower come back. I'll make breakfast. Pearl will want to join you."

"Okay," he said lightly. "Thank you."

We sat at the breakfast table, the fragrance of fried potatoes and sausage and eggs mingled with freshly brewed coffee. He had eaten the plate full I gave him with relish, enjoying the home-cooked meal.

�The cats?� he said. �The outside cats. I saw them.�

�Did they try to help you dig out the tree?�

�The gray one did. The tabby one, he just kind of looked at me.�

�Were they afraid of you?�

�No. I don�t think so. They wanted to know where you were.�

�I went in early. I wanted to start breakfast before you set to work.�

�I appreciate the meal.�

He sat straight, his manner easy, as if he had been energized by the work.

�You like getting your hands dirty,� I commented. �Do you connect with the earth? Gardeners say that, sometimes.�

�I always did.�

�It makes sense,� I said.

He looked at his coffee cup. His eyes lighted there. I got up and brought the pot back and refilled the cup.

�You like this.�

�It�s different.�

�Breakfast blend,� I told him. �Mild. I guess we can thank the Turks for that.�

�For coffee? Bringing it to Vienna,� he said.
�Yes. Way after my day.�

�How did you sleep?� I asked him, naturally. Somehow I didn�t feel awkward about asking him such things.

�Very well. You have peace here. I am welcome in your house.�

�You are always welcome in my house. I know you said you change form. I hope I would always welcome you here.�

�Just remember who I am.�

�I hope I�ve never forgotten,� I said.

�Pearl spent the night with me.�

�I figured she did that. She likes you. What about brandy? I didn�t see her last night. Or at least she wasn�t with me when I woke up. Sometimes she sneaks in and then disappears.�

�She was with us. She didn�t always sleep with us. She slept at my feet for a while. Then she went and slept on the chair under the window. That�s a nice little room. She looked cozy. She was happy.�

We finished breakfast and he helped me with the dishes.

�You wanted to leave early,� I told him.

�Yes. But there was a change in plans. The family had an emergency and they had to take the mother to the hospital. I sent my peace to them. And I will go later on this afternoon. They will be home though they won�t know it yet.�

�Is everything okay?�

�It will be okay. They will be sad. But I will be there to comfort them.�

�I�ll pray for them.�

He smiled.

�Of course you will. And I�ll go there because you and many of their friends will pray for them. We�ve worked it out already. I will go as the mail carrier and bring them a letter. I won�t go as a man seeking water. I will just go and bring comfort.�

�You always know just how to visit people,� I said. �You�re someone�s angel.�

�God�s angel?�

�Are you? I never could reconcile those images.�

"What images?"

"The man sleeping in the boat or the angel holding up the donkey in the path to reprimand the prophet. The man walking on the water. That is more like the angel."

�You will. Just know I am the light.�

�I walk in the light,� I said. �You are my light.�

The dishes were done. He looked at me for a minute. I came to him and was warm. He put his arms about me. I saw the hands and I fitted myself to him.�

�I said I wanted to hug you. But that was after the tree,� he told me. �Now I can hug you. I will go, soon. But know I will never leave you. I�ve never left you.�

I hugged him and put my head on his shoulder.

�Thanks for everything,� I said, tears in my eyes. �I mean everything.�

He held me close and I was flooded with gratitude. We stepped away from each other and he turned back to the room.

�Your laundry,� I said, shaking myself. �Goodness.�

�Keep it,� he said. �Donate it to a shelter. You can tell them you got it from someone you love. Or you could just give it to them. There is someone who will need it.�

�Just like they need you.�

�You are right,� he said. �You are right.�

He appeared from the guest room and instead of a deep sense of loss I felt secure and confident and happy. Peace flooded me, sweet, filling peace. I walked with him to the door.

�Tell Pearl I said goodbye. She was asleep. Brandy was hiding, as usual.�

I smiled and watched him walk into the distance knowing that he was still with me. He had promised he would never leave me. Someone else was about to benefit from his peace. And I smiled.
I no longer had to worry about the tree.

 

 

Copyright © 2017 Shelley J Alongi
Published on the World Wide Web by "www.storymania.com"