The Fortuneteller
The dark-haired, dark-eyed woman, known simply as Esméralda, walked from her trailer to the brightly colored tent that served as her place of business. Like her mother, her grandmother and countless other women in her family tree, she was a fortuneteller. Although her Romanian blood had been diluted through the years by various Italian, Spanish and French ancestors, she still lived the carefree life of a gypsy.
Born into the bizarre, nomadic world of carnival folk, Esméralda had spent her childhood on the road, traveling from one small town to another. She had never attended school and never lived in a house. Her world consisted of tents, trailers and concession stands, and her friends were acrobats, jugglers, clowns, barkers, animal trainers, pitchmen and sideshow "freaks."
The fortuneteller entered her tent and made ready for the customers that would soon be arriving. She opened an old chest given to her by the elephant trainer, took out the crystal ball and placed it in the middle of the velvet-covered table. Next, she removed a flowing, gaudy, multicolored peasant skirt and slipped it on over her jeans. Finally, she donned the black knitted shawl, red kerchief, beaded necklaces and bangle bracelets that completed her traditional gypsy costume.
On the bottom of the old chest were several packs of tarot cards, secured with elastic bands. She took one out and tucked it in the pocket of her voluminous skirt. Once she was properly attired, Esméralda set the stage by lighting candles and burning incense, thus achieving a mysterious occult atmosphere that would make her psychic readings more believable to her superstitious patrons.
Both her mother and her grandmother had taught the young woman at an early age to chart a horoscope, read tea leaves, palms and tarot cards and even communicate with those on the other side. These skills, however, were useless to someone who had not been given the gift of second sight. Although once in a great while the carnival fortuneteller was able to get a brief glimpse into the future, the predictions she made in her brightly colored tent were not a product of clairvoyance. Despite the sign advertising her spiritualistic services, Esméralda was no psychic. In fact, she thought of herself as little more than a performer, reciting lines she had rehearsed over the years.
"Hey, beautiful, are you decent?" a thickly accented male voice called affectionately through the opening in the tent.
"That's a matter of opinion," the fortuneteller laughed.
Lorenzo pulled back the canvas flap and entered the dimly lit tent.
"Is anyone out there yet?" Esméralda asked, hoping for a large crowd.
"No. It's still too early yet. The games and the concession stands are just getting set up. If I were you, I wouldn't expect to see any business for at least another hour or so."
"Where have you been all day?"
"It was my turn to hand out flyers in town."
"Sounds like fun," she said sarcastically. "Sorry I missed it."
"It's not that bad. At least I wasn't sitting around the camp drinking beer and playing poker with the jugglers. Last time they took me for half a week's wages."
"But after a while, all these towns seem the same—nothing but McDonalds, Walmart and strip malls."
Lorenzo chuckled.
"Just think how bored you would be if you actually had to live in one of these places."
"I might surprise you. Perhaps I'll get married someday, buy a house in the suburbs, have a couple of kids and drive a minivan. Instead of pitching my tent and telling romantic lies to starry-eyed virgins, I could stay at home and make cupcakes and cookies for the PTA bake sale."
Lorenzo put his muscular, tattooed arms around the voluptuous fortuneteller's waist and nuzzled her neck.
"What?" he whispered in her ear. "No more dancing in front of the campfire? No skinny-dipping in the moonlight? You're a gypsy, my love, and you've got fire in your veins. You could no more be a suburbanite than a wild panther could be a tame housecat."
Esméralda sensed Lorenzo's passion mounting and gently but firmly pushed him away.
"Not now, my darling one. I have work to do. Later, after the carnival has shut down, come to my trailer. I'll open a bottle of wine and put on some music."
Lorenzo kissed her one last time and opened the ten flap to leave.
"I guess I'll go over to the maintenance truck in case someone needs me, but I'll be back later. That's a promise."
* * *
Esméralda's first customer of the evening was a nervous, overweight, middle-aged businessman who seemed anxious for reassurance from the cards concerning the feasibility of a business deal. As she sat opposite him across a small table, the beautiful gypsy concentrated on reading his eyes and his body language as she deftly dealt the cards with an efficiency that would make even the most experienced Las Vegas croupier seethe with envy. Using her specially marked deck, she could select which cards would appear and in what order they would come up.
"This is the ace of wands. It means that opportunity has knocked at your door," she announced, following her keen instincts.
"Yes," he said eagerly.
She turned over a second card.
"This is the Wheel of Fortune, which indicates risk. You have apparently taken a big chance."
"Yes, I have."
That's why he is so nervous, Esméralda realized. This deal, whatever it is, can apparently make or break him.
"What else do the cards say?" he asked, pressing for more information.
"The seven of pentacles means a return on your investment. The last card is the ace of cups. It tells me money will begin to pour in."
The businessman emitted an audible sigh of relief and then took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow.
"I can't tell you how glad I am to hear that. I'm afraid I 'borrowed' my investment money from several accounts at the bank where I work. If I don't put that money back, I'll be charged with embezzlement."
"Well, now you can sleep at night. The cards promise success."
Whether the man's investment paid off or he was prosecuted for misappropriation of funds mattered little to Esméralda. In a few days, the carnival would be long gone. She would set up her tent in another town, a carbon copy of this one, only with a different name and a different cast of characters. Yet her customers all seemed to have the same concerns, the same human frailties. They didn't really want to know what their futures held in store. What they wanted was reassurance. A young woman with stars in her eyes didn't want to know that the man she loved was a faithless scoundrel, just as the man now sitting at her table certainly didn't want to hear that his business venture would fail and that he would face public scandal and a prison term.
"Thank you so much," the businessman said gratefully.
Then he reached into his pocket for his wallet and took out Esméralda's fee. After a moment of hesitation, he added a handsome tip.
After the banker left, a secretary entered. She looked somewhere in the vicinity of thirty-five. She wore no wedding or engagement ring, and her pinched face and sour expression spoke volumes to the fortuneteller. Here was a woman scorned, one who would not believe the flowery prediction of a tall, dark stranger in her future. This person wanted retribution, not promises of romance.
Esméralda shuffled the cards again and dealt four of them onto the table.
"This is the three of swords," she said confidently. "It tells me you have been wounded, that you suffer from a broken heart. Someone you deeply loved walked out on you. And this card, the five of wands, signifies a rival, another woman, I assume."
As her customer's eyes burned with jealousy and hatred, Esméralda placed another card on the table: the Hermit. The woman let out a groan.
"I've got a lonely life ahead of me, don't I?" the secretary asked pitifully.
Esméralda reached out and patted the back of the woman's hands that were nervously clenching and unclenching her small purse.
"It is not what you think. The Hermit indicates that the long road leads back to the place where it all began. In your case, it more than likely means the man you love will return."
Hope sprang to the woman's eyes.
"Your last card is the Empress. It symbolizes a woman waiting to harvest what she has reaped in a prior season. It signifies a serious relationship that involves marriage."
"What about her?" she asked, loathe to utter her rival's name.
"Now she will taste the heartbreak you have known. She will know rejection, humiliation and loneliness. And in her case, she will have the added weight of guilt on her shoulders."
"So the cards say he'll come back to me?" the woman asked with tears of joy in her eyes.
The fool! Esméralda thought.
The secretary's lover would return to her, and she would take him back; but her happiness would be short-lived, for her lover would yield to the temptation of a pretty face time and time again.
* * *
Four teenagers, the progeny of the wealthiest and most prominent families in the surrounding community, had decided to spend Saturday night at the carnival rather than at the movie theater or roller rink. By ten o'clock they were already bored with the scant selection of rides, the games of skill and the wheels of chance.
"I've got a few six-packs in the trunk of the Mustang," said Kirk Gainsford, the star quarterback and main heartthrob at Clinton Falls High School. "Let's drive up to Gallows Lake and have ourselves a party."
Gallows Lake, a popular spot with young people who wanted to escape the watchful eyes of the adult world, was just off of Danvers Hill Road, a dark, winding street with steep inclines and sharp, hairpin turns.
"Maybe later," replied his girlfriend, Mitzi Slater, the head cheerleader and only child of the current mayor. "It's still early yet."
"But it's getting boring around here. If I ride the Octopus one more time, I think I'll hurl."
"What about the freak show?" Kirk's friend Mickey Tunney asked. "That ought to be worth a few laughs."
"Yeah?" Kirk inquired moodily. "What's so fascinating about a two-headed calf or a bearded woman?"
"Maybe they have a woman with three boobs like in that movie Total Recall."
Mickey's date jabbed him in the ribs.
"Ow, that hurt!" he exclaimed.
"Don't you have any class?" Mitzi asked.
"Of course, he does," Kirk laughed. "Biology class, English class, history class ...."
"Knock it off," Mitzi ordered with annoyance, "or you'll have to go up to Gallows Lake alone!"
That prospect didn't appeal to Kirk Gainsford. It was a warm, clear summer night with a full moon, and his older brother had generously given him a supply of Budweiser, but the evening would all come to naught if Mitzi decided to be difficult.
"Look over there. They have a fortuneteller," Mitzi announced, pulling Kirk's arm. "Let's go get our fortunes told."
"Ah, that's a stupid idea," he declared, but then he thought about being at Gallows Lake with no girl to make out with and reconsidered. "Okay, let's go get our palms read."
"We'll catch up with you guys later," Mickey said, taking his girlfriend by the arm and heading toward the nearest refreshment stand.
"Welcome," Esméralda said when Mitzi and Kirk entered her tent. "Won't you sit down?"
"We'd like to have our fortunes told," Mitzi announced unnecessarily. "Me first."
Yes, Esméralda surmised. That's probably the way it's been all your life.
The gypsy's assumption was correct. As Daddy's little girl, Mitzi had always come first.
"Aren't you going to read my palm?" Mitzi asked when Esméralda took out her cards.
"The lines of a palm only tell me certain things, whereas, with the Tarot, I can see your future laid out before me like a road map."
The fortuneteller dealt the first card.
"This is the Star. It applies to people who live up to their highest potential. This is the seven of wands. It means that suitors will line up at your door, competing for your attention."
A smug, self-satisfied smile made Mitzi look far older than her sixteen years.
"The two of cups tells me that vows will be exchanged, and the ten of cups indicates a happy ending, a storybook romance."
Mitzi squealed with delight, casting adoring glances at Kirk Gainsford.
"I guess I'm next," Kirk said, squeezing Mitzi's hand and looking forward to the trip to Gallows Lake.
Esméralda shuffled the cards and dealt the first one on the table. When she turned it over, she was surprised to see that it was not the card she had intended.
"This is the Sun; it signifies one who has been given free rein, one who is used to running wild," Esméralda said, looking directly at Kirk.
What she saw in his eyes stunned her. A shock ran through her nervous system, and her heart began to race.
"Well?" Mitzi prompted, more than a bit peeved at the attractive fortuneteller's staring deeply into the eyes of her boyfriend. "Are you going to read his fortune or not?"
"Yes. Forgive me. I just had a psychic revelation. When that happens, I am unaware of the world around me," she lied.
"Wow! Was this revelation about me?" Mitzi asked excitedly.
"Perhaps," Esméralda replied.
What the gypsy had seen in Kirk's brown eyes had nothing at all to do with the pampered cheerleader. What she had seen terrified her. With a shaking hand, she turned over the next card. Again, it was one she had not selected. She prayed she was not losing her touch.
"The queen of cups signifies a wise woman who reads the future. And this is the king of swords. It represents a warrior who sits on his steed ready to attack."
Kirk and Mitzi looked perplexed. What did these random images have to do with Kirk's future?
When Esméralda revealed the fourth card, she heard the quick intake of Mitzi's breath. It was the Death card.
"Is Kirk going to die soon?" the cheerleader asked nervously.
"No. The Death card is symbolic only. It merely refers to a great change."
Contrary to her usual routine, Esméralda drew a fifth card.
"The nine of swords indicates mental anguish, great sorrow and a guilty memory."
"I don't get all this occult crap. What does it mean?" Kirk asked impatiently.
"I don't know," Esméralda replied candidly, putting her hand to her forehead.
The array of cards on the table made her ill at ease. A feeling of foreboding weighed heavily on her mind. She couldn't wait to be rid of these two young people. Frankly, she didn't even care whether they paid her or not, just as long as they left her alone. But Kirk, whose father gave him a very generous allowance, reached into his wallet and handed Esméralda a twenty-dollar bill.
"Keep the change," he said, and then he and Mitzi quickly left the small tent.
Although the action of the carnival wouldn't wind down for at least another two hours, Esméralda unplugged her sign, took off her gaudy costume and returned to her trailer.
* * *
"Why did you close up so early?" Lorenzo asked later that night after the crowds had dispersed.
"I had a customer, a young man, who upset me."
"Why didn't you call me? I'd have taken care of him."
"No, Lorenzo. It wasn't like that. He was just a boy, and he was there with his girlfriend. When I looked into his eyes ...."
She shuddered and shook her head, unable to continue.
"What is? We have no secrets between us."
"In his eyes, I saw grave danger. I think he might be evil, that he might harm someone."
"It's possible, but you mustn't concern yourself with that. We carnies live in our own world, by our own rules. Whatever this man may become will not affect you."
"I know. I keep telling myself in a few days we'll leave this place, but I can't shake the feeling of impending doom."
"I'm here with you now. I'll protect you."
* * *
"No!" Mitzi said as she firmly pushed Kirk away.
The popular high school quarterback had succeeded in getting the equally popular cheerleader up Danvers Hill Road to Gallows Lake. Now that they were there, however, Mitzi was not responding as he had hoped she would.
"Come on, Mitzi, we've been going out for three months already. What are you waiting for?" he asked as he grabbed for her again.
"Stop it!" Mitzi cried even more emphatically.
Frustrated, Kirk reached into the back seat of the Mustang and got himself another Budweiser.
"Haven't you had enough to drink already?"
"Shit, Mitzi. Some sideshow fortuneteller says you're going to get married someday, and already you're nagging me like you were my wife."
* * *
After Lorenzo fell asleep, Esméralda lay awake, looking at the summer sky through the window in her trailer. It was not the moon and stars she saw, however. With her mind's eye, she recalled the eyes of young Kirk Gainsford. They haunted her, and she was unable to sleep.
Careful not to wake Lorenzo, she got out of bed and put on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Hoping a long walk might relax her, Esméralda tiptoed out of the trailer and gently closed the door behind her. She looked to the right, at the streetlights along the Old Salem Turnpike, which led into town. To the left was a road that ended in darkness. Like Robert Frost, she chose to take the path less traveled. Ahead of her, there were no sidewalks and no streetlights. The beautiful gypsy hummed an old Romanian love song as she started ascending Danvers Hill Road.
* * *
"Stop it, Kirk," Mitzi urged once again.
By now Kirk had so many cans of Bud that he wasn't putting up much of a fight. Disgusted, he pulled away from Mitzi and reached toward the ignition of the Mustang. He turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life.
"Where are we going?" Mitzi asked.
"I'm going to drop you off at your house, and then I'm going home to bed."
"But it's early yet."
"It's almost 1:00 a.m."
"Yeah, and my parents are at a party in Boston and won't be home for at least another two hours."
"Frankly, Mitzi, I don't give a damn. I'm too tired to try another attack on your virtue."
He shifted the car, put his foot on the gas pedal and released the clutch. Gravel shot up from the spinning tires.
"I don't think you should drive, Kirk," Mitzi said in an unprecedented display of common sense.
"Are you gonna drive?"
"You know I don't know how to drive a stick."
"My point exactly," he said as he gunned the Mustang's engine.
With a squeal of tires and a shower of gravel, Kirk took off speeding down Danvers Hill Road.
* * *
Esméralda continued her leisurely ascent up the dark, winding road. The steep incline left her winded, yet the physical exertion was not calming her nerves. On the contrary, she was becoming more agitated with each step.
Maybe I shouldn't be out here alone on this dark, deserted street. Maybe I should have stayed in my trailer, curled up next to Lorenzo.
She stopped briefly to catch her breath and then turned around, heading back down the hill toward the brightly colored tents of the carnival, toward Lorenzo, toward safety.
* * *
"Slow down," Mitzi cautioned as Kirk slid around first one sharp turn and then another.
"Don't worry; I know how to drive this car."
"But you've had about two dozen beers. You shouldn't be driving at all."
"Nag. Nag. Nag. Is that all you can do?" he punctuated his question by flooring the Mustang's gas pedal.
"Slow down, Kirk. I'm not kidding. I'm afraid."
"Oh, just shut the hell up!"
The Mustang approached yet another sharp bend, yet Kirk never took his foot off the accelerator.
Mitzi saw the fortuneteller first.
"Kirk, look out!"
Before Kirk's Nike-clad foot could travel the short distance from the gas pedal to the brake, the Mustang had closed the distance between itself and the unfortunate pedestrian. In the glow of the headlights, Kirk and Mitzi saw the look of surprise and terror on Esméralda's attractive face.
The impact sent the gypsy's shapely body up over the hood and the roof of the car. She landed with a resounding thud on the road behind them. The Mustang skidded several yards but eventually came to a stop on the side of the road. Kirk ran out to check on Esméralda, while Mitzi stayed in the car, screaming hysterically.
Kirk looked at the blood-covered face of his victim and began to cry. He gingerly picked up her wrist and checked for a pulse. He found one, but it was weak and erratic.
"What have I done?" he cried again and again.
At this point, he was still thinking only of the young woman, worrying if she would live or die. He was still too much in shock to consider the trouble he would be in when the police arrived. He was, after all, only sixteen years old, and he had hit a pedestrian while driving under the influence. He would be lucky if he ever saw his license again.
Esméralda stirred, briefly regaining consciousness. Every inch of her body screamed in pain.
"Lorenzo," she moaned softly.
Her eyes fluttered open. The man in front of her, who looked every bit as frightened and worried as she was herself, was not her Lorenzo. It was the young man with the spoiled girlfriend, the boy with danger in his eyes.
With sudden, painful clarity, Esméralda realized the Death card had not been meant for him. Rather, it had been a harbinger of her own end. With a final shudder, the young fortuneteller took her last breath, and her eyes closed forever. For Esméralda, the future held no more promise.
Salem, who told you there was an ace of cats in a deck of Tarot cards?
