The Reluctant Fortune-Teller

by Keziah Frost

  Hope gave a laugh that sounded more like a sigh.

  “Loyal! Oh, yes, I’m loyal, all right. My aunt would say I’m a little too loyal. I like being queen of something, though. I’m the Queen of Clubs. Hooray.”

  Hope didn’t seem to notice that he was speaking by rote. She was focused on the reading, and hoping to get something out of it. Norbert relaxed slightly.

  “Okay. What do you see for me? How about my relationship? Do you see it going anywhere?”

  Norbert realized easily, If she has to ask me, then no, obviously not.

  “I’m sorry,” said Norbert. And he really was. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but no. No, it is not going anywhere.”

  It felt audacious to make a definite pronouncement like this on something he knew nothing about. At the same time, the answer to her question really was obvious. She had given it to him herself. Norbert thought of the passage in his cartomancy text that insisted that all querents have the answers to their own questions; they just don’t know how to access that information on their own.

  Hope pressed her lips together and gazed at the cards. Norbert felt his message slam into her heart, and he wished he could say something to comfort her.

  She said in a soft voice, not looking up at him, “He’s going back to his wife, then, isn’t he?”

  And Norbert could see and feel the pain, the mess and the futility of what people do to one another, and of what Hope had accepted and regretted. He wondered how long it had been going on, and the feeling came to him that to have such an impact, it must have been years.

  Hope pulled her chin up to face Norbert. “Well, then, Mr. Zelenka, is there any good news here?”

  Norbert tore his eyes from Hope’s and searched the horseshoe. He would find “good news” for this young woman; he would encourage her. He would make up for the pain he had caused by reflecting back to her the truth she had been avoiding. And there before him, like a gift, was one of the cards that had been in that first reading that Margaret had done for him: the Six of Diamonds.

  “Well, yes, Hope, there is good news.” Norbert, his brows raised and his eyes wide, said, “This Six of Diamonds here tells of financial security. You’re going to see that money now begins to come to you easily.”

  “Really? Well! That would be a first! I’d love to believe that!”

  Norbert noticed how quickly she believed the “bad news,” and how automatically she deflected the “good news.”

  That led him forward in the reading. “You have been pessimistic, I feel, some might even say negative, for a long time. Pessimism blocks blessings, you know.” Norbert was thinking of assertions in the books the Club had assigned him. “Now, you will find that as you become more positive in your thinking, good things begin to happen more often.” Norbert saw the look of entrenched discouragement in Hope’s face. “Of course, positive thinking doesn’t guarantee a carefree life—not at all—but it does remove the blocks that are of your own making, you see.” Norbert found a little Norman Vincent Peale philosophy was returning to him as he spoke. He hadn’t thought of The Power of Positive Thinking in years.

  “There are two things I want you to do,” said Norbert. He did not notice what an assertive statement this was for him. He was only aware of Hope, and what she must do to make her life better.

  “The first thing is, I want you to change the things you say to yourself. Become aware of your automatic thoughts. You have been discouraging yourself without knowing you were doing it. You discourage yourself by saying negative or self-critical things in your mind. Now, write down these statements.” And Norbert dictated: “My life is a gift... I attract loving and sincere people into my life... I enjoy success in my business... I love and honor myself as well as others.”

  Hope, obedient as a schoolchild, wrote the statements in her round, chunky lettering. Why was she writing down the words he dictated? Simply because he had agreed to play the role of fortune-teller? In wonder, he watched her write.

  Norbert’s heart was touched. He had rarely had his advice heard, let alone accepted. It gave him an odd feeling, to see her follow his command and begin writing. He thought, Is this what it’s like, to have one’s advice heard? He felt a heady sense of self-worth.

  At last he had the chance he had always wanted, to be the one with the answer, to be the help that others needed and sought out. This young woman before him might improve her life, and it would be because of him. The thought gave him courage to go on, giving more directions. He tried now to speak with authority.

  “I want you to write these sentences several times a day and also repeat them in your mind, and allow yourself to really feel them, as if they are true—until they become true for you.”

  Hope nodded.

  “What’s the second thing?” she asked.

  Incredible. She was making this so easy for him. He cleared his throat and proceeded.

  “I want you to make an appointment to get a physical. I feel that there may be something in your lung or heart area that needs checking out—nothing for you to worry about, but just to be sure, get it looked at.”

  Hope put a hand on her chest, where her breath was continuing to flow in and out shallowly.

  “Nothing to worry about?” She laughed, “Well, of course I’m worried now. I did say to my aunt Carlotta, I don’t want a psychic working here who is going to tell people they’re dying. That would be bad for business,” she added, arching an ironic eyebrow. “So, Mr. Zelenka, let me think about bringing you on board here. But in the meantime, you can bet I’m making a doctor’s appointment, like you said.”

  Suddenly Norbert had become worth listening to, for the first time in his life.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Four of Spades:

  Begin on the new path that destiny has laid before you. Your calling is to serve others. To trust in your calling is to receive blessings and gifts.

  “You should have stuck to the list, Norbert, and not gone and invented things,” Carlotta scolded.

  Carlotta had dropped by Norbert’s house to give him a piece of her mind about scaring her niece.

  “I didn’t invent things. And I threw out the list without reading it.”

  Carlotta narrowed her eyes and regarded this heretofore quiet man. He was beginning to show a stubborn streak. She didn’t know which assertion to attack first.

  “Why would you dispose of the list? I don’t believe you. You told her to break up with Rudy—you wouldn’t have known to do that unless you’d read the list.”

  “I don’t know who Rudy is. I just answered her questions as I felt the answers come.”

  “BS, Norbert! BS!” Carlotta rarely used this term, but really, the situation called for it. “I’m delighted she broke up with that poor excuse for a boyfriend, finally, and I suppose I have you to thank for that. But you should have left well enough alone! You invented a health problem for the poor girl. She’s only forty-five. There’s nothing wrong with her heart! You’ve scared her to pieces. She’s getting an echocardiogram right now—because of you! For nothing!”

  “I’m sorry, Carlotta, if it’s for nothing. But I just noticed a bluish tinge to her fingernails, and—”

  “Where, Norbert, do you get your authority to diagnose heart problems?” huffed Carlotta.

  “From Reader’s Digest,” answered Norbert.

  Carlotta’s eyes widened in an exaggerated show of disbelief.

  Norbert didn’t know what Carlotta had against Reader’s Digest. It really was the most interesting publication. Norbert had been a loyal subscriber for years. What he loved best were the survival stories. He read with avid attention about how to extricate oneself from all the endless, awful things that could happen to a person, and as he read, he mentally rehearsed so that he would be ready: “How to Save Yourself If You Are Attacked by a Bear,” “How to Survive a Tor
nado,” “How to Save Yourself from Choking If You Are Alone,” “What to Do If You Are Caught in a Fire,” “How to Survive If You Are Buried Alive.” Norbert read with quickening pulse, clammy hands and a thrill of excitement. Of course, none of these awful things had ever happened to Norbert, because he was a careful person. Being careful, he thought, should reduce one’s odds of needing to know such strategies.

  But life is very strange, and one never knows.

  * * *

  A few days after her reading, Hope called Norbert to thank him.

  “Your reading may have saved my life, Mr. Zelenka. It turns out I do have a heart issue. Who knew? So now I’m on meds to improve my heart function and to ‘make oxygen more freely available to my body,’ as the doctor says. I hadn’t realized how low my energy was until I started the medicine.”

  Norbert rejoiced with Hope on the phone.

  Before hanging up, Hope said, “I’m looking forward to featuring you at the café. So, what kind of a schedule do you want, and when would you like to start?”

  * * *

  Norbert and Ivy went straight to the Art League to share the news with Carlotta, Birdie and Margaret that he had “passed the interview” and that he “had the job.” Of course, Carlotta would already know.

  The Club cheered him, feeling that his success was theirs, as well.

  “Norbert,” said Carlotta, “it appears you were right about those bluish-tinged fingernails. I may have been just a little...judgmental, shall we say?...about you and your, ah, medical journal. So...well done! Very well done!”

  “You’ll be telling fortunes for customers now, Norbert. How does that feel?” asked Birdie.

  “Well, uh, let’s see,” said Norbert, actually pausing and trying to discern how he felt. “Well, a little nervous, actually. It feels like a lot of responsibility. When I think about the reading I did for Hope—”

  Carlotta drowned him out. “Nonsense! You’re well prepared. And remember—Ivy’s vet bill.”

  Carlotta leaned toward the little dog in the crook of Norbert’s arm, and gently scratched her tiny chin. Ivy licked the apple blossom lotion on Carlotta’s hands.

  Margaret asked, “What are you nervous about?”

  “Well, it’s all fake, when you come right down to it. I’m about to become a—” as Norbert looked for the word, one of Aunt Pearl’s terms popped into his mind “—a shyster. The readings that I’ve done for you and for Hope, there hasn’t been any psychic ability involved. Not that I expected there to be. It’s just Sherlock Holmes–style deductive reasoning, plus playing on people’s credibility with generalizations.”

  “So what?” asked Margaret, a crease between her eyebrows.

  “Well, I never thought I’d come to the point where I’d lie to people for money. It’s the lowest thing I’ve ever done.”

  Carlotta sighed. “And they accuse women of being dramatic!”

  “Oh, I intend to do it anyway,” said Norbert. He really had no choice.

  “Of course you intend to do it,” said Carlotta. “What would have happened to Hope if you hadn’t told her to get to a doctor?”

  Birdie added, “That is an example of what you will do for people, just by paying close attention to them. Things like that will come up in your readings all the time, Norbert.”

  “Well, that’s my intention. To stay focused on the querents and see how I can help them.”

  Norbert was surprised to hear himself drop the word “querent” into a conversation, as if that were a real word. As if any of this were real.

  “That’s right, Norbert,” picked up Margaret. “And remember why you got into this in the first place. You’ll be able to pay your bills and maybe even put a little money aside in case you or Ivy need it for a rainy day.”

  Norbert stopped smiling.

  Birdie asked, “What is it, Norbert?”

  “Oh, it’s Ivy! Aunt Pearl was always with her, all ten years they were together. Since I’ve had her, I’ve hardly ever had to leave her home alone.”

  Margaret scoffed, “You can’t bring a dog into a café, Norbert. We’re not in Paris, France, you know.”

  Norbert looked out on to Main Street and the decidedly non-Parisian pedestrians. Baseball caps, sloppy T-shirts, athletic shoes in profusion, and bodies the opposite of svelte. No, no one, not even Norbert, who had never left the United States, would ever mistake the charming, but very American Gibbons Corner for Paris.

  “I know that. I just don’t know how I’ll be able to leave her all alone. That’s the only thing that’s bothering me now.” Norbert and Ivy looked at each other with doubt in their eyes.

  Ivy was used to constant companionship; she had had that all her life. Norbert took her peace of mind seriously. And maybe there was another reason he hated to leave Ivy. She had become his little alter ego, everywhere he went. She was a comfort to him. He felt more confident next to her shivering four-pound body. He sighed to think that she and he would both have to deal with being separated, now that he had a job.

  “She’ll just have to manage, that’s all.”

  * * *

  The next day, the Club stopped by Norbert’s house with a congratulatory gift from all of them.

  Norbert hesitated before removing the red bow and masculine plaid wrapping paper and folding the paper in neat squares, “so it can be used again,” he noted in his soft voice.

  Norbert pulled from the box an item that seemed to puzzle him, and held it up, turning it this way and that. He hazarded a guess.

  “Is this a man purse?”

  Carlotta laughed, and the laugh for once sounded not scornful, but merry.

  “That’s what we want them all to think, Norbert!”

  “It’s a pet carrier!” cried Margaret. “Like the celebrities have!”

  Birdie said, “Ivy will be snug as a bug in a rug while you do your readings, and no one needs to know!”

  Carlotta added, “Least of all, Hope. She said, it’s not a problem as long as no one ever knows—and by the way, she never said that.” Carlotta winked.

  Norbert said, “But isn’t that breaking some kind of law?”

  Carlotta, Birdie and Margaret all said at once: “Oh, Norbert!”

  * * *

  Each of his mystic teachers had imparted her own message to Norbert.

  Birdie: “Give people your full attention for the twenty minutes. They’ll give you credit for accuracy just out of gratitude that you focused on them. Above all, trust your intuition, Norbert. You are gifted with a strong, natural psychic ability. Tune in to it.”

  Carlotta: “Just observe people. They’ll tell you all you need to know. Repeat back to people what they tell you—they’ll think you’re a genius. When in doubt, just fall back on the good old standards—‘I see you having some car trouble in the next three months,’ ‘You’re going to hear from someone you’ve been thinking about lately,’ ‘I see you at a social gathering having a wonderful time.’”

  Margaret: “It’s all just for fun. Make people happy. You are kind and encouraging, Norbert. Just be yourself. You will do them good. Let them believe in magic and enjoy themselves.”

  * * *

  On the eve of his fortune-telling debut, Norbert was nervous. It was July first. The Club, in high spirits, had left his house reminding him of the reassurance he could provide people in the role of clairvoyant, and of his need to pay Ivy’s vet bill.

  Norbert, seated alone at his dining room table, with the sun setting orange and red in the beveled glass window before him, cut the deck, drew a single card and turned it over. The Joker. He sat back and contemplated the clownish little man in tights and a silly hat. The words floated up easily, after days of intense memorization and practice: “The Joker predicts personal transformation. A psychic awakening leads to a journey into another world.”

  CHAP
TER THIRTEEN

  Ten of Clubs and Four of Spades:

  How and why are you blocking your own healing? Take care. You are on a path that leads into a dark void.

  Summer Moon was a splintered, refracted ray of light.

  She had the reputation of being a joyful young woman—the happiest person anyone knew. Even though her parents had died when she was a teenager, she was prone to quoting her “aunt” Birdie: “Gratitude is the secret to happiness.” What Gibbons Corner didn’t see was the version of Summer when she was alone.

  The version of herself that she was at work was a role. Getting out of her Chevy Sonic in the teachers’ parking lot and slamming the door, it was as if there were an unseen director seated on the roof of the school, shouting, “And...action!”

  Summer’s life was a stopped clock. While outwardly, she had moved forward since her parents’ deaths, graduating high school and college and embarking on her career, inwardly she was still a frightened, vulnerable teenager. Entering the teachers’ lounge, she always expected some colleague to look up, frown and say, “You can’t come in here without a pass.”

  Her grandmother frequently questioned her about her “beaux,” but Summer had nothing to tell. There was no “relationship” for her, and there never would be. Each first date was followed by her refusal to answer any text or phone call from the confused man. She said to herself, If he knew who I really was, he wouldn’t even look at me. She had no right to any attempt at “happily ever after.”

  To keep up her happy appearance with her grandmother and at work took every bit of energy she had. When she wasn’t working or seeing Carlotta, she was at home, in her bed, trying to sleep. The thought that kept her awake was, “My parents shouldn’t have died that night, and no one knows what I did.”

  In less than six months, it would be December 30: the ten-year anniversary of the worst thing she had ever done in her life. Grief should decrease with time. Time was supposed to heal all wounds. But did she deserve to heal? She decided long ago that she did not.