“You should have told me.”
Helen wiped her cheeks. “We were planning to. You know your father. He thought he had all the time in the world.”
Semele could feel tears slipping down her face. “I don’t want to be mad at him anymore.” She broke down and her mother gathered her in her arms. “I’ve been so mad at him. At both of you.”
“I know, baby, I know.” Helen cried with her. “I’m so sorry. But you’re my daughter. You’ve always been my daughter.”
Semele pulled back to look at her. “But who are my real parents?” She saw the pain the question inflicted, but she had to ask. “What happened to them? I feel like there’s this big hole inside me.”
Helen didn’t say anything. She only nodded and reached for the box of Kleenex. “We can try to find the answers.”
“And the package?”
“Tomorrow, we’ll look. I promise.”
Semele nodded, though her heart didn’t feel any lighter. Her mother kissed her forehead as if she were five again and left the room. Semele waited until she heard her mother’s bedroom door shut. Then she turned on the light and opened her computer to read the last of the manuscript.
Fortune telling had become the rage all over Europe, and Russia followed suit. At Sytny Market in St. Petersburg, a fortune teller had a stall. Kezia would always beg her parents to go, but they would only laugh. Then Kezia would look over and catch her grandmother’s smile as she sat knitting in her rocking chair.
Kezia remembered all the lessons her grandmother Marina had shared with her, how symbols and patterns existed everywhere in nature—in rocks, leaves, and crystals—waiting to be seen. These mystical ideas had always fascinated her.
Her grandmother would tease that this was her gypsy blood shining through.
Kezia’s great-grandmother Aishe had been a Rom. She had run away from her band to Paris with nothing but her musical skills, which led her to a grand salon where she played the harp, and met her future husband, Andrej Cernik.
Andrej came from one of Russia’s wealthiest families and had been sent to Paris as a diplomat. When his post ended, the couple left for Russia, relieved to escape the growing dangers in Paris. France’s great revolution, the one so hotly debated in Mme Helvétius’ salon, had finally erupted.
In St. Petersburg Andrej hired the best tutor to help Aishe learn Russian and fitted her in gowns suitable for Catherine’s court. The Cernik family was a favorite of the empress and often dined at the Winter Palace, where the elaborate banquets exceeded even those of Versailles. The people saw Aishe as exotic at a time when Russia could not get enough of the West.
Kezia loved to hear stories about her great-grandmother’s arrival in St. Petersburg. Marina described the beautiful harp Andrej bought her as a wedding gift, and recounted the time Aishe played for Catherine the Great.
Marina was Aishe and Andrej’s only child. As an adult, she became fascinated with genealogy and preserving the family’s history. She went to great lengths to chart both sides of her parents’ lineage. She loved the stories about Aishe’s childhood as a wandering gypsy, and how her grandmother, Simza, had helped her escape. Marina wrote down the stories behind every object in Aishe’s keepsake chest—Dinka’s chest—in a diary. She became the memory keeper.
Once Kezia learned to read, Marina’s diary was her favorite book. She would steal away under her favorite tree for hours and read the incredible tales about Simza finding missing children and foretelling the future with seashells. Kezia yearned to do the same. She often tried to read her palm or stare into the bottom of a teacup. She was like a student without a teacher. The urge ran deep inside her to grasp the future’s unknown.
So one day, without permission, she snuck off to see the fortune teller at Sytny Market. She had saved all her kopeks to pay for the adventure, but it became one of the major disappointments of her young life.
“Madame Zazouska” was a charlatan, a pretender who spouted vague musings, fortunes that could apply to anyone. The woman took Kezia’s money and lavished her with praise and promises of prosperity.
“You will find love, a husband, and have three children.”
Kezia had heard her give the same fortune to another girl while she was standing outside the stall.
Although Kezia was disappointed by Madame Zazouska, she was entranced by the woman’s mysterious cards. The madame had used tarot cards, and Kezia had felt a rush of excitement as she watched her study them. But too quickly the Madame’s hands swished the deck back into a neat pile and the reading was over.
When Kezia returned home, her grandmother called her over to her rocking chair.
“You do not need anyone else to tell you what you already know,” Marina said. Then she opened up the family’s keepsake chest and took out an intricately carved Italian box. “I always wondered why we kept these. Now I know they were meant for you.”
Kezia opened the box and found the most exquisite tarot deck she had ever seen. She moved her fingertips over the cards in awe. With each stroke she could feel the spirit of her ancestor like a living force. Kezia met her grandmother’s eyes, and understanding passed between them.
“She must have been a great seer,” Kezia whispered.
“Yes, she must have,” Marina said and returned to knitting.
* * *
From that day on, Kezia was never without her cards. She even slept with them, wrapping them in silk and tucking them under her pillow. She would often study the cards one by one, writing down what she thought each image meant. Her notebook filled with ideas. She may not have had a teacher, but she had powerful intuition. For Kezia, the two became one and the same.
Every morning she picked a card and used it to interpret how the day would go. Sometimes when she asked a question she had to lay out several cards until she saw her answer. She had no idea if what she was doing was right. She had no books to learn from, but it didn’t matter. Soon she was performing readings for her grandmother and parents, and then her friends. By the time she was a young woman, her intuition had flowered into powerful foresight.
When Madame Zazouska died, Kezia lit a candle for the old woman. The Madame may not have been a seer, but she had never physically harmed a soul. And she had been right about one aspect of Kezia’s future. Kezia did marry—a young writer named Sergei Leykin.
Sergei came from a merchant family and over time became an accomplished playwright. He had productions mounted at the Alexandrinsky Theatre and was a part of a ring of artists with voracious intellects. Sergei found Kezia’s card reading fascinating, and he loved her all the more for her gift. For several years they lived a happy life together.
Kezia had always known she would have a daughter one day. So when she lost a child midway through her first pregnancy, she was devastated. Again, she got pregnant, and again, the pregnancy failed. For the first time, Kezia’s faith in her sight was shaken. The doctors told her she wasn’t able to become a mother, but Kezia had seen her daughter’s spirit. She had seen her live.
* * *
For years Kezia waited. Sergei had long given up hope of having a child. Then, in the year of Kezia’s thirty-fourth birthday, she conceived. As the child grew in her womb, Kezia’s powers amplified, and she began to see future events with certainty.
Russia was in a state of violent upheaval. A revolution had occurred in the past year, triggered by the war with Japan. The entire country went on strike, grinding everything to a halt. When it ended, daily life barely returned to normal. But Kezia knew the worst was yet to come. In a little more than ten years, there would be a revolution that would change the face of the country forever.
Two months into her pregnancy, she attended a tea hosted by one of St. Petersburg’s most prominent families. She rarely went to such functions but she had heard the infamous mystic Rasputin would be there. He had arrived in the city the month before, and everyone wanted to meet the renowned prophet and healer. Kezia had come to judge the man’s abilities for he
rself.
She sat quietly in a corner sipping tea and watched the ladies flock around him. Rasputin was the only man in the room. He cut a dramatic figure with his long black hair and beard, but his body emitted the odor of one who never bathed. This “holy man,” a peasant from Siberia, had somehow gained entry to the highest levels of St. Petersburg society by preaching that people should sin as much as possible to find their path to God. He fully embodied his mantra by drinking to excess and hosting orgies at his home.
Squeals of laughter erupted from the women in the parlor as Rasputin squeezed their breasts. “I can measure your spirit this way,” he explained.
When he started unbuttoning the blouse of a grand duchess, Kezia burst into laughter before she could stop herself and caught his attention. With a sinking heart, she watched him excuse himself from the red-faced ladies and approach her.
“Grigori Rasputin at your service,” he said in a rich voice.
Kezia acknowledged him with a polite nod, but did not offer him her hand.
His gaze swept her body with open lust. “Would you like me to measure your spirit also?” He cocked an eyebrow.
“I’m afraid it is heavier than you think,” Kezia said with a confidence she didn’t feel.
He laughed and took two glasses of vodka off the tray of a nearby servant. He sat down and handed her one. “Then we must drink together.” He raised his glass.
“Only tea for me,” she said, wishing he would shower his attentions elsewhere.
“Because of the child in your belly?” Kezia looked at him in surprise and he shrugged. “Haven’t you heard I can read minds?”
“And see the future,” she added, wanting to see his reaction.
He smiled without humor. “Yes, I’m a very lucky man.”
As he downed his drink, she continued her appraisal. Was he truly a seer or just a drunk, sex-crazed farmer? She wasn’t sure what to make of him. He seemed quite mad.
When his hand moved to her leg and slid up her skirt, Kezia was too shocked to react at first.
“I think we have many things to talk about, you and I,” he whispered.
She grabbed his hand to stop him and their fingers locked. A shudder passed through her before she could wrench her hand from his, and she stood up, almost overturning the chair.
He chuckled. “Most women do not run away from me,” he said, touching her arm.
Kezia pulled away, about to be sick. “Excuse me, I must go.”
All eyes were on them, with a dozen women ready to take her place. As Kezia rushed toward the door, Rasputin called after her, “Many good blessings on the health of your daughter!”
He raised the vodka glass.
Kezia did not question how he knew the baby was a girl. She turned and nodded to him in acknowledgment, but she could not offer him a similar blessing. For when their hands had touched, she caught a glimpse of Rasputin’s future. He would be murdered in ten years’ time, his body brutally defiled by the family he was drinking with today.
Kezia could tell by the way his eyes surveyed the room that Rasputin knew it too.
* * *
When Kezia’s daughter, Galina, came into the world, the years of her life were measured not by the inches her body grew but by the violent changes happening around her.
When Galina was eight, Russia possessed the largest army in the world and went to war with Germany. When she was ten, Rasputin—who had made his way into the private circle of the tsar—was murdered, just as Kezia had portended.
Rasputin too had foreseen his future. He had told the tsar that if he died, and if Russia went to war with Germany, there would be “grief and no light … the war would bring an ocean of tears and there would be no counting them.”
By the time Galina reached eleven, the First War ended, leading to the country’s great revolution. Imperial Russia collapsed and gave rise to Communism and the Soviet Union. The new leadership wiped out the old regime. They had the tsar and tsarina, their five children, and their physician all killed in the same room.
Sergei quit the theater, fearful that any involvement in political art would bring their family unwelcome notice. Anything that was not propaganda went underground. Plays that contained social commentary were no longer performed in the glittering halls of established theaters but by candlelight in the basements of private homes. At Kezia’s urging Sergei joined the Communist Party. She had seen what would happen to those who didn’t.
Fashion became an important symbol in the Communist era, and Galina embraced this new idea of materialism for the working class. She wanted to design clothes. She found work apprenticing with a popular designer who was fixated on creating the attire of the future. The government wanted to promote new fashions distinct from Western styles to show a better life was possible under Communism.
Kezia didn’t know what to think of the strange, minimalist garments her daughter now wore. She was relieved when Galina married and she convinced the young couple to live in the family apartment so they could all stay together. To Kezia, nothing was as important.
* * *
There was an old folk saying in Russia: if you speak against the wolf, then speak against him well. Two years into the birth of the Soviet Union, a new leader emerged. He was a wolf named Stalin and no one could speak against him. His rise to power was accompanied by a storm that upended every sense of normal life.
First he stole the farms and shipped 15 million peasants to prisons across the Taiga. Their rights would not be recognized. The only record of their suffering was written in the sky by the steam from the trains as they were taken away. A famine unlike any seen before decimated the country. Compassion became unthinkable.
Galina’s daughter, Nadenka, came into the world three years after Stalin rose to power. Kezia lovingly called her granddaughter Nettie, and soon everyone else did too.
Nettie was a solemn, thoughtful girl who grew up listening to her grandmother tell the fortunes of those who quietly came to seek her counsel. With Communism, any occult or esoteric practice had become a part of the underground culture, hidden yet still alive.
Nettie would often frown when she listened to a card reading, as if Kezia had said the wrong thing. Kezia would catch the criticism in her granddaughter’s eyes and tease, “So the egg thinks it’s smarter than the chicken?”
Then they would share a secret smile. Kezia knew Nettie had the sight, perhaps even more than she did.
Kezia still studied her grandmother’s diary, and Marina had taken care to note Simza’s knowledge of the body. According to Simza, the body was a portent of the future, and Kezia became concerned about Nettie’s moles. The marks either signified great prosperity or adversity, and Kezia felt certain the two large moles on the back of Nettie’s neck implied the latter. Kezia would often examine the moles and shake her head. “These signal not one, but two misfortunes. And these…” She would turn her focus to the moles beneath Nettie’s shoulder blades. “You will have a hard life, my child, and face many disappointments.”
“I know, Grandmother” was all Nettie would say.
They had this conversation many times. Kezia felt Nettie needed to know what life had in store if she was to survive it. She was only fourteen.
Nettie didn’t tell her grandmother that she had already seen what would come to pass. The government had begun rounding up citizens and shipping them to gulags, labor camps, where every door to life was closed. Stalin’s henchmen targeted the educated: professors who taught the wrong subject, writers who wrote the wrong words, and politicians who did not clap long enough for speeches. Quotas for filling the camps were established and had to be met. As a playwright and a fashion designer, Sergei and Galina were surely sympathizers with the West. The government put them on the list. The entire family was marked. Her mother would be sent to one of the worst gulags in the Taiga Forest, far to the north in Siberia. She would labor for three years before dying of starvation. Nettie’s father would survive two years longer and be s
hot in a field with other prisoners. Her grandfather would die much sooner, unable to survive the initial interrogation. And her grandmother … Kezia would die first. She would pass away the day after saving a young girl from being beaten and taking the punishment herself.
Nettie would have given anything to erase the knowledge burned into her mind. She had had premonitions all her life, and they had always come true. But her worst visions still had not come to pass, and she prayed every day they never would.
* * *
As the months passed, Kezia felt a growing urgency and encouraged Nettie to use her cards.
“Always remember, they are only symbols on cards allowing you to see into your own mind. Divination is a mirror, reflecting what is here and here,” Kezia would tell her, pointing to Nettie’s heart and head. Nettie nodded like a solemn student.
“Whatever the cards show you, always trust the words that well inside you. The truth is waiting to be heard. Never doubt it.”
Nettie held the cards in her hands. They felt smooth and pulsed with energy.
“People want to hear about their lives. They are afraid. They want to know what is in store for them. Speak the truth as the words come. Now draw,” Kezia commanded.
Nettie drew the top card. The Hanged Man.
“What do you see? Quickly, without thinking,” Kezia demanded.
“All of life’s trappings stripped away,” Nettie answered.
“And what does it mean?” Kezia asked with impatience.
“A second war.”
“And?” Kezia sounded harsh. “What is in your mind? Say it!”
“They are going to take us away. I hope you die in your sleep before they come here.” Nettie gasped, appalled that she had said such a thing.
“But I won’t,” her grandmother said softly.
They stared at each other in a moment of deep understanding. The raids were going to happen. Soon the country would go to war—the Second World War. St. Petersburg, their beloved city, now called Leningrad, would come under a siege that would claim the lives of over a million people. But they wouldn’t be there.
The Fortune Teller Page 19
