Eyes of the Tarot

by Bruce Coville

  “Sure we’d be interested, Bonnie,” said Eileen. “What have you got?”

  “Yeah. No secrets,” said Alice.

  Bonnie sighed. “It’s just a deck of tarot cards. The kind you use for fortune telling. I’ll show it to you, but I don’t want to pass it around. Especially not here. You’ll get pizza on it.”

  “Thanks for the confidence!” cried Julie.

  “Well, I’m serious They’re very, very old.”

  She took the deck from her purse. “Now listen,” she warned, as she was unwrapping the leather. “I’d rather you didn’t say anything about this.”

  “Why not?” asked Alice.

  “Well, for one thing, my mother is very sensitive about this stuff.”

  “She should be!” said Eileen.

  Bonnie glanced up sharply. “What do you mean by that?”

  Eileen looked as if she had just been caught cursing in church. “I—oh, just that it’s dangerous to mess around with that kind of stuff,” she stammered.

  It was clear to Bonnie that there was more to it, but she knew this wasn’t the time to pursue the matter.

  “Oh!” cried Julie. “Look at the eyes. It’s almost as if they were alive.”

  Alice shivered. “I don’t like them.”

  Eileen said nothing at all. But she looked terribly worried.

  Chapter Four

  Bonnie sat at her desk, enclosed in the small circle of light cast by her study lamp. The house was dark and quiet; everyone else was sleeping. Bonnie knew she should be sleeping, too. School started again in the morning, and she wanted to be rested for it.

  But the lure of the cards was too strong.

  They were in front of her now, divided into two piles. The larger pile held fifty-six cards. It was set up the same as a regular fifty-two card deck, except for three things.

  First, in addition to the jacks (called pages in the tarot), queens, and kings it had an extra set of face cards called knights.

  Second, instead of the familiar diamonds, hearts, clubs and spades, the suits were cups, swords, wands, and pentacles.

  Third, rather than simply showing the number of items it stood for, each card had a unique picture. The ace of cups, for example, showed an overflowing cup, its waters pouring into a small pond, while the two of cups showed two young men toasting each other, and the three of cups featured three women in long robes, holding cups above them as they danced.

  These fifty-six cards were called the Minor Arcana.

  The smaller pile held twenty-two cards. The first was numbered zero. The rest were marked with roman numerals.

  These were the Major Arcana, and they were what truly held Bonnie’s attention. Absentmindedly she chewed a lock of her red hair as she studied the picture on each card, naming it softly to herself.

  “Zero. The Fool.”

  Several things about the card bothered her. First, the picture didn’t look anything like her own image of a fool. The young man shown on the card was fair and handsome. As a matter of fact, he looked like Alan.

  A lot.

  The resemblance was almost uncanny, and it gave Bonnie an eerie sensation. She turned back to the book, where she read, “The fool can represent folly and wrong decision. But he also stands for the beginning of an adventure. Choice and a need for caution are indicated.”

  “A need for caution.” The Fool stood at the edge of a cliff, but he wasn’t aware of it. He was looking joyfully forward, about to step into the abyss. In his left hand he held a rose.

  Other meanings were given for the card, more than Bonnie could absorb all at once. When she had first looked at the cards at her grandmother’s, she had had no idea that there was so much involved in learning to read them. There were more meanings, more symbols, than she could easily comprehend. Both of the books she had taken out of the library that evening suggested it took several weeks to learn the symbols well enough to use the cards. And after that a lifetime of practice was needed to become adept at them.

  Bonnie chewed furiously on her hair. She didn’t want to wait weeks. She felt an intense need to be able to use the cards immediately.

  One of the books suggested she put a few of the cards under her pillow each night, in order to become attuned to them and imbue them with her own “personal magnetism.”

  The idea seemed silly. But then, so did the idea that she could tell the future or understand a person’s personality by using the cards.

  Bonnie thought of how uncomfortable her mother was with this kind of thing. Eileen’s comment came back to her. “She should be.”

  Why had Eileen said that? It was almost as if she knew something Bonnie didn’t. Something Bonnie should know.

  What was it?

  She smiled. Maybe the cards would tell her—after she learned how to use them.

  She put down the Fool and picked up the Magician. If the Fool had bothered her, this card made her downright nervous.

  The Magician was another young man. He was extremely handsome, and yet there was a hint of something sinister about him, which wasn’t right according to the books. Maybe it was a slip on the part of the artist.

  The Magician stood at a table on which were displayed cups, swords, wands, and pentacles. He held his hand before him in some sort of mystic gesture. His right hand pointed toward the earth. But his eyes—which according to one of the books should be looking at the table—gazed straight out at Bonnie.

  Into her.

  Bonnie sat and stared at the card for a long, long time. One book said the Magician could possess a dual nature. He might be a seeker after truth—or a trickster.

  Bonnie shuddered and set the card back on her desk. Then she turned it over. She didn’t like to look at it.

  Downstairs the hall clock struck two. She looked up with a start. She had had no idea it was so late. She frowned. This was twice that she had lost track of time while working with the cards. She would have to be careful. That kind of habit could get her in trouble, especially after the mid-semester grades she had just gotten. If she was going to have a chance at a college scholarship, the next few months were going to be very important.

  She gathered the cards into a pile and carefully wrapped them. But before she tied the package, she opened it again and took out the Fool. It couldn’t hurt to follow the advice in the book. She decided that rather than putting a few cards under her pillow, she would do them one at a time.

  She looked at the card. The Fool did resemble Alan.

  Maybe the card would give her pleasant dreams.

  #

  The Fool was whispering in her ear. “You made a good choice,” he said.

  Bonnie looked up and was startled to see the Fool smiling down at her. His face was radiant, his eyes so sweetly warm they could have melted a stone. His clothes were made of silk and satin. A musky smell of roses clung to him.

  “Help me,” said Bonnie.

  “Help me,” said the Fool.

  “Can I?”

  “You have to.”

  She felt dizzy. “What did you mean when you said I made a good choice?”

  The Fool smiled. No, that wasn’t it. He was always smiling, slightly. It was his eyes that changed. They grew warmer.

  “You were wise to start with me. It would have been a bad idea to start with him. Of course he’s furious that you didn’t. You’ll have to be careful of him. But remember; he doesn’t control all of us.”

  The Fool whistled, and a little dog came running over to him. He turned to go.

  “Wait!” cried Bonnie.

  “I can’t!” said the Fool, laughing gaily. He hurried away, the dog yapping at his heels. He turned for a moment and said, “Don’t wake up yet. I have something to show you!” Then, to Bonnie’s horror, he dropped from sight—as if he had stepped over the edge of a cliff. His laughter rang in her ears.

  And the odor of roses lingered behind him.

  Bonnie moaned, tossing and turning uneasily in her bed. But she didn’t wake up.


  Now the scene of the dream changed. She changed, also. She was little, maybe seven years old. She was climbing the stairs to her grandmother’s attic, going to play with the old sea trunk.

  Bonnie whimpered in her sleep. She had the feeling she was going to see something she didn’t want to see.

  She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. It was a hot summer day. The hair at the back of her neck was wet with sweat. The attic was stifling, but she didn’t care. It was where she wanted to be.

  She opened the trunk—Pirate Jenny examining her booty. Carefully she removed every item: the slippers, the kimono, the nesting dolls—and the crystal ball.

  She played with the nesting dolls for a while, crooning a song. But her eyes were continually drawn to the crystal ball. After a while she put down the dolls and sat, unmoving, her eyes locked on the sphere.

  Inside the crystal something began to stir.

  No! She didn’t want to remember! Bonnie cried out and forced herself awake. She sat up, staring into the darkness, trying to beat down the memory that followed on the heels of the dream—the knowledge that it was no dream at all, that when she was little she had seen something in the crystal, something horrible, something she never wanted to see again.

  As she sat in the darkness, she noticed something that filled her with both fear and wonder.

  The scent of roses was heavy in her room.

  Chapter Five

  “Hey! Good morning, Dad!”

  Bonnie was genuinely delighted to see her father. He had been out fishing when she arrived home the day before, and then had stayed at the dock working on his boat until after two in the morning.

  “Mornin’, Toots. How’s my sunshine today?”

  Bonnie smiled. Though she would have died if he called her “Toots” or “my sunshine” in front of her friends, she was glad he had never gotten out of the habit at home.

  “I’m just fine, oh salt-soaked pappy-person. And you?”

  He shrugged. “Pretty good.”

  Bonnie took her place at the table and poured herself a bowl of raisin bran. “That’s not very enthusiastic. Anything wrong?”

  Her father shrugged. “The usual. Poor catches. Things are getting a little tight. But we’ll be all right. We always have been.”

  Bonnie knew, from having listened to the other fishermen, that her father was concerned about more than just a week or two of poor catches. He was worried that their territory was becoming fished out. That would mean they’d have to move. It might even mean her father would have to give up fishing. She looked at his sunburned face and weathered hands. He could never give up fishing. He belonged on the sea.

  Randy plopped into his chair. “Mornin’, Dad.”

  “Well, good morning, Randy. How are you?”

  He made a face. “Extremely sick.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Are you kidding? School starts again today.”

  Mr. McBurnie nodded. “I see.”

  “Of course, it won’t bother Bonnie,” said Randy. “Because now she’ll be seeing Alan all day every day.”

  Bonnie glared at him. It was uncanny the way the little brat could read her mind. She had just been thinking how nice it was going to be to spend every day with Alan again. But then, her feelings on the matter were no big secret.

  The doorbell rang.

  “I’ll get it,” said Bonnie, jumping up.

  “Must be Alan,” said Randy.

  “Twerp!”

  “Creep!”

  “Randy!” That was Mrs. McBurnie. Bonnie smiled as she left the room, figuring Randy would get his this time.

  She opened the front door and gasped. Leaning against the porch rail, looking out toward the street, was a slender male figure. In his left hand he held a bright red rose.

  The Fool! thought Bonnie, momentarily panicked.

  The figure turned at the sound of the door. It was Alan.

  “Hi ya, kid. You want an escort to see you to school?”

  He was doing his Humphrey Bogart imitation, which was only passable at best. One look at her face and he dropped the game. “Hey, what’s the matter? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

  Bonnie managed a quick smile. “No. I was just expecting Eileen. It’s a nice surprise to see you. That’s all.”

  “Well, you look like it was a surprise. I’m not sure how nice you thought it was.”

  “Don’t be crazy. You’re my favorite person. Come in.”

  He extended his hand. “A rose for milady. My mother cut this out of her garden this morning and just about insisted that I bring it over to you. She really likes you.”

  Bonnie smiled as she took the rose. “Thanks. And be sure to thank your mother for me. Do you want some breakfast?”

  “I just ate. But I’ll have a cup of coffee if there’s room at the table.

  Bonnie made a face. “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.”

  He puffed out his chest and said, “It’s because I yam a seafaring man, just like me pappy.”

  #

  Bonnie’s family was genuinely glad to see Alan. “We missed you over the vacation,” said Mrs. McBurnie.

  “Yeah. You didn’t even come around to shoot baskets,” said Randy, giving Alan an accusing stare.

  Mr. McBurnie laughed. “I hope this won’t come as a big shock to you, Randy, but I think your sister is the main attraction around here as far as Alan is concerned.

  Randy shrugged. “I can’t even understand long division. I sure hope you don’t expect me to make sense of something as weird as that.”

  Bonnie sighed. “Shall we go?” she asked, putting her hand on Alan’s arm.

  He glanced at his watch. “Yow! We’d better. I didn’t realize it was so late.”

  “Stop by this afternoon, Alan,” called Mrs. McBurnie as they went out the front door. “We’d be glad to have you.”

  #

  The walk to school was pleasant. It was a beautiful spring morning, and the rain from the previous evening had left everything fresh and clean. The scent of life and growth filled the air.

  “Isn’t it gorgeous?” said Bonnie, skirting a puddle.

  “Super. Say, look at that. I’d forgotten about her. She’s back early this year.”

  Bonnie turned in the direction Alan was pointing. At the edge of a small, barely paved side road stood a crude wooden sign:

  MADAME LE PANTO

  Spiritual Advice

  Card, Tea Leaf, and Crystal Readings

  “You ought to take her that crazy deck of cards,” suggested Alan. “Maybe she could teach you how to read them.”

  “Oh, I don’t think I want to do that,” said Bonnie. “She’s such an old fraud.”

  “Now how do you know that?”

  “Well, that’s what everyone says.”

  “Everyone used to say the world was flat, too, but that didn’t make it so.” Alan stopped for a moment, then smiled. “This conversation is stupid. You’re the one who believes in that stuff to begin with. I don’t know why I’m trying to convince you. You should be trying to convince me!”

  Bonnie laughed. But as they walked on, she found herself glancing back at Madame LePanto’s sign.

  #

  Several years earlier Bonnie’s mother had forbidden her ever to go near Madame LePanto’s little cottage. Bonnie had always obeyed that command—until this afternoon. Now, as she walked down the crumbling road that led to the cottage, she thought over what she knew about the old woman.

  It was precious little. She was a town character, someone everyone was aware of. But where she came from, what she was really like—those things were mysteries to Bonnie. She did know that every winter Madame LePanto went to Florida with the money she made on Cape Cod in the summer by giving readings to gullible tourists. Bonnie supposed the old woman did the same thing while she was in Florida, taking advantage of the winter crowds down there. Probably some of the same people, now that she thought about it.

  She coul
d see the little cottage ahead of her now, and she stopped, uncertain whether she wanted to go through with this or not. She felt guilty about deceiving Alan. But for some reason she hadn’t wanted him to come with her. It was almost as if she had a premonition that she would be drawing him into something that was not his problem.

  She shook her head. That was silly.

  Madame LePanto’s cottage was a ramshackle place. The front porch sagged and moss grew on the roof. The lawn was neglected, the shrubs and bushes all wildly overgrown. The lace curtains in the windows were not exactly tattered, but neither were they whole.

  Bonnie walked slowly along the flagstone path that led from the crooked gate to the porch. She found the air of decay oppressive. As she stepped onto the porch, she felt a growing sense of uneasiness. What kind of woman was this Madame LePanto, anyway? Why did she live like this?

  Bonnie lifted her hand to knock at the door. Before she actually made contact with the wood, the door swung open.

  “Yes?” asked a deep female voice.

  Bonnie hesitated. “I—I’m here for a reading.”

  The old woman—Bonnie assumed it was Madame LePanto—was not at all what Bonnie had pictured. She was tall, much taller than Bonnie. Her silvery gray hair was piled into a mound on top of her head and tied with a violet scarf. The arrangement made her seem even taller than she was.

  Something about the woman’s face struck Bonnie as odd, and after a moment she figured it out. Though Madame LePanto appeared to be quite old, her skin was smooth and unwrinkled. When she realized this Bonnie tried to decide just what it as that did make the woman appear old. She finally decided it was her eyes. They seemed ancient; hundreds, or perhaps thousands of years old. Bonnie shivered. She had a sudden feeling that if she stared into Madame LePanto’s eyes too long, she would fall into them and disappear, never to be seen again.

  The old woman wore a print dress that looked as if it had come from the Salvation Army. She had bracelets competing for space on each arm, flashing, glittering, banging against one another, sliding up and down as she moved.