by Miriam Sagan
“Yes,” she said, looking at me. The way she said it, it wasn’t a question. I stared back at her.
“Tell me what I want,” I said.
“You want your fortune told. And you want to buy the size 10 green velvet skirt that you left outside on the counter.”
“How much is the skirt?”
“$3.99.”
“Good.”
The gypsy gestured for me to sit down next to her on the couch. The plastic cover made a crackling sound.
“How much is the fortune?”
“That depends on how accurate it is. You decide.”
I handed my palm to her, but she shook her head and took out a deck of cards and began to lay them out rapidly on the coffee table:
“Queen of Cups. You are looking for your friend. She’s blond, mature-looking, crossed by the Tower; she’s given to violent impulses. Or maybe she’s your sister. Don’t trust her decisions, Two of Cups, even though you love her. Three of Swords, Knight of Coins, your boyfriend has traveled far for you. He is a dependable person with black hair. He knows more than he shows. Wheel of Fortune, expect upheaval, you’ll leave this city. The Fool, Four of Coins, don’t despair. You are going somewhere, a tall building, a bed, a mountain. High Priestess, watch out for the next person who tries to tell you something about yourself. Five of Wands, Six of Swords, leave childhood behind, the time has come. Queen of Swords says: don’t talk so much. Ten of Cups, The Empress, someday you’ll be happy. I don’t know where your home is, that part is completely obscure.”
She paused for breath and looked at me. I must have looked back startled and wide-eyed because she patted my hand. “Don’t worry, the cards show me you are protected by benign influences. Many people love you. You will come to no harm.”
“Wow.”
The gypsy looked at me steadily.
“Do the cards say I’ll find my friend?”
“You’ll find her.”
“And everything will be all right?”
“It is rare in this life that everything will just be all right.”
I exhaled forcibly. “I have to go to this place tonight, this place called Babylon.”
“Babylon.”
“Is it okay? I mean, is it a dangerous place? I kind of think it’s in a bad neighborhood.”
“Babylon is not your problem.”
“Oh, good.”
“The problem is where to go after Babylon.”
“Oh. I guess I just thought I would go home.”
“Here. Take this.” Abruptly she handed me a little white envelope. “Put it in your pocket. Don’t open it until you need it. And don’t decide you need it until after you have been in Babylon. Is that clear?”
“Yes. Sure. Thank you.”
“That’s all,” she said.
“Is ten dollars enough? I mean, that was totally great. That’s the best fortune I’ve ever had. I went this other time down the shore, with Monique, she’s my friend, but it was nothing. Thank you.”
“Take the skirt, too,” she said, accepting the bill I handed her.
I got up to go, pushing the beaded curtain aside. When I turned back to thank her again, she was gone. A brown paper bag sat on the counter; inside it my green velvet skirt was neatly folded. I put it in my pack with that happy shopper’s sense of acquisition. I accessorized it mentally: a white silk shirt, a black sweater, a bunch of bangles from Azuma’s. I put the Gypsy’s envelope in the pocket of my pants and touched it once.
Michael was still in the record store, bent over the bins. The look on his face was pure bliss. I bet that if I could have watched him kissing me he wouldn’t have looked so happy. It made me miss Monique. Michael and I were different. He wouldn’t care about my skirt and I didn’t really care about the record he held up like a trophy.
Outside, it was snowing again, just soft little downy flakes. Michael took my hand in his gloved one. We stepped off the curb together. We were two small figures in the world of falling snow.
“It’ll be hours yet,” I said.
“There are some great record stores a few blocks west of here.”
“Michael! No more record stores.”
“You don’t like record stores?”
“Not really.”
“But I like you.”
“I like you too. Then what do you want to do?”
“Maybe we should go to the movies.”
There was a double feature at the Waverly: Jules and Jim and Black Orpheus. We held hands some more. Michael ate first one hot dog, then two, some of my popcorn, and a large coke. I cried salty tears whenever anyone died or said a cruel word. In Black Orpheus, a man loves a woman but Death in a skeleton costume wants her too. Death gets her, and so Orpheus is forced to descend a huge spiral staircase at the bureau of missing persons. He tries to get her to come back with him, but he makes a mistake: he looks back and she disappears into the underworld forever. That was the whole point, of course. He shouldn’t have looked back. I thought it was the most beautiful movie I had ever seen.
Michael said that he liked Jules and Jim because it proved that free love could work.
I said, “Then how come they ended up dead?”
He said, “They ended up dead in Black Orpheus, too.”
“But, it was more romantic. It was also in color.”
Now it was dark outside. It was always disorienting to come out of a double feature matinee, like waking from a nap. We went to Zum Zum’s and sat at the counter and started to drink coffee so we could stay up all night. We ate spicy sausage with dark brown mustard.
“Free love is a good thing,” said Michael, “because it keeps people from being too possessive.”
I was going to point out that in Jules and Jim there is one lady and she has two guys; but then I realized that Michael was probably not going to find another girlfriend between Zum Zum’s and Babylon. And so there was no point in making an issue of it.
I patted his shoulder. I was feeling a little queasy from the sausage. I wanted to stay in the West Village forever. I didn’t want to go and turn east again. Night made a blue velvet sheath over the city, and we went out into it.
CHAPTER 21
DARKNESS. We went down into the subway. The long lit train rattled by and we got on it. The car was empty except for a wino sleeping in a heap.
“Is he okay?” I worried, but when I went to get a closer look at the heap of rags, a hard hand shot out and grabbed my ankle.
“Fuck! Michael!” I shouted at my boyfriend who was already headed for a seat. Michael came back, bent down, and removed the fingers that seemed to grip like death in a spasm around my ankle.
“That was horrible,” I hissed, scurrying after him. We thought about moving forward into a different car, but the swaying walkway was too much for me. We huddled in one far end and stayed put.
“It’s like Night of the Living Dead,” Michael said.
“Thanks a lot.” I really didn’t need that.
We got off a few stops later. The station was completely deserted, with lighting out of a nightmare. Back on the surface, I wished I had wings to fly, or at least to rise a few inches over the sidewalk. I fingered the red Swiss army knife in my pocket. We started walking east.
There were only a few remaining street signs or numbers on the buildings. We were in a wasteland beyond the city’s proper sense of itself. Out in the distance, a few bonfires glared red against the city’s night. I didn’t want to know or see who hunched around them, trying to keep warm.
“I wish you hadn’t said that about the zombie movie,” I told Michael.
“Thanks, I wish you hadn’t reminded me,” he said.
“Where the fuck is this place?”
“I think we are getting closer.” I looked at him dubiously. He was supposed to protect me, no girl in her right mind would venture here alone, but he looked just like any young skinny guy, hunched in his coat against the cold.
Shadows scurried in a corner.
“Ra
ts,” I said dismally.
“Come on.” Michael started to walk faster.
“Slow down!” I trotted after him, glad to leave the rats behind. Suddenly in front of us, a dark shape of a warehouse loomed up. It took up an entire block. The building narrowed towards the top. Massive, lumpish, and imposing. It was a squat pyramid or ziggurat.
“This must be it,” said Michael with a mix of doubt and relief.
“You think so?”
“Can’t be anywhere else. If we go any further east, we’ll just land in the river.”
“That might be preferable.”
“Naw, Rania. Besides, look at that.” He pointed, and I saw it too: a small neon sign in a bottom window, blinking off-and- on in bright red: B-A-B-Y and then L-O-N and then all at once, B-A-B-Y-L-O-N.
We had found Babylon, but we could not find the door. We circled the building carefully, but there seemed to be no way in. I felt exposed, with the cold wind behind me and who knew what else. We walked around a second time, nervously watching our backs. Then we saw a small door open in a grill in the sidewalk.
A husky voice asked: “Do you want to come in?”
I looked at Michael and he looked at me.
“Okay,” I said. And we went down.
The grill opened completely and revealed a narrow dimlylit stone staircase. I felt the wall with my hand, smooth and damp. The staircase widened and ended with a small antechamber lit by dozens of candles that were banked directly on the floor, a waxen forest of dripping forms.
A short woman stood up from a wicker peacock chair. She was dressed in flowing purple gauze, her head wrapped in a turban of scarves. It was quite warm in the underground room, but not unpleasantly so, only as if we had left winter behind.
“Do you want to come into Babylon?” she asked.
“Yes,” we chorused.
“Then you’ll have to answer some questions.”
“Of course.”
“Names, please.”
“Michael.”
“Rania.”
“Social security numbers?”
Michael rattled his off, but I couldn’t remember anything of mine beyond the first three digits. It didn’t seem to matter.
The gatekeeper continued, “Have you ever been arrested.”
“No.”
“No.”
“Are you United States citizens?”
“Of course.”
Michael leaned over and whispered to me: “This is worse than the registry of motor vehicles. I wonder when we get our learners’ permits!”
“Are you married?” interrupted the keeper.
“No.” I giggled.
“Lovers?”
“Sure,” said Michael.
“Monogamous?”
He shrugged helplessly and looked at me.
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” Michael said at the same time.
“And why do you want to come into Babylon?” the gate-keeper finally asked.
“We were told a friend of mine was here. I want to see her. I just have to see her.”
“Hmmm, alright.” She made a check next to an appropriate box on a little piece of paper.
“How many miles to Babylon?” she asked.
“Excuse me?” Michael asked.
“Three score and ten,” I answered automatically.
“Can I get there by candlelight?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Yes, and back again,” said Michael dreamily. He really did remember everything.
“You can come in. Where are your tickets?”
“Tickets?”
“You don’t have tickets?”
“No. Is there some way we can buy some?”
“You can’t buy them. They have to be given to you. And you can’t get in without them.”
“Oh no!” My eyes started to fill with tears. I didn’t want to go back out into the night full of rats and God knows what.
“So is there some way we can get these tickets?” asked Michael sensibly.
“No.”
“So we absolutely can’t come in?”
“Well,” she hesitated. “You can come in. But then you’ll have to pay the forfeit.”
“Forfeit?”
“It will be explained later. You can go in now.” She turned and busied herself with a pile of paper.
I didn’t like the sound of forfeit, but what else could I do. Michael had managed to find us a way in. I squeezed his hand. We followed a short flight of metal stairs that led upward back to ground level. The steps ended on a landing. We went through another small door and into a startling and enormous room.
The warehouse was a huge open space, running as far as the eye could see. The ceiling was not visible from the floor. It was ringed with balconies along a ramp that curved gently upward. Candles glowed on the railings, seeming to outline the interior in a scaffolding of flame. I counted five levels before I lost sight of the upper reaches.
Babylon was full of darkness and light. Masses of lanterns shone from wall sockets, white Christmas tree lights twined around posts and railings, mirrored balls hung on cables from the invisible ceiling. Small groups of people sat quietly around candlelight; some danced with each other or their own shadows. Music came from everywhere and nowhere: flutes, congas, guitars. A tall black man with a smear of red paint beneath each eye was playing a pair of deep sounding drums. A blond girl played a recorder. From far off, I could hear what sounded like bird whistles and maybe a kazoo.
“This is amazing,” Michael whispered. “It’s better than Sheep’s Meadow in Central Park. It’s better than a Happening.”
“Is it real?” I whispered back.
“Who cares,” he said. “We’re real. Come on.”
A handful of blue leaves fell in front of us, landing softly on the floor. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a white dove or pigeon flutter into the air. Something fell that seemed like snow, but that on further inspection proved to be silver glitter thrown from the hand of a passing dancer. A peacock feather brushed my cheek.
“Do you want to dance?” asked Michael.
I wrapped my arms around him. We swayed. It was like sleeping standing up. I let my body lean into him. My breasts fit the concave place in his ribs.
Just then, a tallish woman with hip-length brown hair walked towards us radiating purpose. Her green eye shadow shone and little plastic skulls hung from her ears. Over her heart, she wore an official looking red badge embroidered with the word BABY.
“Your forfeits please,” she said.
“Excuse me?”
“You came in without tickets.”
“That’s right.”
“So you have to forfeit.” She put her hands to her forehead as if she were psychic.
Then she turned towards Michael. “Kiss me,” she said.
He blushed scarlet, but didn’t flinch as her lips came towards his.
I stood uncomfortably as they kissed for a long minute, an obvious tongue kiss. I didn’t know where to look, at the swirl of dancers, the foggy ceiling, or my own feet.
When they were done I stood waiting, trying to imagine what my forfeit would be. But the woman shook her head.
“It isn’t clear,” she said. “Still, no doubt your turn will come. No need to be impatient.”
As she was turning to go, I grabbed her sleeve. “Excuse me!”
“Yes?”
“You work here, don’t you?”
“I wouldn’t call it work, but in a way, yes.”
I should have said, “Bitch! I saw you put your tongue in my boyfriend’s mouth,” but I didn’t have the nerve. Besides, I wasn’t here to have fun. So I asked, “I’m looking for someone, a friend, my best friend. Her name is Monique. She’s blond and a bit taller than I am and we heard that…”
“Nobody named Monique here.”
“She’s from New Jersey and she’s kind of busty and she has a mole on her cheek that she calls a beauty mark. She’s been missing for we
eks. And I’ve come to find her. I just have to find her. And we went to this commune place, which is the last place that she’d been, and they said they thought she was here. And so we came, but now, there are so many people, the place is so huge, and everything.”
“She’s blond?”
“Yes.”
“With a beauty mark?”
“Sort of a mole.”
“She’s from New Jersey?”
“Like I told you. We both are.”
“And her name is Monique?”
“Her name is Monique.”
“It sounds like the Queen of the Gypsies.”
“The Queen of the Gypsies?” There was an echo in here. “What’s the Queen of the Gypsies?”
“It’s a rock and roll band. They’re playing on one of the upper levels. Your friend sounds like the lead singer.”
“Monique can’t sing at all,” I said. “At least I’ve never heard her sing anything.”
The Babylon woman turned to go. But Michael put out a hand to stop her, or maybe it was just an excuse to touch her again. I shot him my meanest glance, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Where are they playing?” he asked. “These Queen of the Gypsies people, the band, or whatever.”
She pointed to one of the top balconies of the ramp that ran all the way up Babylon. Above it, the ceiling was obscured by smoke and haze and by what looked like some red and silver weather balloons.
“Check out the second to last door on the left,” she said, and then half danced away from us into the dissolving crowd.
I looked at Michael. He was still pink from the kiss but eager to go. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure that I wanted to find Monique. Even if I was confused by what was happening, I was having a pretty good time just being on the floor of Babylon. Monique would probably start bugging me immediately about something—my real mother, or all the homework she had missed.
But Michael took my hand and led me up the gently sloping ramp. At the first turn, we left the dance floor behind. We hung over the railing for a moment, watching the shimmering dancers.