by Dan Alatorre
“Oh, no—does he marry Bruni? I have to know. How much more will it cost?”
“You do not listen.”
“I don’t care how many cats we have to kill, I need to know!”
The old woman sighed. “Then you agree to pay?”
“Yes, yes, let’s go.” She glared at the planchette. “Does he marry Bruni?”
The old woman’s hands sat still on the sides of the board. “He will.”
“My best friend!” Ashley pounded the table. “That untrustworthy little bi—wait, are they together right now? Is he cheating on me?”
“They are together now.” The old woman pointed to the tarnished hand mirror. “This glass will show you.”
“No. I want to know what happens to me. Who do I marry? What happens to me?”
“The bridge has faded. The price must be paid.”
“I said I’ll pay. What happens to me?”
The old woman reached into the gray line of smoke and closed her fist around it. Drawing back, she flung the trapped smoke at the mirror. It curled through the air and wafted off the dirty glass, flowing outward in all directions.
A fuzzy image appeared on the silvery surface. Two heads, one dark and one light. A boy and a girl.
Ashley shook her head. “No . . .”
The image grew clearer, like an old Polaroid photo developing. Faces, then clothing, came into view.
It was Aaron and Bruni, smiling at each other.
“I don’t want to see this!” Ashley put her hands on the table and pushed herself up from the chair.
The old woman clamped her hands down over Ashley’s, locking the girl in place. “You will see!”
The picture on the mirror became sharp, like a fog had passed from it. The boy and the girl sat next to each other on a couch, playing checkers.
Ashley dropped into the chair, her jaw agape. “You—you tricked to me.”
“No tricks. I do not lie.” The old woman glared at Ashley. “Your card was a lie, and you are a lie.”
“That, that was a mistake. I . . . have cash.”
The bell dinged again in the store.
“You cheat on this boy, on Aaron, when he go away.” She dropped her leathery fingers onto the planchette and it slid around the board.
S . . . E . . . . B . . .
Ashley’s hand flew to her mouth. Sebastian.
“I see him, this Sebastian—with you. Much bad inside you. Much bad spirit energy inside.”
“That . . . that—he and I had a one-time thing. I got drunk and—”
“Not one time, many times! Sebastian, Connor, Marcus.”
“I, I was going through a rough patch. But that’s over. And so what? If he doesn’t marry me, he ends up with someone else—probably someone he’s cheating on me with. I need to know. What happens to me?”
“He is not cheat. He is with your friend at the hotel. They are worry about you, why you are gone so long. They will be afraid soon.”
Ashley shook her head. “It’s all a trick somehow. You’re a little con artist, and you tricked me!”
“No tricks yet, bad girl. You must pay.”
“What, another cat? Two? Ten?”
“The cat has been rendered, and your bridge has faded.” The old woman stood. “Your time is done. You go.”
“No! I’m not leaving until I get some answers.”
“No? Then something must be rendered. For big question, big rendering. You go now. All done.”
“What, a dog? A pig?” Ashley narrowed her eyes. “I don’t care, I have to know what happens to me. If you’re not a fraud, then you know and you’re purposely not saying. Tell me.”
“You must pay.”
“I’ll pay. What happens?”
“Bigger question, bigger rendering. You not listen. You must pay. Debt already owed and now is due.”
Ashley huffed. “You’re a con artist.”
The old woman bolted upright, slamming the mirror into the table. “Do you think I do not see? I see. I see your mother tell you when she die, she say you are her only one, her bushka. I see this.”
Ashley gasped, her jaw dropping. “How did—”
“Your father, he take you camping after her funeral and show you the stars. He tell you the biggest, brightest star in sky is your mother, and will watch you all your days. You tell principal at school you not take the money from the bake sale, but yes you take the money.”
“I—I don’t . . .” Ashley glanced around the tiny room. “I—”
“These questions are a game.” The old woman hissed. “You insult those that are on the other side, who come here to answer questions for souls in need. These questions are not why you come here. Do you want to know more? I will tell you.”
Trembling, Ashley sat, unable to speak or move.
“When you consult the board as a child, all alone in your room after your mother die, you ask to the board, ‘Am I good, am I bad?’ The board tell you.” She pointed a long finger at the young lady. “You never want to know, but the board see. You sneak out and go to party with friend instead of stay home that night and give her the medicine. Your father on business strip, he never discover your lie—but your mother gone and his heart broken.”
“Stop!” Ashley shut her eyes and put her hands over her ears.
“And you carry in your heart your lies, just like your whole life.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore!”
“Then when your father find out about how you steal from him, from his company, how he go bankrupt because of how much you steal, it break his heart again and drive him to suicide. The insurance from his death is how you have money to come here with your friends. That is who you are. That is your life.”
“Stop it!” Ashley shook her head and stomped her feet. “Stop!”
“Now you hope this boy take you as his bride, but I say no—and he do not deserve the pain you would bring him.”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Ashley gazed up at the old woman. “Then why do I not say yes when he asks me to marry him?”
Her chest heaving, the old woman whispered. “So selfish. Look inside your dark soul, child. The answer is there.”
“Just—just tell me what happens. I’ll pay you. I have money for you to—to render something else. Why do I say no when he asks? What are you hiding from me? Why don’t I . . .”
The bell over the front door pinged again.
Ashley opened her mouth to speak, but stopped. She knew. She understood. Her shoulders slumped. “I don’t say no and I don’t say yes. I don’t say anything.”
“Yes.”
“Because I can’t say anything.”
“Yes.”
She swallowed hard, her words barely audible. “Because . . . I’m already dead.”
The front door pinged again. Ashley sniffled, wiping the tears from her eyes. “When? What happens to me?”
“You are evil, child. This, you have tried to deny to yourself for many years, but always you have known.” The old woman pointed a condemning finger. “You must pay.”
“No!” The young woman jumped up, crashing into the little table and knocking it over. She threw back the heavy curtains, but the decorative metal gates blocked her escape. Banging on them, Ashley gritted her teeth and grabbed the cold iron bars, shaking them and cursing as she worked to get the cage to open.
A small group of people stood in the shop. Upon seeing her, they burst into shouts, raising fistfuls of money into the air.
Ashley recoiled from the gates, bringing her arms up in front of her. She turned to yell at the medium. “What is this? What’s going on?”
The old woman wasn’t there.
Outside the gate, the medium shook her head and smiled at the young lady in the trap. “I told you, your soul is evil, child, and you will open a big bridge. It is time for your rendering to begin.” She looked at the bidders as they waved their money. “A slow rendering, for a big bridge.”
Countenance
The little shop had barely opened when the big man barged in.
The bell over the entrance went upward with a clang as he threw the front door open. He stomped to the counter, speaking too loud when he asked for a reading.
In fact, he didn’t ask.
“I need a reading.”
He was overly muscular, with tattoos visible from his wrist to the shoulder of his skin-tight cutoff t-shirt. His face was pock-marked, and his black hair hung in a straggly mess around his face, but what made the man appear threatening was the way he carried himself. His thick arms dangled at his sides, but away from his body, like he was about to do an old west quick draw and gun down the local sheriff in a street duel.
He glared at the thin old woman, alone in the cramped shop, as she lit the first incense of the day.
It was her shop, and she acted like it. She didn’t break her routine for anyone. Feed the cats, open the shop, light the incense. Later in the day, a truck would arrive, delivering exotic herbs and dried flowers, and the water moccasins she required for the evening’s incantations—but the morning was reserved for inventory and cleaning. Who knows what the prior night’s party revelers had left on the sidewalk in front of her shop.
When the big man slapped a hundred-dollar bill onto the old wooden counter, she stopped lighting incense.
“I need a reading. Three questions, and I’ll be on my way.”
His voice was gruff and menacing, like a low growl of a dog before it bites.
The old woman lifted her bony arm and pointed to the rear of the store. Three tiny rooms had been decorated with heavy, painted curtains, and each contained a small table and chairs.
The big man took a step toward them.
“Three hundred.”
He stopped and turned to her. “What?”
“Three questions, three hundred dollars.”
He frowned. Outside, the vendor across the street hosed off the brick walk in front of his store.
The old woman returned to her incense. “Three hundred. Or you can go.”
Shifting his jaw forward, he narrowed his eyes. “Seems pricey.”
She shook her head, taking particular interest in a faded red piece of incense before dropping it back into the box. “If your questions are important, price is good.”
Grumbling, he reached for his wallet and pulled out two more bills, tossing them onto the counter. With a scoop of her leathery hands, they were dropped into the cash register and the drawer slammed shut.
“Can we start now?” he asked.
She held up a blue piece of incense and turned it back and forth, inspecting it in the dim light. “First, must ask question of you. How do you wish the reading? I have the tarot card, the Ouija board . . . Or maybe I read your palm.”
He shook his head. “I don’t care. Whichever’s fastest and best.”
She slipped her petite old frame out from behind the counter and toward the last room on the right. “I think this be best. Here, you can see what I see.”
The room was small—maybe too small for his big build. The musty walls held a tambourine and a trumpet suspended by wires and rusty nails, and a long, thin shelf of candles. In the center of the table rested a small, round stand with a crystalline sphere on top and a decorative silk scarf underneath. The shiny globe was about the size of a bread plate, displaying the dull colors of the dark room in its curved, warped reflection.
The old woman swept her faded dress under her and sat, pointing to the other chair. “Come.”
He stared at the globe, shaking his head. “Those things are for real? A crystal ball?”
She pulled a long wooden match from a tiny shelf and struck it against the wall. The tip ignited, sending a yellow glow over the room. As the flame died down, she touched it to the wicks of three candles.
“Whatever you believe in, that is real to you.” Lifting the fading match to her face, she blew out its flame.
The man squeezed between the wall and the table, finally getting himself onto the tiny chair.
She picked up the candles one by one and set them on the table, one on each side of the crystal ball, and one in front of the man. “Three questions, three candles. Do you see?”
“I get it. Now get on with it.”
She nodded, lowering her voice. “What is your first question for the other side?”
He chewed his lip. “I’ve . . . done some things. And I need to get away from New Orleans. My partner had a car, but . . . I’m not sure I trust him now. Is he still trustworthy?”
The old woman closed her eyes and held her hands over the shiny round crystal ball, moving them back and forth as if she were slowly polishing it with an invisible rag.
“Louvri pon an. Ann pale avèk ou.”
The man shifted on his seat, watching the crystalline globe.
“Ann pale avèk ou.”
The candles flickered, and a white haze appeared in the center of the ball. It swirled, growing larger and larger, until it filled the ball to a milky white. Then another color started in the center of the ball. A red fog, swirling and mixing with the white. It grew brighter, turning the ball a blood red.
The old woman held her hands over the crystal sphere, waving and shaking her leathery fingers. Her voice grew louder. “Ann pale avèk ou.”
A green fog burst forth, filling the ball, then a blue one. The colors came faster and faster, orange, then purple, then teal—every color of the rainbow, exploding inside the crystal sphere and mixing with the others in a swirling display. Sparks flittered among the dancing colors.
The old woman shook her hands, shouting. “Ann pale avèk ou! Ann pale avèk ou!”
The walls began to sway, rattling and humming as a rush of wind whipped through the room. The faint sound of a distant scream filled the air. The rumble of the wind grew louder as the whirling became more intense, pulling and grabbing at the man’s shirt and hair. The floor and table shook. The room flashed a brilliant white.
Then it was quiet.
The old woman’s head rested on the table, her shoulders heaving up and down as she labored to catch her breath. Despite the commotion, all three candles remained lit.
The big man swallowed hard, holding the sides of the table with both hands. The center of the crystal glowed from within. The fog inside it lifted, revealing the image of a man running with a suitcase.
The medium lifted her head. “Can you see?”
“That’s my partner.” The man nodded. “Looks like he’s still alive.” He leaned back, wiping the sweat from his forehead. His fingers glistened in the light. Wiping them on his jeans, he sat forward again, stroking his chin.
When his partner got to a car, he threw the suitcase into the trunk and then got behind the wheel, looking around and checking his watch. The car drove down a long dirt road, finally pulling onto asphalt and past a sign that read New Orleans 20 Miles.
The old woman took a deep breath. “He comes.”
“Can I still trust him?”
She gazed at the candle in front of him. “He comes for you, as was your plan.”
As she spoke, the flame went out on the candle closest to the man.
He jutted his jaw out. “Does he still have the money?”
The woman leaned forward, her face turning white in the light of the globe. “Ann pale avèk ou.”
Inside the trunk, the suitcase bounced as the speeding car raced over the old, broken road. She stared into the ball, and the shell of the suitcase faded away. Stacks of money became visible, jolting and bumping in the trunk of the car.
The second candle went out.
The man smiled. “He still has the money. Our plan worked.” Taking a deep breath, he leaned back in the little chair. “It all worked.” He rubbed his hands together, chuckling. “Now—do we get away?”
The old woman shook her head. “Payment is needed to know.”
“What?” He scowled. “We had a deal. Three hundred dollars for three questions. Don’t try to cheat me.”
The woman sat motionless. “Much blood has been shed in your journey. You kill everyone in the bank. The spirits are unhappy.”
He frowned. “We couldn’t leave any witnesses. They saw our faces.”
“Spirits unhappy. Require a sacrifice. Blood begets blood.”
Reaching down, he pulled a gun from an ankle holster and laid it on the table. “Listen, old woman, don’t try to pull any double cross on me.” He pointed the gun at her. “Now tell me if we get away.”
Her old eyes stared at him, unflinching. “You cannot kill me.”
“No? Well, this .45 says otherwise. Now make the glass do its thing and tell me if we get away.”
“The things I have shown,” she said, “are things that are. This thing you ask now is for thing that may be.”
The light inside the ball began to fade.
He cocked the gun. “Say the words. Say them, or you die right now. Your spirits will have their additional sacrifice in blood—yours.”
She stared at the ball.
“Say it!” He shoved the gun to her head. “Say it or—”
Closing her eyes, the old medium smiled, her stained yellow teeth glowing in the dim light. “Ann pale avèk ou!”
When she opened her eyes, the ball was bright with light. The partners were sitting next to each other on an airplane.
“Woo hoo!” the man shouted. “We made it! Rio De Janeiro—where they don’t extradite back to the U.S. We did it.” He jumped up. “I suppose I should thank you. But . . .” He shrugged. “You saw for yourself—the plan works because we don’t leave any witnesses, and you’ve seen my face.”
He raised the gun and leveled it at the old woman’s head.
A glint of light flashed across the wall. Outside, the shopkeeper had finished spraying the sidewalk and stood gathering the hose into a coil. The shiny brass nozzle bounced across the bricks, sending little flashes of light out with each tug of the hose.
The big man put his foot on the chair and shoved his gun back into its holster. “Your neighbor is close enough to hear the blast from this .45. Guess you won’t get shot after all.”
He lunged over the table and clamped his massive hands around the old woman’s throat.