Fortune
Day Seven of A Dozen Days of Magical Realism
This one’s a little different from the rest, because it’s a piece of lore from my larger work. I just couldn’t resist letting Helga have another moment out in the sun, even though she is only a brief side character in the novel I’m currently working on. Isn’t it magical how characters take on a life of their own?
Tarot
Helga the Horrid, queen of the dustbowl sideshows, was a better fortune teller than anyone admitted out loud. After the chumps dragged their sated selves back to their unenviable lives, she held court by kerosene lamp, the people aware of her odd prophecies but silent about them. Her favorite game was whiskey shootout; she’d play until the strong man slept under the splintered table; immune to the effects of such weak spirits, she scoffed, for she said she routinely wrestled with more formidable ones. Though she wore the air of an old crone, she was in truth a handsome young woman, full of hair and lip and hip and glamour. Beneath the reek of smoke and rancid peanuts, Helga smelled of mystery and spice.
When the aerialist’s pretty daughter asked directly for a reading, the circus gasped. Why court such uncanny danger? Why, oh beautiful daughter?
Helga, however, cackled with glee and swept a tattered deck from a pocket hidden in dusty skirts.
“Draw three,” she commanded. “Don’t look.” The gleam in her eye made the girl’s breath catch in her throat. Awareness of her evil error dawned across her innocent face even as she pulled three cards from the older woman’s hands.
“A trick for a trick,” Helga commanded. “Pay up.”
The trembling debutante extended her graceful arms, clasped the cards to her heart, and turned gently through space in an expert aerial. As she landed, the cards flew from her hands and landed in a triangular sunburst around her.
Helga squealed. “Look! For the air princess, there is no up or down—only exquisite self-determination! Oh, the Star, of course. Who would expect anything else, little air princess? But is it your hope and faith or broken dreams it sees? And here, three swords piercing a beating heart— but does it break or enlarge? There—ten swords impaling, but is it betrayal or resilience? What’s your heart’s desire, dear?”
The girl tried not to look at the lion tamer’s son, but everyone knew. The circus could not speak for fear.
The next afternoon, during the trapeze show, the girl prepared for her flight on the rings. As she launched into the air, she caught sight of her beloved, standing before the stage with arms full of roses to prove his devotion against the curse. Her cheeks flushed; she gasped softly. And she missed her grip on the ring, plummeting down to the dry, hard earth.
Your turn! Comment below! If you need a refresher on the rules of this party game, check the invitation!
"This is a bad idea," Karen warned her husband as the small group stood at the edge of the pool. "Like, a really bad idea."
"So you've said." Brad didn't even look at her, just continued watching as the last of the solid, washed gold coins spread over the top of the 10 foot deep pool. "And I really don't care."
Karen turned to Brad's assistant. Jennifer had bottle-blond hair and legs that could, and had, gotten Brad to do many things against his will. The young woman shrugged helplessly back. Apparently Jennifer had tried, but the legs hadn't worked this time.
Karen closed her eyes and breathed. Sometimes she wondered why she still tried with Brad. Ever since he had made his fortune, he was less and less the man she had married 15 years before. The one she had supported and been supported by for years - through financial struggle, infertility, the death of his parents and hers. She knew most considered it old-fashioned, but she had meant it when she vowed till death do they part. Even as he began straying Karen had grit her teeth and hoped to be Andromache to Brad's Hektor.
It turned out that Brad was more of a Paris.
As Brad's bodyguard/bro/yes-man Marc began helping Brad down the ladder into his pool of gold, Karen tried one more time. "Brad, please, I know what I'm talking about, this is dangerous! At least have the rescue squad nearby, you could..."
Brad cut her off. "You're a jumped up farm girl, you don't know anything. This is gonna be viral!"
Karen's mouth slammed shut, her lips thinning as Jennifer winced. Fine, if that was the way of things. "I'm not going to watch this." She turned and walked towards the poolhouse door.
Jennifer scurried after her and grabbed Karen's arm just as she was about to slam the door shut. Before she could say anything, Karen shook her head. "No, I'm done. If he's stupid enough to swim in a pool full of corn and gold coins, I'm not going to watch it. You shouldn't either." Then she turned and walked away, through the manicured gardens, to the garage. She bypassed the Teslas and Mercedes and got in her old pickup truck that she and Brad had worked on together when things were still good. She put it in gear and drove away from the mansion on the hill.
Karen stayed for the rest of the day in her best friend's trailer. She was not surprised when her phone began buzzing incessantly and she put it on silent without looking at the screen. She was not surprised when her friend answered the door to a pair of solemn-looking police officers who spoke of 'grain entrapment' and 'suffocation'. Oh, she broke down in tears, real ones, when they told her of her new widowhood, but no farmer's daughter would be shocked that swimming in a deep pool of corn covered in coins might turn deadly.
She did feel bad that Jennifer witnessed it, though. Perhaps Karen would give her a gift. After all, as the sole inheritor of her late husband's estate, she had made her fortune.