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The Veil
New York Avenue, Atlantic City, New Jersey/ Summer 1968
She sits there, oddly triumphant, thinking of the tools of her trade...palms to be read, tea leaves and tarot cards to be analyzed, psychic readings to be conducted and, every now and then, a seance to arrange to reveal secrets from beyond the grave. And she can still hold her customers spellbound with her forecasts.
"I see you on an ocean liner, fit for royalty. There you will meet a mature successful man with soulful eyes. He will surround you with love and will introduce you to the life you deserve. You will see that you were each created for one another. It is your destiny. It is your fate."
She's an old woman now, in a faded turban, a stained tattered blouse, and a billowing gypsy skirt. But age has not diminished her ability to intrigue those who wish to heed her words.
"Do you know an older woman whose name begins with an M? I can sense she is having some trouble reaching you. She wants to warn you about some ruthless man - his name is Joseph or John or maybe James - a man you have not seen for several years. The woman will be claiming that the man is trying to bilk you out of some money you inherited not long ago.
If she does finally reach you, break off all communication with her and the man. These are evil people and both are plotting together against you. Be strong and they will cease and desist."
She spits when she speaks in a voice marinated in whiskey and stale Marlboros and her teeth - chipped and yellow - are only visible when a wicked smile interrupts her rants and observations.
"One day you will have twin boys, identical. They will be born under the sign of Libra and will be wonderfully creative. One will become a great painter; the other, a musical genius. Look here. It is written clearly in your palm. This long line intersecting with this other line tells the tale...remember my words. You will be so proud."
Her name is Madame Olga and she works out of a dimly lit storefront parlor in New Jersey's most famous resort town; there's a red and black curtain parted slightly and a small hand-lettered sign in the window announcing a full-time psychic on duty. Tourists come down from the boardwalk and business is always very brisk during the summer months.
She speaks with an odd accent. Some guess she hails from Romania. Others put their money on Russia. And there are even a few who swear they saw her years before in a South Jersey dinner theater production playing a clairvoyant in a Noel Coward comedy. Whatever her roots, she still boasts many loyal, long-standing customers - she calls them "friends" - who always make a point to stop in and allow themselves the luxury of her insights...for a price, of course.
"You say you were born on the cusp of Gemini and Cancer. Things are going very bad for anyone sharing this particular circumstance. This means you will be in great emotional pain straight through to the end of this year, but soon after the veil of strife will be lifted. I see that woman in your husband's life - the one who is causing you so much torment - she will move away and into another relationship and out of your lives. I see you reunited with your husband and a wonderful job opportunity coming into his life. You will be happy again. Time is on your side. Just be patient and trust my words."
And then there are her hands with their tapering lethal fingernails, hands like an ungainly but beautiful bird with great flapping wings, sailing over the ocean. Her melodramatic gestures prevail as she utters her own mantra...yes, she says, people will do anything to see their futures mapped out before their eyes. And, yes, she will take their money to proclaim their future and sometimes their desire for affirmation can make them very generous. They live for the moments she provides...one more prophecy of doom that can only be altered by attention to her urgent warnings, one more promise of wealth, of security, of happiness, to sustain them.
From the beginning, she was a rarity...born in a gypsy village with a veil - a thin, filmy membrane that covered her tiny premature body immediately after birth; the veil symbolized psychic supremacy. She smiles at the strength she holds and she is comforted by her transcendent power. She need not glance at tea leaves or tarot cards or entertain a long departed spirit to know her own destiny. She was born to share her gifts with the world.
Vernon Waring's poetry has appeared in The Writer, The Iconoclast, Alabama School of Fine Arts Quarterly,
Midwestern University Quarterly, New Dimensions, and Anthology as well as on the Prairie Home Companion's Web site.
His light verse has been published in the Saturday Evening Post, Philadelphia Daily News, and WRITE ON!! Poetry Magazette.
His short fiction and poetry have also been featured online in Ascent Aspirations Magazine. He resides in King of Prussia,
Pennsylvania.
Email: Vernon Waring
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