Suzi?
‘Adrienne. The
cards, my dear.’
What
are you doing here?
‘For who?’
And what’s that you’re holding?
‘For him who lies so
close, inside of near, who can, by more than proxy, fix the deck. Shuffle, my dark
one.’
I’m holding the
cards, but I have no sensation of them in my hands.
No, don’t show me!
‘The Fool.
This is a precarious man balanced on a choice. He dreams the great dreams. He builds in
the air, thus his stepping stones will not support him. The wine he drinks of you may set
his wits adrift… yet water, tumbling down, is stronger still. Oracle-embryonic, take
heed The Brink. Truth, and truth alone, can break your fall.’
I recognize that box. Keep it closed. Take it away.
She stares right through
me as if I’m transparent, as if she’s seeing someone else behind. I turn to
look; the darkness has no depth; if I dared to reach my hand I could almost touch the its
end.
It’s past. You’re past. We’re past.
I’ve learned the things you mocked. I’m at the very threshold you dismissed.
I turn back; the first
card is covered by a second.
‘Queen of Swords,
Adrienne. She strops her blade on bitterness. One thrust and the seed of guilt is planted
deeply… like a fatal bubble of air underneath the skin… wending, sight unseen,
to her target’s heart.’
I know this dimension; I passed through it… with you. A
long, long time ago. How you've pulled me back, I don’t want to guess. You must be
getting help; I sense a power stronger than yours.
The light is changing.
The table top now is aglow with many colors. I look up past the Gypsy woman’s face to
a stained glass window hanging there above her, then back to the table where the image of
a man—praying—lies across the Queen’s card. He looks so real I can almost
see him breathing. He looks familiar, too, like I’ve known him in the past. Or will
in the future?
‘He rests. He prays
for light. He must restore his balance before the past is overcome.’
No, Suzi. I won’t play this game. Whatever you’ve
brought to show me can't do any good. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
The window is gone but
there’s another light. Dimmer. Colorless. There are cups in the next card’s
foreground, and, walking away, there’s a man. Maybe the same one? It’s too dark
to tell.
‘Restlessness
ensues. He wanders. Hollow joys are left behind for vague alternatives (less and less
substantial). Beware addiction to vagrancy. Its drug pretends to unlock doors down untold
corridors—corridors festooned with cast-off keys.’
It isn’t right that you’ve come back. I’ve
grown… matured… gained insight. You see? Look here; I’ve even sprouted
wings.
It is the same
man; I’m sure of it. This new card shows him sitting under a tree. There are three of
the same kind of cups in front of him, with a fourth being offered by a hand, sticking out
from a cloud.
‘His eyes grow weary
of form masquerading as substance. But will true substance be, by him, perceived?
Especially if it comes in an oft-rejected guise?’
That won’t work anymore. Cover yourself.
I’m
well beyond those cravings; can't you see?
She’s polishing the
next card on her sleeve. She lays it down. It’s blank. I lean over to look more
closely. It’s a mirror. My eyes are green, in the reflection; my hair’s not
black but auburn. Otherwise, we’re identical—Adrienne and this glass-reflection
of me.
‘If he braves your
tender portal to share his troubled seed, his tide may turn.’
Her lips didn’t
move; I watched them from inside the mirror. This is suddenly all familiar. This is that
dream I couldn’t remember—or one very much like it. I can see them sitting
across from each other—the Gypsy and my look-alike—at a cloth-covered table full
of coffee stains and strange, hand-painted cards… laid out in a cross pattern. The
furthest card to the right shows a man and a woman, each holding a golden cup. I feel an
odd sensation welling up inside. I stare at the card. In a blink, I’m standing face
to face with the man. My senses feel on fire. I ‘taste’ a flavor that
‘smells’ like a blood-red rose. Somehow, gazing into this man’s sad brown
eyes, I know we’ll soon be lovers… Or maybe not.
You’ve paralyzed me. How? I can’t move my feet!
I can’t see his eyes
anymore; they’re masked. Our cups have turned to swords. He holds them in his crossed
hands—she holds them, rather. I don’t understand.
I’m back in the
wicker chair watching another card being turned and placed above the blindfolded
woman’s. The new one shows a skeleton, in armor, riding a pure-white horse.
‘Circles breathe.
Lines that will not bend, alas, expire. Change; all circumstance changes. The seasons
know. White rose in hand, your love advances upon the Towers.’
Listen to me, Suzi. This has gone on long enough. These tricks
of yours—if they are yours—will not work.
I see more cups.
It’s hard to count them; seven I think. They keep fading in and out of
focus—with weird stuff inside. I hear her voice again… so strange… so
strange.
‘Enraptured by his
own illusions, he dreams the Juggler’s Dream… his footing grown more
treacherous… vertigo impending.’
Suzi, let go! You’re not well. I’m sorry; I should
have helped. I didn’t fully realize… but, please, turn me loose.
My hands! What has she
done to my hands? Suddenly they’re all crisscrossed with burnt sienna
lines—numbers, words, tiny symbols written in the spaces between—like hers.
‘Pay attention,
Adrienne. Never mind the ciphers; they will not last. Nothing lasts, my dear—though
ignorance of this man’s fate may leave its mark for a lifetime. Look. Look
here.’
She’s put another
card down—the last, I suspect—placed it across my palm. I’m afraid to look
at it. I refuse. I shut my eyes. I hear howling sounds, like hounds way off in the
distance… baying at a full moon. I also hear her voice—actually feel
it—chanting very close, right inside my ear.
‘Will sight conform
to mind then lie?
Or eye rebel and see?
Will light, on darkness,
trespass?
Will light, on darkness,
trespass?’
No, I won’t look. Take it away.
‘Will body yield to
coarse desire?
Or fire refine the key?
Will light, on darkness,
trespass?
Will light, on darkness,
trespass?’
Suzi, I’ll wake up!
‘Will spirit fold its
wings and die?
Or, by the truth, be
freed?
Will light, on darkness,
trespass?
Will light, on darkness,
trespass?’
*
