It was funny how it all began, he thought. He had been a healer, and a very special healer for over 20 years now and rarely paused to look back, but he had received a telegram earlier that morning telling him that Esmerelda had died.
Esmerelda was the gypsy woman he met so long ago, that told him of his gift and his fate. He had gone to the local carnival one hot August day, with his girl at the time, Gloria.
He had been dating Gloria for several months and while they had engaged in some fairly heavy petting, they had not gone all the way and he was getting frustrated. He had, up until this time, had only two girls, Ginny who lived down the street. That was in her basement when her folks were away and was rushed and frantic. The first time she seemed to like it, but after the second she had drifted away and wouldn't even talk to him.
On his eighteenth birthday, friends had set him up with a hooker, well, not really a hooker, kind of the town pump. One of those girls who would do it with anyone. He was drunk and while it was thrilling, all the guys were in the next room yelling, and she was impassionate, if giving. Funny thing is, she moved away the week after, and word has it that she became very successful as a fashion designer in New York. He'd often wondered about that.
So, he took Gloria to the carnival, hoping that this would be the night. It was she who wanted to get their fortunes read. "Oh, it will be fun, Mal, come on." Four young gypsy men loitered outside the tent, smoking and eyeing them both. She went in first and came out five minutes later, gushing.
"Oh, Mal. That was so cool. I'm going to live to be an old lady and marry a successful man, and have four children and have a good life. She's good, Mal. And she told me a few things that nobody else knows. Now you go."
He didn't feel like it, he knew it was a sham. They always told you good things, and told you something general that you wanted to believe, and he had only $18 to impress this girl into going all the way tonight. He didn't want to tell her that. She insisted, and so he moved between the blasé black haired men, and ducked into the tent.
It was dark in here, and smelled funny. Incense or something. As his eyes adjusted he could make out brightly colored drapes and rugs and portraits in heavy frames. Their was a small round table in the middle and behind it sat a woman. She might have been forty five. She wore bright clothes, bracelets and necklaces and a scarf wrapped around her head from which long, curly black-black, glistening black hair tumbled from.
She beckoned to him with long, slender fingers tipped with red nail polish. "Come" she said. "Sit. Do not be afraid". Her voice had a huskiness to it, a raspy sensuality, and her lips betrayed a mocking smile. Her eyes were the blackest eyes he had ever seen, they were bright and intent. They seemed to wince slightly as if every movement caused her some new pain.
He sat. "Your girlfriend, she told you? She liked it."
"Yes, she was very pleased."
