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The Two of Swords by SF Johnston What I could see of the sign said Heaven and Hell Fortunes. I brushed away the snow, and read the rest. No Appointment Necessary. You know, I thought it could have been a little more impressive. But it was just a plain piece of wood stuck to the side of the Kyoto Grocery and Import in a part of town that--well, let’s just say that the inhabitants had gone from barbarians to degenerates without the usual slice of civilization in between. It was freezing, snowing hard. I pulled my collar up, feeling ridiculously suspicious. As if on cue, a police car skidded around the corner. I wheeled around to face the shop window. As the blue and white pulled up behind me I bemoaned my well-spent childhood and total lack of criminal experience, and feigned fascination for a display of Duck flavored Ramen noodles. It’s not that I didn’t have a good reason for being where I was. I did. It was just that, for the first time in my life, it wasn’t a reason I felt comfortable telling the police. What could I possibly say? Yes officer? Oh, well, it’s my wife you see. Killed herself a while back, but I only found her suicide note yesterday, behind our bedroom dresser. What? Oh, I was moving. Anyway, this whacko fortune teller’s business card was stuck to the note, and the note said--well, that’s a bit personal, but the main thing is that I’ve come to kill the psychic. Pretty weird, if you know me. So, I’ll be-- I banged my forehead on the store window while simultaneously jumping out of my skin as the police car’s siren suddenly screamed behind me. It sped away and fishtailed around the next corner. I stood stock still until I couldn’t hear it anymore, then looked back at the sign. I’d been right all along. She had to be a fake. A real fortune teller would have won the lottery and moved to Mansion Land, or at least gone to L.A. to set up shop for the stars. They wouldn’t be living up a set of rickety stairs barely hanging on to the western wall of a dumpy little store. How could my Margie have been so stupid? The cold and the snow had emptied the street. I took a deep breath and started up the icy stairs, wondering if they would crumble right out of the wall there and then. They didn’t. I ended up at a plain black door, where I pressed a chipped plastic buzzer and waited with white-hot hate burning a hole in my stomach. A muscular, bespectacled white man in his thirties answered the door. He was dressed in khaki’s and a sports shirt. So, basically, what I was looking at was an iron-pumping accountant on his day off. I was expecting to have to kill a woman, and to tell you the truth I had been feeling a little awkward about that, so this was already a step in the right direction. So he was huge. Big deal. Bring it on. Now, me? I’m not big. I didn’t play on the football team in high school. Oh, I went to the games all right. I sat in the back of the bleachers and read Asimov. But now I was ready to get in the game. Put me in coach. I wanted to get it over with right there, and felt my arm move toward my coat pocket, but then I stopped. I needed answers first. It was half of what I came for. I swung my arm around to point down the death trap stairs to the sign, and raised my eyebrows. He nodded. “Yes. That’s me. Come in.” He pulled open the screen door and I walked into a small, clean apartment that smelled like cloves. The furniture was sparse and neatly arranged, and the walls--well, I’ll get to that. I shook the snow off my coat, and he offered to take it. Not on your life. “I’ll keep it on,” I said, feeling the weight of the small gun inside it. “If it’s all the same to you.” He shrugged. “Have a seat.” He pointed to a couch under the only window in the room. “I’ll be right back.” He darted out a thin doorway, quick for a guy his size, and I went over to the couch to look out the window. The street was empty, and the wind was blowing snowdrifts up against the side of the store. I turned around to look at the walls again. They were covered with religious artwork. Lots of Jesus, a few saints, and a poster of that famous painting of God creating Adam. There was also an elephant with a gazillion arms, and a few Buddhas, mostly fat, all of them smiling. Between the paintings and posters were small, intricately patterned designs, like looking through a kaleidoscope on acid. A series of shelves on the left wall held a bunch of books. I walked slowly over to them, knowing pretty much what I would find. I was right. They were the same new age books Margie had been into. No wonder she had come to this guy. Speaking of which, where was he? I wanted to get on with this and then get the hell out of Dodge. I walked over to the back wall again, to a huge poster of a Buddha surrounded by one of those kaleidoscope things. As I reached it, I heard a toilet flush in the other room. Nice. Then I heard him coming. I turned, half expecting him to come swooping in covered with velvety things for effect, but he entered dressed exactly as he had left. He joined me at the poster. “Like it?” he said. “It’s my favorite.” I did not want to have a pleasant conversation with this guy. The sight of him brought bile into my throat, and the thought that he was one of the last people to see my Margie before she ended her life--that he was the reason she ended her life--man, it was carving a black pit in my soul. But I had to find out why. And that meant moving forward with my plan. However distasteful. I pointed to the freakish designs, wishing I had listened to Margie more. She was always trying to talk to me about this stuff, but it was something in which I had no interest. And I mean Nada. None. I just didn’t believe in it. “What are those?” I said. “Mandalas…” He almost whispered it. How reverent. “Oh. Are they--?” “They represent the wheel of our endless cycles of earth plane existence.” He had moved too close, as some people do, so I took a step back. “The wheel of…the wheel of what?” “Samsara. Life after life.” “Ah, reincarnation. You know, I don’t believe that stuff at all.” I spread my hands and looked around the room. “I think this is it.” “Maybe.” He smiled. I hated the sight of his teeth. He pointed at God creating Adam. “Maybe we just go up or down.” “Maybe. Maybe that’s the way it is.” I pulled out my gun. “Let’s find out.” *** The fortune teller’s name was Duke, if you can believe that, and I had him sitting on the couch. I was on a wooden folding chair across from him, and between us was Duke’s ‘reading’ table with a pack of Tarot cards wrapped in some kind of handkerchief. Duke was transfixed by my weapon. “That gun,” he said. “I--” “This gun speaks for itself,” I interrupted. It kind of did. It was small, pearl-handled, and feminine. Margie had killed herself with it, but I didn’t feel the need to explain that to him just yet. Duke started to speak, keeping his voice soft and even. “Look. You want a reading? Okay, you get one. You don’t need the gun.” “Well, let’s see. There’s you.” I pointed at his large frame. “Then there’s me.” I passed the gun across my ectomorphic self. “So I’ll hang on to it for now, if you don’t mind.” Duke nodded. “Okay,” he said. “But you should know that I’m committed to non-violence. I would never--” “Shut up and deal.” “Of course. I’ll get the cards ready.” Duke raised his eyes to mine. “Usually, people tell me a little bit about themselves at this point.” “Oh Christ,” I said. There it was. Even with a gun three feet away from him, he had started right in with his routine. Unbelievable. “Look. I know how you people operate,” I said. “I tell you a bit about myself, and you start to extrapolate. Somehow, you just seem to know all of my problems and worries.” Duke put up his hands in protest, but I cut him off before he could start in with his excuses. “Except you know what?” I said. “They’re the same old problems and clichés that all of us have. Am I with the right partner? Am I in the right job? Will I ever have enough money? How long will I live? Oh yeah, you know what I’m talking about. And then I’m supposed to get all amazed at how you know me so well, how you couldn’t possibly have known that these things were worrying me. I’m not stupid, Duke. I’m not gullible. But I bet you’re glad that so many people are.” Duke still had his palms towards me, his face a picture of innocence, the bastard. “I would never--” “Be quiet. You know exactly what you’re doing. If you’re wrong, if I look bewildered, you change tack, until I start nodding. Then you’ve got me. You go down that road as far as it will take you and then you go fishing some more. Then, just when I realize how horrible my life is, you tell me what I want to hear. I’ll find love. My true calling will find me. I’ll be comfortable, but not rich. I’ll live a good long life. Except that’s not what you told Margie, is it?” I spat out the last sentence and glared at Duke. Duke brought his hands to his face, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes slowly. Then he put his glasses back on and sat back. “Okay.” Duke looked at me carefully. “We can sit here and you can lecture me with a gun in my face. That seems to work for you. But I’ll tell you right now, I’m not a fake, and I can prove it. You were nervous when that police car pulled up behind you just now. You were thinking about excuses. You looked at the Ramen noodles--” “Stop!” I shouted. I had been ready for this, and I rattled off my response. “You saw me out the window, everybody gets nervous when police cars pull up, and you know exactly what’s in the damn shop window. I told you, I’m not stupid.” “But you’re wondering why I’m not scared.” He had me there. I was wondering about that. “Maybe you are scared,” I said. “I don’t care if you are, and I don’t care if you aren’t. I’m just here to take care of something.” “I’m not scared, because I know that you’re not a bad person.” “The hell you do,” I said. “Besides, sometimes good people do bad things.” “Yes,” said Duke, slowly. “I know for a fact that’s true.” He looked at the gun again. “And that is why we’re here. Isn’t it Ray?” What the hell? Duke the fake fortune teller knew my name. “Margie told you my name,” I said. “I don’t know how you managed to remember it, but that’s how you know.” “Margie did tell me about you,” Duke said. “But she didn’t mention your name.” “You’re lying,” I said as he picked up the Tarot deck. “Stop doing that. I’m smarter than you, so just stop.” “Why are you here?” Duke said. “What is this?” I hefted the gun in my hand. “I came here for a reading, Duke. And to kill you. But if you’d rather skip the first part…” Duke shook his head slowly and undid the handkerchief that had been tied loosely around the Tarot deck. He spread the cards face down on the table, and mixed them around with both hands, like a kid. Then he gathered the cards up again and slid the deck across the table to me. “Cut the deck,” he said. “Anywhere you like.” My eyes shifted down to my ring finger, which didn’t have a ring anymore. “She was desperate,” I said. “She wasn’t herself. She came to see you, you told her something, and she killed herself. And now here I am. I’m going to find out about that. And about you.” I pushed the Tarot cards back across the table to him. “So you can cut the deck, Duke. Because I don’t want you to read my fortune.” I pointed the gun at his chest. “I want you to read yours.” *** Duke opened his mouth and shut it again. His larynx bobbed, and he crinkled the little space in between his eyebrows. “I don’t under--” “Yes you do.” I pointed at the cards. Duke picked them up, then stopped, staring at the gun again. Understandable. “Let me tell you something, Ray,” he said. “That gun. I’ve seen--” “Duke, my man, you are definitely fixated on the wrong thing here. What you ought to be thinking is, should I give myself a good reading? Or should I give myself a bad reading? Which one will set this guy off? Because it all depends on the cards, now, doesn’t it?” “No,” said Duke. “It doesn’t. Well, it does, but--please. Listen to me.” He held up the deck. “These cards show possibilities. Positive, negative. Yin, Yang. For every Heaven, a Hell.” “The name of your little operation,” I said. “I get it.” Duke shook his head. “What I do…what I’m good at for some reason,” he said quickly, “is interpretation. What the cards may mean. I try to remain positive, to help people change for the better.” “You try,” I said. “Yes. Except when your wife was here, she--” “She what? She was more of a ‘negative’ client, is that it? Oh I’m starting to get the picture now, Duke. You played on her fear. You wanted her money. You thought if you scared her enough, she’d keep coming back.” Duke started to protest, and I waved the gun again. “Stop talking and deal.” Duke looked at the cards in his hand. “Okay,” he said. There was resignation in his voice. “I’ll deal.” He held the cards up between us. “These may look quite dramatic, but the cards are highly symbolic. Each one represents a diff--” “Yes, I know they’re symbols, any idiot knows they’re symbols.” I was losing patience fast. “Duke, are you stalling?” Duke just stared at me. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do,” I said. “No long reading while you try to figure a way to get out of this. You just lost that chance. I want you to do the shortest reading you’ve got.” Duke’s eyes widened. “But that won’t--” “Enough! What’s your shortest reading?” Duke paused. “I have a method,” he said. “Four cards. One card for the past, two cards for the present, one card for the future.” “Good,” I said. “Go.” *** Duke had dealt four cards face down on the table in a single row. He turned over the first card. “My past. The Tower.” He looked up at me. Something had changed in his expression, something behind his eyes. I wasn’t sure what it was, and I wasn’t sure I liked it. “Explain.” “The Tower card is from the Major Arcana,” he said. “It can represent sudden upheaval. Crisis.” “Well done,” I said. “You’ve hooked me right from the start. You’re a real pro. Is there some kind of fake fortune teller University somewhere that you creeps all go to?” “I keep telling you,” said Duke. “I’m not a fake.” “All fortune tellers are fakes.” “Is this because of Madame Mimi?” I sat very still, the gun feeling very small in my hand. When Duke spoke again, his voice was soft and gentle. “Of course she was a fake, Ray. The State Fair? What did you expect?” Duke was looking above and beyond me now, straight into the picture of the Buddha. “She offered you more than a reading if you came back after hours. You did, but your friends got you too drunk and you passed out. She took all your money and was gone in the morning. Learning experience. By the way, her real name was Irene McReedy, and she’s still alive, doing time for mail fraud.” He lowered his eyes back to mine. “Oh, and the Tower card also means seeing through illusion.” There was no way he could have known about Madame Mimi. I hadn’t even told Margie. I didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, Ray. I never do that without asking people’s permission first. But under these circumstances…” He pointed at the gun. “Okay.” I tried to pull myself together. “Okay. Maybe you’re…I can maybe…okay. Let’s leave this for now. Let’s talk about you.” My head was spinning, and I had to regain control of the situation. I was the one with the gun, for God’s sake. “The Tower. Your past.” Duke paused, shrugged, and then spoke rapidly. “Okay. I do have a crisis in my past. I lost my job. It was a good job. But I stole from them.” Wow. He was being honest with me. “A good job?” I said. “Then it was more like embezzlement?” “Yes.” “Well. Once a thief…” I shook my head. “No…no…I…it changed me.” Duke’s voice took on an earnest tone I hadn’t heard from him yet. “Remember, the Tower also means seeing through illusion. I realized I had been chasing the wrong things. My values were out of whack. When I got out, I started developing my gift.” “Sounds like an ex-con making excuses.” I had heard enough. “Next card.” Duke turned over the second card. “The present. The Hermit. Major Arcana again.” “The Hermit.” I looked around the small apartment. “Don’t get out much, huh?” “Well, no. No I don’t, actually,” he said. “But that’s not what the card means. The Hermit represents the need to find answers. A quest for truth.” “I guess that fits you.” I looked at the walls, with all of their Saints, Buddhas, and Mandalas. “Or at least it fits with what you want people to think.” “Ray, do I have to describe what you threw off the bridge over on Riverside Drive? I know you’re a good person, Ray, but that wasn’t exactly your shining moment.” Jesus Christ! My stomach flipped, and for the first time since entering the apartment I felt indecision. “And don’t tell me it was all Frank’s idea,” he continued. “We both know you were there, we both know that you--” “We were just college kids,” I said. “We--” I stopped. He had me. Duke was for real. “Okay,” I said carefully. This wasn’t how I had planned things. This wasn’t what I wanted at all. But I was here with the gun, and he had still killed my Margie. I had to go on. I gestured towards the cards. “Next.” Duke turned over the third card. “Once more, the present. It’s the Magician. Major Arcana again.” “What does it mean?” Hard pellets of snow were hitting the window behind Duke, but it was getting hot in the apartment. I still had my coat on. “A number of things,” said Duke slowly. He was being careful. “It depends on--” “What does it mean?” I repeated. “Taking action,” he said. “Understanding intention. Singleness of purpose. Experiencing power.” “I see.” I sat back in my chair. “That what gets you off, Duke? The power? Messing with people?” “No,” said Duke. He looked sad. “You’re the one with the gun. Ray. Does it make you feel powerful?” “This isn’t about me,” I said. “Turn over the next card.” He hesitated, then turned it over. “The future. The last card is the Two of Swords. Minor Arcana.” “The Two of Swords? Minor Arcana? That’s it?” “The Two of Swords represents Heaven and Hell.” Duke locked eyes with me. “And I’ll tell you, it’s a very important card in this particular situation.” “Heaven and Hell,” I said. “The name of your little operation again. Well now. That is a coincidence.” “No, it’s not.” He picked up the card and showed it to me. It was two men, each with a bloody sword, fighting each other. “The Two of Swords also represents a duel.” I saw that look behind his eyes again, and realized what it was. It was acceptance. So that was your fortune,” I said. “No, that was our fortune. I just read for the both of us.” *** I was standing, holding the gun out in front of me with both hands. It was leveled at Duke’s forehead. “What did you say?” “The Tower,” he said. “Crisis. Seeing through illusion. Margie was your world. She killed herself, and you had no idea why. Until you found the note and came here.” “You--” “The Hermit. A quest for truth. You’ve been searching for answers since Margie’s death. You’ve been obsessed with it.” “Stop! You have no right to--” “The Magician. Singleness of purpose. You came here with one intention. To kill me. This has given you strength. Power. Over your life, and mine.” I cocked the gun, and squared off. “The Two of Swords. Heaven and Hell. Two dueling men. And here we are.” We stood there staring at each other, me with my gun, Duke with his truth. “Ray, listen to me” he said. “You know something’s not right about this. You know it. You can still walk away.” “I have to do this, Duke. It’s why I’m here.” Duke stood up. “Well, let’s see about that then.” I took a step backwards. “What did you tell her? What did you tell Margie that made her blow her brains all over our apartment?” “The future’s not written in stone, Ray,” he said. He started to walk around the table. I took another step back, and lowered the gun to his chest. “Stop where you are,” I said. “Stop.” He ignored me, moving forward one slow step at a time. He was calm. I felt like bolting. Duke was right. There was something wrong about this. I just wanted to find out what had happened and get out. “Today, for instance,” he said, still walking towards me. “I’m probably going to die. You’re probably going to kill me. But here’s the thing.” “Don’t do this.” I backed toward the wall with the big Buddha. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe we don’t have to do this.” “The Two of Swords.” Duke stopped and held it up again. “Heaven. Hell. We share that card now, Ray. Do you understand what that means? You need to understand what I’m saying.” “Okay, Duke,” I said. “I think you are psychic, okay? For real. But you’re also an ex-con, you use your gift to make money, and you’re responsible for killing my wife. You owe me an answer.” “I’m a good person,” said Duke. He started walking towards me again, and I backed further away toward the wall. “I don’t charge much, and I truly try to help people make their lives better. I would never--” I stepped backwards again and hit the wall. The corner of the frame holding the Buddha jabbed into my right shoulder, and the gun went off. Duke sprawled backwards over his table and onto the couch. “Oh shit,” I said. I ran over. Blood was spreading out over his sports shirt. “This didn’t have to happen.” I felt like crying. “Oh Jesus, why didn’t you stop?” Red bubbles started to come out of his mouth as he breathed. “What did you tell her?” I said. “What happened? You scared her so much she killed herself, Duke. What did you say?” He coughed up a spray of blood, and looked at me. “She was so sad.” “How could you take advantage of that?” Duke struggled to sit up. “No. No…I…I didn’t take her money…she asked me to--” “What?” I said. “What did she ask?” Duke grimaced and his body shuddered against the pain. “She asked me what would happen…what would happen to you.” “To me?” “Yes. If she killed herself.” “If she…?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “I tried to call 911…to get her to the hospital. To get help.” “You tried? Why do you keep trying things, Duke? Why didn’t you just--?” “Ray,” said Duke. “Ray, she had the gun.” I sat down hard on the couch, inches from Duke. “She had her gun with her?” I looked down at my hand. “This gun?” Duke nodded weakly. “She said she’d do it right here, take me with her. She pointed that gun at me and made me read for her.” The left side of his mouth rose slightly, and he coughed out a short laugh. “What is it with you two?” I dropped the gun to the floor. What in God’s name had I done? “That wasn’t like her,” I said. There was no air in my lungs. “Like I said, she wasn’t herself.” It was a weak excuse to offer a dying man. “So I read for her,” said Duke. “Crisis, of course. But also, that afterwards… afterwards you would search for answers. That you would have purpose. That you would see through illusion.” He put his hand to his chest, lifted it up and looked at the blood. “That you would discover truth.” “Aw, shit. No…” I was starting to get it now. “She smiled when I told her that. It was the only time I saw her smile.” “She always wanted me to search with her,” I said. “She wanted that so badly for me.” “I know.” “I’m not a murderer.” “I know that, too.” Duke lurched upright, and grabbed the lapels of my coat. The Two of Swords fluttered to the ground. “Ray, what if you’re right? I did use my gift to make money. It wasn’t much, but I did it. What if I was stealing again? I was trying to help, but what if…” He coughed up more blood, and I lowered him back on to the couch. Then it hit me. “Jesus, Duke, what am I thinking?” I took a quick look around the room. “Where’s your phone, I’ve got to get an ambulance.” Duke shook his head. He was still gripping my coat. “It’s too late.” He chuckled wetly. “You believe me now when I say things, don’t you Ray?” I did. “Ray. What I was saying before. We share the Two of Swords. Heaven and Hell. You have to understand.” Then, at last, I thought I did. “Oh, one of us is going to Heaven. If that’s the way it is.” Duke nodded. “Yeah. If that’s the way it is.” His hands dropped to his sides. “The other one…” He stiffened, and his eyes grew bright. “I see it…” he said. He grabbed my hand. “I see it! It’s not like I thought…Oh, you’ll…it’s not like--” He shuddered one last time and was still. I sat there on the couch for a minute, his hand still in mine, and wondered what to do. I had no record. No fingerprints on file anywhere. Nobody knew Margie had been to see Duke. Nobody knew I had been to see him. There was absolutely nothing to connect his death to me. They could collect all the DNA they wanted. It was an accident I said to myself. I had changed my mind; I hadn’t meant to kill him after all. And if I gave myself up, would it bring Duke back? I needed time to think. I could always go down to the station later. I looked down at the floor. There, beside the gun, was the Two of Swords. Heaven and Hell. Two men, battling it out. I picked up card, and laid it gently on Duke’s chest. Then I picked up the gun and looked out the window. Dusk had arrived, and the snowdrifts were piling up even higher now. The street was still deserted. I walked over to the door, pulled it open, and a gush of cold air streamed into the room. How long had I been in the apartment? Twenty minutes? Thirty? I made my way down the icy steps, past the Kyoto Grocery and import and turned the corner. Nobody saw me. Each step brought me farther away from Duke, and closer to death. I called 911 from a phone booth six blocks away, and then made my way through the snow to my home. The storm covered my tracks in minutes. And of course, I think about him every day. Sometimes, when the guilt gets too bad, when I get the night sweats, I come very close to heading on down to turn myself in. But I haven’t. I’ve read all of Margie’s books now, and I’m working my way through a pile of new ones in the corner. My friends all think I’ve found God. But it’s weird, you know? The more I understand, the more I search. And the more I search, the less I understand. And I play that day over and over in my head. It’s not like I thought, he said. Is he in Heaven? I think he deserves to be. Is he in Hell? Better for me if he is. But then, wouldn’t thinking like that kind of rule me out of Heaven anyway? That is, if killing an honest psychic in a misguided attempt at futile revenge hadn’t done that already? Well, whatever happens when I die, I sure hope I get to see Margie. At least I know now that it will be not like I thought. Every day, I wonder whether that’s a comfort or not. THE END SF Johnston © 2006 |
