Telling Fortunes in Phoenix

Sara

After her Shamanic Journey Sara drifted into sleep and did not awaken until guards shouted the inmates awake and into the yard. She first thought of Fatima’s pointed rejection, then of her interventions with Chui and Nik. At last, though, she contemplated breakfast and wondered if the food was as bad as advertised.

Sherriff Joe, whether for economy, to increase the sale of vending foods or to punish the inmates for being thrown in jail, offered pig swill as the daily fare. Since pigs and humans had similar needs the food that kept a pig healthy should be perfect for humans and, though it arrived in large containers that clearly stated the contents were not to be used for human consumption, the swill was hygienically boiled then served. Salt was provided for flavor.

As Sara stirred her breakfast ‘soup,’ looking for recognizable elements, she regarded her companions. Most of the women came in various shades of brown and, because they would soon be moved to the women’s facility, they were not provided with the faded pink coveralls that the jail was famous for. They wore what they’d been arrested in, mostly men’s t-shirts and jeans, which fit the women badly, too tight here and sagging there. The percentage of the obese was higher than the national norm and there were skin discolorations and scars apparent as well as dental caries and missing teeth.

Jewel stood out in the group like a rose in a compost heap. Though grubby, her clothes were designed for a woman and fit her neat figure well. Her smile was white and unblemished. Sara couldn’t help but wonder how the others would look if they had better clothes and dental care, not to mention a long history of loving attention.

Jewel had determined to continue her research on child prostitution and went off to mingle and interrogate the populace. She would stick to her cover story, she said, and though Sara worried about her safety in this group she refrained from dissuading her. The girl would probably be safe and Sara already had her work cut out for her: She’d promised to give everyone a card reading and hadn’t finished a tenth the evening before.

A pretty girl, plump and young, with flowing black hair and fresh red lipstick shuffled the cards which Sara then cut into three stacks.

“Pick a stack.”

The girl chose the middle stack. Sara swooped up the cards and laid out the spread.

The center card was the Jack of Spades and Spades were the predominate suit with a smattering of Hearts and a lone Diamond. This person did not want to hear the truth.

Sara began talking. She spoke of the history of Spades, that in ancient times these cards were printed with swords, weapons of war, but were transformed into tools of agriculture.

“’They shall beat their swords into plowshares,’” the young woman said.

“Right,” Sara returned. “Some say this symbolizes trading self-defense for security. In the time of kings and knights the serfs were told to work the fields and if there was trouble the rich people in the castle would protect them.”

“Sounds a little bit like slavery,” the young woman said.

“It does,” said Sara, “but they were also told that God and the Church wanted them to work hard for others and that Jesus loved the poor.”

“That sounds like brain-washing,” the client said.

“Well, that is what I’ve heard. In your case all these Spades represent hard work and grueling toil that you willingly perform for love.” She pointed at a red Heart surrounded by black Spades.

Sara thought this young woman was turning tricks and handing the money to her pimp. The young lady thought he loved her. Loneliness swirled through a miasma of self-doubt which the girl held off by valiantly servicing as many customers as possible. Her love was returned with a pale appreciation but her clinging need was beginning to annoy. Sara sighed, searching for the uplifting path.

Her eyes were drawn to the King of Spades in the position of hopes and dreams.

“Tent City here is a low point.” Sara smiled grimly.

The client nodded, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Things are bound to improve, though.” Sara pointed to the King of Spades. “One of the things I notice in this spread is that you are mechanically inclined. All those spades or swords or whatever are metal. I think you’d make a good mechanic, something with engines or maybe electricity. You might look into changing jobs when you get out.”

“My brother’s a mechanic.”

“There you go. Maybe you can ask him for work.”

“He tried to visit yesterday.” The tears spilled over now. “I wouldn’t see him. I’m too ashamed.”

“Don’t be ashamed,” Sara said. “Everyone makes mistakes. I think you should talk to your brother. He’s a good guy.”

When the girl left Sara prepared for the next. She saw herself surrounded by white light and sent tiny swirling cyclones through to cleanse the sorrows of the last encounter before greeting her next customer.

It was tough going. Many of the women were beaten down while others had transformed their inner scars into hostility and violence, becoming the monsters they had survived. While they were with the Carnival, Sara and her grandmother had many disagreements but were in accord on one thing: they believed each client deserved a message of hope, though Madame Sybil preferred to lean heavily on the fantasies the rubes brought with them. As Sara read her way through the morning she looked for the best in her enforced customers, tailoring her answers and advice to help them find direction.

Although she took a moment to refresh herself after each session she was exhausted by the time lunch rolled around. The sight of Jewel, a genuinely good and undamaged being, was balm to her weary heart.

“What’s this?” Jewel said, stirring a mound of pre-packaged snacks at Sara’s setting.

Sara had received gifts of food all day. Most of her customers handed her a treat from the commissary before their reading. It was sweet. She had not asked for any payment but her clients had donated on their own. There were donuts, cheese and peanut butter crackers, a mushy red apple, Mars Bars, Butterfingers, Snickers, and a micro-wave popcorn, which Sara didn’t see the point of since no microwave was in evidence. Jewel and Sara didn’t think long about the choice between the vending machine offerings and the pig swill. Though they were queasy after their meal of packaged snacks Sara remembered the breakfast soup had the same effect.

A group of the bossier women had huddled together and deemed that Sara needed a few hours of rest after lunch.

“You look like shit,” Long-hair said. “Go take a nap. We’ll keep everyone away.”

“Let Ruby in if she wants,” Sara said. “I need to talk with her.”

She retired to her cot, grateful for the solitude but she tossed on her mat. She still reeled from the loss of her friend and mentor but without Fatima’s influence the situation seemed clear. She did not like that she’d asked that little boy to rescue the other children and she was afraid he couldn’t do it. And Cody’s boyfriend? What could he do?

The only person she knew with the skill and authority to help was Detective Blake, but he didn’t believe her and anyway what could she tell him? If she were an artist she could draw a picture of the ranch and the two criminals. She could tell him she was sure now that Jewel’s father was one of them and they could track him down with his name. But she had no physical proof and she didn’t like to think what would happen to Jewel when her father was convicted of trafficking. The girl thought her father was a super hero.

Still, she’d promised to tell Blake when she had more information. How was Fatima able to reach Sara whenever she wished? And why had Sara never thought to learn that little trick? It was just a lucid dream, she’d been in them for years. How hard could it be?

She filled her mind with Blake’s face and her consciousness went to him. He and another man drove west out of Phoenix. She saw herself in the car with them but they, of course, did not notice her. She had to speak to him now but was afraid she’d put him to sleep and he’d crash the car. So she couldn’t use a lucid dream. But Fatima had appeared to her when she was awake as well so it didn’t have to be at night or while asleep. Aarrgh, she was confused.

Okay, a lucid dream seemed something she could do, the other she didn’t know. But people dreamed while they were awake, didn’t they? Daydreams. Especially on a long road trip.

First she used her trusty white light to ensure their safety. She looked at Blake closely and got tiny, tiny, tiny, then she was enveloped in a mist, walking, her footfalls making a slow drum beat: clip clop clip clop. Finally, appearing through the cloud, Blake appeared.