The Seer's Tent

If every prophet is insane, is every insane man a prophet?

Luckily, we found a quiet, shady spot in the grass devoid of ant mounds and dog presents. An old oak tree’s gnarled limbs twisted up over us like wings of a guardian angel, shielding us from the sun’s oppressive glare. Days were getting hotter and hotter around here. The shade kept us from turning into puddles of blood and sweat. If I’m not mistaken, seven days this month have already set records on the heat index. And this day was no different.
    I don’t know why we had chosen a picnic in the park. I had suggested it and before any other options could be presented we had hurried out the door with a little wicker basket, across the sweltering street and into the corner grocery where we had bought cheese, bread, grapes, hard salami, and a bottle of wine. We could have taken our picnics indoors and enjoyed the air conditioning, watching movies or playing Scrabble, blinds drawn to avoid the sun; instead we had got on the subway with sweaty strangers and finally made it to the park. I had to stifle my own complaints since it’d been my idea to go on this outdoor excursion. At least we had the park all to ourselves. It was unusually deserted for this time of year.
    Phillip and Jacquelyn spread out the tablecloth on the grass. Marty and I flirted oblivious to our friends’ struggle against a sudden breeze. I went ahead and uncorked the chilled bottle of peach wine and poured some for each of us in red plastic cups. We toasted to sweaty days and silly ideas. We drank to global warming and the Republicans who deny it exists. We drank for the polar bears and the penguins who’ll be extinct before too long. We drank for the sake of drinking the wine before it began to boil.
    I couldn’t look away from Marty for one second. Her ice blue eyes had some magic way of making me forget about the blistering heat. I thought less about the taste of the cheese or the wine than the taste of her lips and how I‘d like to refresh my memory, even as I was eating and drinking. The way she modestly covered her knees with her pink windblown sundress, the way she brushed her blond bangs behind her ear with one finger,  the way she smiled at me and asked what I was staring at when she knew the answer quite well, all of it made her irresistible. Either it was heat exhaustion or I was falling in love.
    “You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?” I heard Phillip say. I must’ve been lost in thought, overwhelmed with desire, daydreaming about that night, and the next day, and the next, thinking about what I would do when I got Marty all alone.
    “Huh? Sorry, I was just fantasizing about an exotic woman,” I said, trying to play off my stupor. “You were saying something about this wonderful weather?”
    “Probably Pamela Anderson,” said Jacquelyn.
    “I hope it was me, James. If not..” and Marty shook her fist at me.
    “Uh, not quite about the weather. Nothing that mundane. Get with the program.” Phil hit me with a piece of bread. “I said it looks like somebody’s living in the park. See that big army green tent over there? We might have stumbled onto some enemy encampment. Maybe America‘s finally invaded Quebec!”
    I looked where he was pointing.
    “No army in their right mind would be staying outside in this heat,” said Marty. “Not if they could just storm some apartment complex and throw all the residents out the windows and take over their rooms. Sure they’re would be bodies all over the ground and a mess to clean up, but that’s war.”
    “No army in their right mind would fight in this weather. They’d postpone ‘til winter, no doubt,” said Jacquelyn with a mouth full of something.
    “Okay, Napolean,” said Marty.
    I squinted at the sign beside the tent. Something was written there. An explanation. Too far to decipher the words.
     “But then again,” Phillip said, “it’s probably the heat that got them to attack in the first place. I mean, look at the Middle East. All those lunatics over there blowing up their neighbors and soldiers and kids in the street. Strapping bombs to their chest and screaming out vengeance on the infidels when really they’re just trying to get to Heaven to escape their boiling sandpit and their nagging wives and needy children so they can hook up with lots of young, sexy virgins.”
    “Wow. What a philosopher you are, Phil,” said Jacquelyn. “I don’t know why I ever fell for you. I guess I thought you’d grow up one day. Just keep spouting stereotypes, why don‘t you?”
    “There’s still time. We’ve got all the time in the world. I’ll be going to school in California soon and I need to start talking like an American. Right? God, I was only joking anyway,” he said.
    “You want to go over there with me, Marty? I think it’s some shop or something,” I said, putting my hand on Marty’s knee.
    “Okay,” she smiled.
    I took her by the hand and helped her up.
    “You guys aren’t leaving me alone with him. I might just strangle him or something,” said Jacquelyn.
    “Yeah, let’s all go,” said Phil. “I’ll bring this butter knife just in case we get ambushed. And in case Jackie gets any crazy ideas.”
    I just laughed.
                                                    
    
The sign next to the tent was handmade. A piece of cardboard affixed to a stake in the ground. The bold black letters read: ‘Welcome to the realm of Kalid Ali, the Immortal Omniscient Seer. Ask only questions to which you desire an answer. Beware. Some things are better left unknown. Enter if you dare.’
    “Oh, God, that’s spooky,” said Phillip, displaying his trembling hands to make his point. “This guy’s in love with himself. Let’s go finish the wine before it evaporates.”
    “Come on, Phil. Don’t be a party pooper. I want to know my fortune,” said Jackie. “Can’t we? Can’t we?”
    “Me too,” said Marty, squeezing my hand. She looked like an eager child. I’d do anything, I swear it, just for one of her smiles.
    “What are we waiting for?” I said.
    Suddenly a voice came from behind us. This guy was a true performer. We turned to find the seer standing there before the tent in an outlandish outfit, a multicolored robe with fake jewels, his body adorned with golden bracelets and necklaces, ears and fingers lined with rings. “Welcome, my friends. I am Kalid Ali. Do you wish to enter?” He held out an open palm toward the tent’s entrance.
    “Uh, yeah sure. How much is this going to cost me?” said Phillip, thumbing through bills in his wallet. Because of his wealth he always insisted on paying for things when we went out, and he often made a big deal about it, too, showing the money around as though he hadn’t inherited it from his grandfather but slaved countless hours to obtain it.
    “Whatever you wish to give shall be the charge,” said the Seer, grinning widely, displaying a stunning lack of dental hygiene and a face full of wrinkles.
    “Here’s five bucks,” Phillip said, holding out the bill. “Let’s get started.”
    The Seer didn’t reach for the money. He merely stared at it for a moment. “I do not touch unclean things,” he said. And he whistled back into his tent. On command out came a little brown monkey dressed in a robe quite like his master’s. The monkey grabbed the money and took off back into the tent.
    Inside we sat on a rug while the Seer washed his hands in a bowl of water on the ground. Then he washed his face, all the while humming some unfamiliar tune probably from his native country. In the corner of the tent was a thin mattress covered with colorful pillows, and beside the mattress was the bowl of water. Other than the rug, mattress and water bowl, the tent was empty. No clothes. No books. No mirror. No table or chairs. I had no idea where the monkey was.
    “Are we ready to begin?” he said.
    He took Marty’s hand into his own and examined her palm, making thoughtful noises as he traced the lines with his forefinger. He spoke in generalities about her health, wealth and life. She would live to a ripe old age and have few if any health ailments. He cautioned her to stay away from spicy foods, too much sunshine, bodies of water in winter, and told her she was overindulging in dairy products. She must quit smoking, he said, or her children will suffer the consequences. That was the first I’d heard of her smoking habit and her sheepish grin told me it was true. I felt like I’d heard something meant for her ears only, but she didn’t seem to care. She would be a wealthy woman some day, he said, in traditional and nontraditional ways. Finally he told her that love has opened her like a budding flower and she had much to look forward to as she blossomed in the presence of her illuminating star. When her hand was released, Marty left her arm outstretched, and she seemed lost in a dream.
    I felt the Seer take my free hand now and I almost pulled away, thinking that whatever he said no matter how spot on would ruin the perfection of Marty’s reading. With my luck he’d condemn me as a womanizing alcoholic son-of-a-b***h, which I’ll deny until my death, all to steal my pretty prize away from me. But Marty calmed down and let me go, eager to hear the Seer’s words. I watched her, anxious and worried, but didn’t want to disappoint her especially now that she believed in the man’s ideas and was kept up in the magic of his vague predictions. So I let my hand go limp. He turned it over to examine my palm, making strange cooing noises as he stared at my skin. Please, I thought, don’t tell them all I was an habitual masturbator as a child. My hand felt sweaty and disgusting. I really hate for anyone to hold my hand. If he was sickened by it, though, he showed no signs. He told me that I would fall ill in the next year if I did not follow my dreams today. I was to be an important man soon in the eyes of the one who mattered the most. Soon there would be more eyes watching, he said, and they’d be learning from my actions. If I stayed true to my ambition and listened to my heart rather than the logic of a mind shaped by society I would become a great man. He said I should avoid microwaves and rooftops, and cut off ties with those who tell only lies. He urged me to resist consumerism, and take vitamins regularly. I almost laughed. Finally, he said love could not be ignored or rationalized. He told me I needed to endure a few long moments of confinement to gain a lifetime of liberty. When he released my hand I felt drained but at the same time energized. The Seer’s eyes had hypnotized me.
    The look on Phillip’s face told me he thought this all a waste of time. At that point, however, I admit my skepticism was fading. I didn’t know exactly what the man had done to produce this physiological change in me, but I truly felt touched by something more powerful than myself. My body felt relieved of a great weight, and my heart fluttered excitedly at the possibilities of my future.
    “Your hand is so hot, my dear,” the Seer said to Jacquelyn. “You’ve been playing with fire. Your world will be upset by the risks you’ve been taking.”
    A strange sound outside, like stampeding elephants. Thunder. The drought was finally over. Rain came down in sheets on the Seer’s tent. I was nervous that it would collapse but then again it was only made of cloth, it’s not like we’d be trapped and die.
    The Seer stared up as if through the tent at the sky above. He smiled his ugly, rotten, toothy grin. “This is a great sign, my child,” he said to Jacquelyn. “Knowledge has chased away danger. In a moment your path was transformed. Soon you shall be running downhill instead of walking up mountains with burdens on your back. Cast aside any anchors and weights. Cut off strings attached to your body and soul. You must survive sadness to find happiness. You must overcome the pain to feel the pleasure. You will be a great fertile mother with the admiration of many. With time will come wisdom for which many shall seek you out. Stay away from lightning storms. Turn off light bulbs. Blow out candles. Too much wine is tainting your blood, my dear. And lack of sexual fulfillment is killing your inner animal.”
    “Now wait a second, Swami,” said Phillip, enraged at the implications of the Seer’s last few words. “Don’t say another word, okay, we’re leaving.” He stood up, his head poking up into the tent’s ceiling. “Come on, Jackie.”
    “Calm down, Phil. He’s right anyway and you know it. This guy knows what he’s talking about more than you do. I’m not going. It’s storming out there anyway.”
    “I don’t believe this. You’re going listen to this freak. This quack. You guys need some professional help. But okay, fine, I’ll play along. Here, tell me something I don’t know about myself, Mohammed.” He sat down, steaming, glaring at the Seer, anger pulsing through his body. He looked like he’d snap and go violent at any moment. Instead of a fist he shoved his palm toward the Seer. I thought we should go at that point but I didn’t want to say anything that would encourage his rage.
    The Seer took Phil’s hand into his own. Breathing deeply, he made the familiar contemplative noises as he traced the lines with his forefinger. A minute passed while Phil made funny faces at each of us. I stifled my laughter with my hand. The ladies were noticeably irritated by his behavior.
    “You have done many good things in your life, my friend,” said the Seer finally, “but good deeds cannot save even a saint from self-destruction. Your lifeline was cut short by a scar here,” and the Seer pointed down at a scar on Phil’s palm, “given to you as a child by a brother now deceased. I’m afraid your life will end in three days. You will be consumed by the heat and fall down never to get up again.”
    Phil ripped his hand from the Seer’s grasp. Cursing, he grabbed Jackie by the wrist and nearly dragged her out of the tent. I apologized to the Seer and set another twenty dollars at his feet before Marty and I ran after our friends. The man’s words had shocked me. How could he predict something so ghastly for my best friend after giving the rest of us such cheerful readings? Out of spite? It didn’t make sense.
    Phil was over at the oak tree now, tearing the blanket from the ground. When we came over he announced that they were leaving. “Real good idea, jerk,” he said to me.
    “Hey, man, you pissed the guy off. Did you expect him to throw rose petals at your feet and pronounce you Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire?”
    “Whatever. I’m going for a drink. Come on, Jackie, let’s go,” he grabbed her arm and started away.
    “Let go of me, Phillip. You’re hurting my arm!” Jackie said.
    “Fine. I don't need this s**t. I don‘t need any of you freaks.” And he stormed off, pushing through my shoulder with his own as he passed.
    We all just shook our heads as he left the park, crossed the street, and disappeared behind a building. His temper was always ruining nice days like this one.
    “At least it’s not raining anymore,” said Marty.  
    
                                             

    That day in the park was a Sunday. Though I called him and sent two emails, I didn’t hear from Phillip again for two and a half days. When he finally called me back I realized something was wrong. His voice was deeper than usual and he kept whispering into the phone. I didn’t recognize him before he identified himself. He went from mumbling to screaming to crying to blubbering.
    “Slow down, man,” I said. “Are you alone?”
    “Hell, yes, I’m alone. Jackie’s staying God knows where. Said she thought I was losing my mind. That guy must’ve put it in her head that she could do better than me. I swear I’m going to kill that old fool when I see him!”
    “You sound drunk to me. And paranoid.” No wonder Jackie got out of there, I thought.
    “Whiskey’s the only true friend I’ve got anymore. It doesn’t whine and it doesn’t talk back.”
    “So you’ve been cooped up in your apartment all day throwing yourself a pity party, huh? I’ve been calling you nonstop,” I said, rolling my eyes, silently wishing I could hang up on him. Marty was waiting for me with her girlfriend Gina at the Indian restaurant down the street.
    “You don’t know what I’ve been through, man. You can’t even guess!” he screamed. “That guy put some curse on me, I swear he did. I haven’t slept in three nights. I can’t eat. All I can put in my stomach is whiskey and my supply’s running out. God damn that b*****d!”
    “I thought you didn’t care about all that. Why now all of a sudden are you worried about some phony fortune teller’s prediction. Come on, he was just getting back at you.”
    He waited a few seconds. “Jackie’s pregnant,” he said.
    “That’s great. See, things aren’t so bad,” I said.
    “Don’t you get it, man? That guy said this would happen. Jackie took the test on Monday and kept going on and on about how the guy predicted it and everything, how he was some great foreteller. She even went back to the park to find him and ask him more questions.”
    “And what happened?”
    “I don’t know. She hasn’t come back. I just can’t take it anymore. I know she’s there with him. They’re both probably laughing at me right now. Probably making love over and over again.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. Have you called her?”
    “Hell no! Why should I call her? She’s the one who should call me. I’m not apologizing for anything!”
    “I didn’t say you should apologize. But maybe you should call her and see if she’s all right.”
    “I don’t know what I’m going to do, Jamie. I can’t keep this up much longer.”
    “What do you mean? Do you want me to come over?” I feared for his safety, not because of some fortune teller’s prediction but because he sounded like he was a bomb ready to explode.
    “Won’t work. I pushed all the furniture up against the door and the windows.”
    “Why’d you do that?”
    “There were people knocking all day today. They’re trying to get in. They’re trying to kill me! Don’t you get it? He was right!”
    At that point I knew he was in serious trouble. I needed to call the authorities and send them to his apartment immediately.
    “Listen, I think you need to get some help. You sound like you’re freaking out.  Don’t worry anymore about what that guy said. It was all pretentious bullshit. Just entertainment. He wasn’t a prophet. He wasn’t a fortune teller. He was just some homeless drifter looking to make a few bucks. But I’m going to come over and we’ll talk. I’ll bring some burgers and fries and we’ll just sit and talk. Okay? We‘ll get things back to normal.”
    A few moments of silence. I asked if he was still there. Then he said, “You’re right, man. That guy was full of it. Certified con man. But he was convincing, I got to say that. God, it’s been good talking to you, bro. I’m sorry I didn’t answer my phone sooner. I’ve been a lousy friend to you lately. I feel stupid now. I can’t believe I fell for that superstitious bullshit.”
    “I’m glad to hear you say that,” I said. His tone really did sound different. “I’ll be over there in twenty minutes, okay?”
    “No, man. That’s all right. I’m fine, really. I’m going to call Jackie and apologize. We’ll go get some food somewhere and straighten things out. She deserves an explanation. I love her so much, man. Sometimes I just don’t know what to do with all that love.”
    “I know what you mean,” I said, thinking about Marty and how fast things were moving. I couldn’t wait to see her. I knew she was probably sitting there watching the door for my arrival, wondering where I was while she sipped her beer. “You’re sure you’re going to be okay? I mean, it’s no trouble for me to come over.”
    “No, really, I’m fine. You’re a great friend. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
    And then we hung up.
    I met Marty and Gina at The Samrat, an Indian restaurant down on the corner. I hardly even thought about Phil again that night. I was too smitten by my angel to think about him. Plus, I knew he had some psychological problems that came out every once in a while. But he always returned to his normal self after a few hours or a few days. Always. I wasn’t worried about him. I wasn’t even thinking about him. Love was too distracting to let me think about anything else.
    The next day I got a phone call from Jackie. I was lying naked in bed with Marty. I tried to slip away without waking her. But she was up, yawning and reaching for me. But I was suddenly so far away. Everything changed then. Jackie was crying hysterically into the phone. I tried to calm her. She kept screaming, “He’s dead! He’s dead! Oh my God, it was true! It happened! He’s dead!”
    She’d been staying at a friend’s house for the last few days, she said, trying to figure things out. It had been too much to bear, finding out she was pregnant the same day her boyfriend and the father of her child went insane. She had not known what to do. She’d tried calling him. Repeatedly, she’d tried. She’d left messages, crying, apologizing, begging him to answer, to talk to her, to tell her he loved her, to tell her he wanted the baby, wanted the family, wanted her.
    “How did it happen?” I asked.
    She cried for a few minutes before she mustered the strength and drew enough breath to tell me anything.
    “There was an electrical fire in the adjacent apartment. Firefighters responded quickly enough but they couldn’t get in. They chopped through the door but a refrigerator was blocking it. The couch was wedged between the fridge and the opposite wall. Chairs and mattresses were blocking the windows. They finally got in after they’d contained the blaze. But it was too late! It was like he had wanted to die! Oh God, Jamie. I don’t know what I’m gonna do!”
    All I could think of were meaningless words. I apologized. I said it was unbelievable. I said it should have never happened. I cried and I cried and I listened to her cry until we both fell silent. With nothing left to say, we said goodbye.
    “You will be consumed by the heat,” the Seer had said. Those words suddenly came back to me.
    To this day I wonder had we never made Phillip go into that fortune teller’s tent would he still be alive. Was he destined to die on that day, in that way? Or was it the knowledge of a contrived fate and the resulting paranoia and psychosis that led to his demise? If we had continued our peaceful picnic, never wandering over to that cursed Seer’s tent, would Phillip…?
    Now I wonder if unanswerable questions are best left unasked?
    Now I try to remember and at the same time try to forget.
    
   
 

Author's Note

Any thoughts, suggestions, advice, comments are welcome. Thanks for reading. (This is an older piece that I'd like to update, revise and enter into my short story collection.)

Comments on the overall idea of the story and its relevance are welcome.

Reviews

[Nicole Hellene]

Toast to Global Warming and to the next Ice Age (since that's what's coming afterwards apparently), republicans don't deserve a toast.

The way she modestly covered her knees with her pink windblown sundress, the way she brushed her blond bangs behind her ear with one finger, the way she smiled at me and asked what I was staring at when she knew the answer quite well, all of it made her irresistible. Either it was heat exhaustion or I was falling in love.

Aw you're sweet. This is great description, it's heart warming and cute, very well written.

"Probably Pamela Anderson," said Jacquelyn.
"I hope it was me, James. If not.." and she shook her fist at me.

I think you formatted this wrong if Jacquelyn is the one still talking:

"Probably Pamela Anderson," said Jacquelyn, "I hope it was me, James. If not�" and she shook her fist at me.

See that big army green tent over there? We might have stumbled onto some enemy encampment. Maybe America's finally invaded Quebec!"

We could take you over in a couple hours but we're not in the mood with all this heat. "Should we blame the government, or perhaps society? NO! Blame Canada!" ;)

I'm reading the dialogue right now, it's a little sketchy and doesn't sound like how people would really talk, say it out loud to write convincing dialogue.

"There's still time. We've got all the time in the world. I'll be going to school in California soon and I need to start talking like an American. Right? God, I was only joking anyway,"

Hey, it's "speak American" down here, we don't speak English, what do you think we're Canadian? And lemme guess�creative writing major at USC? Heheh.

There's an ambulance in the middle of your story, just to let you know. I think you should pull over to the side and let it pass, just a suggestion.

Suddenly a voice came from behind us. This guy was a true performer. We turned to find the seer standing there before the tent in an outlandish outfit, a multicolored robe with fake jewels, his body adorned with golden bracelets and necklaces, ears and fingers lined with rings. "Welcome, my friends. I am Kalid Ali. Do you wish to enter?" He held out an open palm toward the tent's entrance.

Yup I get exactly the kind of image you're going for, and you describe it well. A mad magician, good description.

"Uh, yeah sure. How much is this going to cost me?" said Phillip, thumbing through bills in his wallet. Because of his wealth he always insisted on paying for things when we went out, and he often made a big deal about it, too, showing the money around as though he hadn't inherited it from his grandfather but slaved countless hours to obtain it.

Curse you for having rich friends! My little brother cons me out of all my cash and knows when my paydays are.

When he released her hand, I noticed she was crying. She leaned into me and I caressed her shoulders.

A little campy. Delete this, it really doesn't add much significance since we already know you're crazy about her and it just makes her look kinda lame to cry over what the fortune teller said because everyone knows fortune tellers are quacks. They speak in bar none phrases that can apply to just about anyone, so I'd prefer to see your characters skeptical at first and then have their doubt eroded slowly.

Please, I thought, don't tell them all I was an habitual masturbator as a child.

Ahahaha! TMI. I will rofl if the next line of dialogue is "you were a lonely child weren't you?"

Suicide would also be a more believable out for Phil, either that or the fire should be something he started himself either intentionally or by accident. The coincidence of it happening at the neighbors is just a bit too campy.

This story was well written, your descriptions of inner thoughts and feelings was really touching in parts. Your dialogue needs some work, it sounds unlike how people actually talk. It made me laugh several times. And oh yeah there were a few Ambulances that drove by, just to let you know.

I would try to increase the pace of this story a little bit. There's a lot of stuff that seemed like they just took up space and didn't really help the story too much. A lot of the stuff about Global Warming could have been reduced to a witty sentence or an after thought, unless it was the underlying theme of your story in which you need to emphasize it a little more because it didn't have much to do with anything except the idea of burning. The overall message of the piece eluded me a little, it just seemed a little campy at parts.

All and all, it flowed nicely though. I like it and I'd probably go back and reread it just for your descriptions of the main characters interactions with the cute girl, nicely written.

[Emily B]

This sentence seems a little off
She'd left messages, crying, apologizing, begging him to answer, to talk to her, to tell her he loved her, [to tell her he wanted the baby, wanted the family, wanted her.] Shouldn't she be telling him?

I remember a day in high school we played with a ouija board. It was harmless we thought. Just a game. My friend asked how old she would be when she died. The answer was 21. One day in college I heard on the radio that she had been murdered. I've never been able to forget it.

I like the ending and how the narrator wonders if the end would have been different.

[Inda Lauryn]

No suggestions because I see no way this story could be improved. It's simultaneously witty and poignant. I usually stay away from longer pieces like this one because I'm afraid I'll get bored in the middle of them. No problem with that here.