Chapter Fourteen: Tarot
It was strange to think only eleven hours had passed since Con had last been in this self-same spot, outside Church cottage opposite the lych-gate on the narrow high-street, a few minutes' walk west of the pub outside the circle; it already seemed like another day, far further back in time. The only difference from earlier, however, was the presence of Hayden’s large motorbike parked outside on the road, and the scent of the large, almost luminous, white-petalled Nicotiana, their buds now open, tumbling from the window box. Then he had thought Shen to be long gone from this place, but here he was, a few hours later, following her into the cottage. Never presume you know where you’re going, he thought to himself. Life often has different plans from those we envision…
While Conall followed Wolf into the kitchen to grab a drink Shen set about preparing the small living room for the reading; she lit a joss stick and a few tea lights on the coffee table in front of the cast-iron fireplace, and turned the overhead light off, though the small table lamp by the fireside was left on so that Hayden could sit and read the magazine he’d nonchalantly picked up.
‘Get us a beer, Shen.’He said, not bothering to look up. ‘And put some toast on.’
‘Get it yourself, you lazy bugger, I’m setting up.’ She smiled. Hayden muttered something about working all day, and slumped into the kitchen.
‘You having your cards read?’Conall asked, tongue in cheek, emboldened from drinking.
Hayden looked at him witheringly, took a beer from the fridge and walked back out.
‘I take it that’s a no!’ whispered Wolf to Con, snorting.
Shen had moved the sofa forward for Conall and Wolf to sit on, but she herself sat cross-legged on the wooden floor opposite them in front of the fire place, over which hung a long Native American wooden flute with feathers and beads hanging off it on a cord; Alfred’s flute. He’d heard him play it once in this very room; a room that had cluttered with photographs and the detritus of a long life –a room heady with the scent of pipe tobacco. She must really miss him, he thought, watching as Shen took a sip of her drink and handed the cards to Wolf.
‘Shuffle them then give them back.’ she said.
‘Look at you being all professional!’ Conall quipped; Shen stuck out her tongue at him and giggled.
Wolf shuffled the cards and handed them back to Shen, who spread them face down in a perfect arc on the coffee table. Wolf was instructed to take three cards. When he had chosen them Shen took them from him and placed these cards face down, and then turned them one by one. For a moment she said nothing. Conall leaned forward and looked at the cards. The first depicted five youths in tunics and tights holding staffs in their hands, which they seemed to be either waving at each other or fighting with; the second was the knight of swords, boldly leaping forward on a pale horse; the final card showed, again, a figure on horseback, but crowned with a wreath, and holding a staff, similarly crowned –in the background seemed to be the same gaggle of youths from the first card, but now holding their staffs straight. Shen looked up at Wolf, who was leaning forward and tapping his knees with his hands excitedly;
‘You wanted to know about the protest again. Well…five of wands; that’s disorder –it means nuisances, bad luck –see how the men are at odds with each other? There’s tension there, confusion –conflict even. A load of hassle.’
‘But the Knight of swords –he’s someone that is campaigning for what is right. He has strong values and will stand up for them. The last card, the six of wands sees order forming out of the disorder that preceded it; it has connotations of recognition; of praise for a job well done.’
Shen looked up nervously at Wolf. ‘So it’s like I saw yesterday,’ she continued, ‘there’s bad luck, but somehow things will turn out well. I can’t see anything more than that. I can’t say I understand it.’
Wolf nodded and thanked her, but left unspoken any thoughts that were crossing his mind. Taking up his cards Shen placed them back in the pack and began to shuffle. Conall felt his pulse quicken…I wonder what she’ll see, he thought; but Shen did not hand him the cards, instead she seemed to be about to consult them herself. Again she placed the cards in an arc, and picked her selection.
‘What are you asking?’ Conall asked. Shen shrugged;
‘Just looking.’ she said, but Conall had caught her giving a sideways glance towards Hayden as she spoke, so fleeting perhaps Shen herself was unaware that she had done it. The three cards she had selected were quickly placed back in the pack. Once more Shen sipped her drink, then took up the pack and handed them to Conall.
‘Your turn. Shuffle them, then take six cards.’
‘Six?’
‘Yeah, I’ll do your full reading.’
The cards were large and slightly unwieldy; Conall found it hard to shuffle them, and at one point nearly let them spill onto the floor; but persevering he shuffled them a few more times for good measure and gave them back. Shen smiled and nodded, spread the cards, and Conall took six cards from the table. As Shen turned the cards over Conall, just as Wolf had a few minutes before, leaned forward in expectation.
The first showed a tower being struck by lightning with people falling from it; the second showed the skeletal figure of Death astride a white horse; the third card was less grave –a robed woman with a strange white crown and the moon at her feet: the high Priestess; next, another woman, the queen of cups, enthroned and holding a strange elaborate vessel; the next card showed a row of vessels and a red-hooded figure holding one and offering it to a diminutive white haired woman. The last card was also in the suit of cups: ten cups shone radiantly against the arc of a rainbow, while below a dark haired man and woman stood arm in arm, while beside them children played.
‘Those look cheery.’ Conall said, glancing at the first two cards. Shen coloured and waved a hand over the cards, not looking up at Conall.
‘Look, Conall – Death isn’t normally literally…death;’ she looked up apologetically, ‘…in fact the tower is more likely to foretell death or change than Death itself... You start off with some kind of ego crisis; could be a breakdown, or a sudden change…so in this context I would say that what is dying is some old and outmoded way of being; it’s a rebirth, really.’
Con nodded. I bloody need it, he thought. ‘Is that happening now?’
‘Yes; or imminently.’
Con looked across at her –her eyes were black in this light; exotically slanting, serious; gone was the seeming awkwardness and weakness he’d thought he’d seen in the pub.
‘The High priestess…and the queen of cups…hmm…these suggest someone in your life who is, um, a healer, or a psychic, and the priestess links her with knowledge or wisdom.’
Shen didn’t look at Conall as she said this, but it seemed obvious to him from her muted reaction that she was referring to herself. Or was he just imagining that?
‘Now the six of cups; that’s to do with nostalgia, looking backwards –but in a positive way –it seems that something from the past is going to influence you –it will be of great benefit to your future –something forgotten will turn up and will change the way you look at things; because look –the ten of cups –that’s contentment, achievement…’ but her fingers, flitting across the card, seemed not to point at the cups in the sky but at the two dark-haired figures, arm in arm below them. Then the card was gone as Shen swiftly gathered them together.
‘Did that make any sense?’she asked, not looking up.
‘I’m not sure it did –I think maybe I’m tired.
’Conall was nodding slowly, still trying to take it in.
‘No –it all seemed fine - Breakdown; rebirth –a psychic and something from the past leading to happiness.’ he summarised. She nodded and their eyes met again for a moment. What are you thinking? He wondered. Something from the past…is that you, Shen? Something forgotten turning up? He felt suddenly drunk and he swallowed. Can you read my thoughts? He mused. Do you know how lovely you are? Do you know about that night, what really happened? ‘
Are you going to do yours?’ he asked. Shen held his gaze. ‘I could do, maybe.’
But she didn’t, instead she put the cards away in a cloth, which she placed on the bookcase by the window; she paused for a second and then looked at Conall with a half-smile on her face.
‘I have something for you.’ she said, turning to the fireplace and taking down the wooden flute from its hook above the fireplace. She handed it to him without ceremony. He took it and turned it in his hands, not understanding.
‘My grandfather wanted you to have it.’ Conall was speechless; he held the instrument close, examining the faded feathers and beadwork, and the small carved owl that jutted out from above the finger-holes.
It was Wolf who broke the silence. ‘That is awesome!’
Con was frowning. ‘The flute? I –I can’t take this, Shen, it belonged to your Grandfather. It belongs to you! It should be yours, surely?’
She was smiling sadly and shook her head.
‘He wanted you to have it; he wrote it in his will –to give the flute to the young man who told him about the stars, in thanks for reuniting brother and sister. What did he mean by that, Con?
’Long story.’ Conall said, abashed at the attention from all three people in the room. ‘I can’t take this Shen.’ Con stammered.
Shen frowned. ‘It was his wish, Con.’
‘But he told me it had been in his family for generations!
’I know. And it was his to give to whoever he chose; and he chose you.’
Conall didn’t voice the question racing across his mind. Why me? I hardly knew him! A few times, we met, that was it –over those four fateful days.
‘It’ll save me dusting it.’Shen joked, trying to break the awkward silence.
‘Oh my God, Shen. Thank you.’ and then, looking into the fire, he said ‘Thank you Alfred.’
Hayden yawned loudly from his chair in the corner, and announced he was off to bed.
‘Laters’ he said, his hand in the air, and disappeared from the room.
‘I suppose I should be going, too’ Con said, suddenly feeling the need to be away from here, to have space to think. ‘Shall I leave it here for now?’ Shen shook her head.
‘No, I’d rather it was gone now.’ she said sadly. ‘If you’re at a loose end tomorrow I’ll be around; send me a text.’
She took the flute from his hands and, taking a cloth from the sideboard, wrapped the flute in the cloth and handed it back.
‘Take care of it Con.’ she said.
‘This is the most precious gift I’ve ever been given; Of course I’ll take care of it.’ And he smiled back at her as she opened the door and he walked out into the clear, Nicotiana-scented, summer night.
It was strange to think only eleven hours had passed since Con had last been in this self-same spot, outside Church cottage opposite the lych-gate on the narrow high-street, a few minutes' walk west of the pub outside the circle; it already seemed like another day, far further back in time. The only difference from earlier, however, was the presence of Hayden’s large motorbike parked outside on the road, and the scent of the large, almost luminous, white-petalled Nicotiana, their buds now open, tumbling from the window box. Then he had thought Shen to be long gone from this place, but here he was, a few hours later, following her into the cottage. Never presume you know where you’re going, he thought to himself. Life often has different plans from those we envision…
While Conall followed Wolf into the kitchen to grab a drink Shen set about preparing the small living room for the reading; she lit a joss stick and a few tea lights on the coffee table in front of the cast-iron fireplace, and turned the overhead light off, though the small table lamp by the fireside was left on so that Hayden could sit and read the magazine he’d nonchalantly picked up.
‘Get us a beer, Shen.’He said, not bothering to look up. ‘And put some toast on.’
‘Get it yourself, you lazy bugger, I’m setting up.’ She smiled. Hayden muttered something about working all day, and slumped into the kitchen.
‘You having your cards read?’Conall asked, tongue in cheek, emboldened from drinking.
Hayden looked at him witheringly, took a beer from the fridge and walked back out.
‘I take it that’s a no!’ whispered Wolf to Con, snorting.
Shen had moved the sofa forward for Conall and Wolf to sit on, but she herself sat cross-legged on the wooden floor opposite them in front of the fire place, over which hung a long Native American wooden flute with feathers and beads hanging off it on a cord; Alfred’s flute. He’d heard him play it once in this very room; a room that had cluttered with photographs and the detritus of a long life –a room heady with the scent of pipe tobacco. She must really miss him, he thought, watching as Shen took a sip of her drink and handed the cards to Wolf.
‘Shuffle them then give them back.’ she said.
‘Look at you being all professional!’ Conall quipped; Shen stuck out her tongue at him and giggled.
Wolf shuffled the cards and handed them back to Shen, who spread them face down in a perfect arc on the coffee table. Wolf was instructed to take three cards. When he had chosen them Shen took them from him and placed these cards face down, and then turned them one by one. For a moment she said nothing. Conall leaned forward and looked at the cards. The first depicted five youths in tunics and tights holding staffs in their hands, which they seemed to be either waving at each other or fighting with; the second was the knight of swords, boldly leaping forward on a pale horse; the final card showed, again, a figure on horseback, but crowned with a wreath, and holding a staff, similarly crowned –in the background seemed to be the same gaggle of youths from the first card, but now holding their staffs straight. Shen looked up at Wolf, who was leaning forward and tapping his knees with his hands excitedly;
‘You wanted to know about the protest again. Well…five of wands; that’s disorder –it means nuisances, bad luck –see how the men are at odds with each other? There’s tension there, confusion –conflict even. A load of hassle.’
‘But the Knight of swords –he’s someone that is campaigning for what is right. He has strong values and will stand up for them. The last card, the six of wands sees order forming out of the disorder that preceded it; it has connotations of recognition; of praise for a job well done.’
Shen looked up nervously at Wolf. ‘So it’s like I saw yesterday,’ she continued, ‘there’s bad luck, but somehow things will turn out well. I can’t see anything more than that. I can’t say I understand it.’
Wolf nodded and thanked her, but left unspoken any thoughts that were crossing his mind. Taking up his cards Shen placed them back in the pack and began to shuffle. Conall felt his pulse quicken…I wonder what she’ll see, he thought; but Shen did not hand him the cards, instead she seemed to be about to consult them herself. Again she placed the cards in an arc, and picked her selection.
‘What are you asking?’ Conall asked. Shen shrugged;
‘Just looking.’ she said, but Conall had caught her giving a sideways glance towards Hayden as she spoke, so fleeting perhaps Shen herself was unaware that she had done it. The three cards she had selected were quickly placed back in the pack. Once more Shen sipped her drink, then took up the pack and handed them to Conall.
‘Your turn. Shuffle them, then take six cards.’
‘Six?’
‘Yeah, I’ll do your full reading.’
The cards were large and slightly unwieldy; Conall found it hard to shuffle them, and at one point nearly let them spill onto the floor; but persevering he shuffled them a few more times for good measure and gave them back. Shen smiled and nodded, spread the cards, and Conall took six cards from the table. As Shen turned the cards over Conall, just as Wolf had a few minutes before, leaned forward in expectation.
The first showed a tower being struck by lightning with people falling from it; the second showed the skeletal figure of Death astride a white horse; the third card was less grave –a robed woman with a strange white crown and the moon at her feet: the high Priestess; next, another woman, the queen of cups, enthroned and holding a strange elaborate vessel; the next card showed a row of vessels and a red-hooded figure holding one and offering it to a diminutive white haired woman. The last card was also in the suit of cups: ten cups shone radiantly against the arc of a rainbow, while below a dark haired man and woman stood arm in arm, while beside them children played.
‘Those look cheery.’ Conall said, glancing at the first two cards. Shen coloured and waved a hand over the cards, not looking up at Conall.
‘Look, Conall – Death isn’t normally literally…death;’ she looked up apologetically, ‘…in fact the tower is more likely to foretell death or change than Death itself... You start off with some kind of ego crisis; could be a breakdown, or a sudden change…so in this context I would say that what is dying is some old and outmoded way of being; it’s a rebirth, really.’
Con nodded. I bloody need it, he thought. ‘Is that happening now?’
‘Yes; or imminently.’
Con looked across at her –her eyes were black in this light; exotically slanting, serious; gone was the seeming awkwardness and weakness he’d thought he’d seen in the pub.
‘The High priestess…and the queen of cups…hmm…these suggest someone in your life who is, um, a healer, or a psychic, and the priestess links her with knowledge or wisdom.’
Shen didn’t look at Conall as she said this, but it seemed obvious to him from her muted reaction that she was referring to herself. Or was he just imagining that?
‘Now the six of cups; that’s to do with nostalgia, looking backwards –but in a positive way –it seems that something from the past is going to influence you –it will be of great benefit to your future –something forgotten will turn up and will change the way you look at things; because look –the ten of cups –that’s contentment, achievement…’ but her fingers, flitting across the card, seemed not to point at the cups in the sky but at the two dark-haired figures, arm in arm below them. Then the card was gone as Shen swiftly gathered them together.
‘Did that make any sense?’she asked, not looking up.
‘I’m not sure it did –I think maybe I’m tired.
’Conall was nodding slowly, still trying to take it in.
‘No –it all seemed fine - Breakdown; rebirth –a psychic and something from the past leading to happiness.’ he summarised. She nodded and their eyes met again for a moment. What are you thinking? He wondered. Something from the past…is that you, Shen? Something forgotten turning up? He felt suddenly drunk and he swallowed. Can you read my thoughts? He mused. Do you know how lovely you are? Do you know about that night, what really happened? ‘
Are you going to do yours?’ he asked. Shen held his gaze. ‘I could do, maybe.’
But she didn’t, instead she put the cards away in a cloth, which she placed on the bookcase by the window; she paused for a second and then looked at Conall with a half-smile on her face.
‘I have something for you.’ she said, turning to the fireplace and taking down the wooden flute from its hook above the fireplace. She handed it to him without ceremony. He took it and turned it in his hands, not understanding.
‘My grandfather wanted you to have it.’ Conall was speechless; he held the instrument close, examining the faded feathers and beadwork, and the small carved owl that jutted out from above the finger-holes.
It was Wolf who broke the silence. ‘That is awesome!’
Con was frowning. ‘The flute? I –I can’t take this, Shen, it belonged to your Grandfather. It belongs to you! It should be yours, surely?’
She was smiling sadly and shook her head.
‘He wanted you to have it; he wrote it in his will –to give the flute to the young man who told him about the stars, in thanks for reuniting brother and sister. What did he mean by that, Con?
’Long story.’ Conall said, abashed at the attention from all three people in the room. ‘I can’t take this Shen.’ Con stammered.
Shen frowned. ‘It was his wish, Con.’
‘But he told me it had been in his family for generations!
’I know. And it was his to give to whoever he chose; and he chose you.’
Conall didn’t voice the question racing across his mind. Why me? I hardly knew him! A few times, we met, that was it –over those four fateful days.
‘It’ll save me dusting it.’Shen joked, trying to break the awkward silence.
‘Oh my God, Shen. Thank you.’ and then, looking into the fire, he said ‘Thank you Alfred.’
Hayden yawned loudly from his chair in the corner, and announced he was off to bed.
‘Laters’ he said, his hand in the air, and disappeared from the room.
‘I suppose I should be going, too’ Con said, suddenly feeling the need to be away from here, to have space to think. ‘Shall I leave it here for now?’ Shen shook her head.
‘No, I’d rather it was gone now.’ she said sadly. ‘If you’re at a loose end tomorrow I’ll be around; send me a text.’
She took the flute from his hands and, taking a cloth from the sideboard, wrapped the flute in the cloth and handed it back.
‘Take care of it Con.’ she said.
‘This is the most precious gift I’ve ever been given; Of course I’ll take care of it.’ And he smiled back at her as she opened the door and he walked out into the clear, Nicotiana-scented, summer night.