The Gypsy's Curse...A Tale of the Tarot Cards

The Gypsy’s Curse...
A Tale of the Tarot Cards

Death. Failure. Ruin…a bad sign for the first three cards of a Tarot reading…the flinch was noticeable! But the story is getting ahead of itself.

Diane Arbus, the fringe-of-society photographer, once said, “My favorite thing is to go where I’ve never been before.…” It seemed to me to be a reasonable philosophy to buy into. So one day I found myself knocking on a Gypsy’s door out of curiosity, and perhaps a desire to conjure up some insights as to my past and future. I was not disappointed!

The garishly-painted, neon-lit sign, “Sister Amy,” Tarot Cards, Palms Read, Crystal Ball Prophecy, rose from among the weeds along a derelict strip of road near town. The car, with its own mind, swerved into the driveway. The door of the house opened, revealing a charismatic Gypsy, clad in a long black robe, sparkling chains and jewelry…just what an active imagination would have envisioned.

“Come in,” she said seductively, “and let the Tarot Cards reveal your past, present and future.” Entering the small, dark room was a big mistake!

We sat at a low table covered with a black velvet cloth. Candles on the table flickered in the gloom, casting an eerie light in the room. Shadows and ghosts seemed to embrace and dance mesmerizingly on the dark walls… a surreal scene.

A luminous crystal ball sat in the middle of the table as mystic voices within it seemed to come and go… a frightening scene. Like the sound of a Siren, The Gypsy invoked the aid of spirits by an incoherent mantra of karmic glossolalia, chanting “Om, Ahm, oola malla walla dalla tra ma tra lala”. Spooky stuff!

Satisfied she had been heard, she continued to deal the Tarot cards. Her visage changed and she became animated, infused by ancient spirits…fire seemed to fly from her fingertips as 12 more cards fell ominously from psychic palms into a perfect rectangle: Wealth, Love, Power…a better draw. More: Luxury, Fortune, Worry…manageable. Then: Lust, Prudence, The Sun…getting complicated now. The last 3: Disappointment, Oppression, Success. The dealing was now done and the prophecy began.

With fire her fingers seemed to flash
Like lightening in the night,
The cards they glowed as embers
And cast a fearful light.

The Future passed before my eyes
The Past it did the same,
There was no way to slow them down
And end her Cursed Game.

From her scarlet lips gushed a flood of gibberish mixed with weirdly prophetic predictions…it seemed I was in a trance. Outside the sky turned black as coal. Through diffused windows lightening flashed on the walls of the dark room, creating instant and disappearing faces which reflected in the crystal ball. The hot and breathless corridors seemed to ring with a strange chorus of voices that blended with The Gypsy’s own. Thunder shook the house violently. It was a scene out of Macbeth.

What did the Tarot Cards reveal? Recall is difficult, but two prophecies remain etched in memory: “First,” The Gypsy said, “your financial ship will soon arrive and you’ll be rich; secondly, women always find you attractive.” Wow…it’s one thing to suspect this, but another to have it confirmed. I felt instantly that the $85 had been well spent.

The Tale of the Tarots
I can’t fully impart
But the Curse of the Gypsy
Is seared in my heart.

Lightening flashed like a strobe; thunder and a torrent of rain beat upon that house. The table rocked violently, levitating uncontrollably. The Gypsy’s eyes glistened and grew savagely wild…her demeanor grew hauntingly bizarre. With arms flailing into the gloom of the room she began to laugh hideously while the crystal ball flashed incessantly, casting its glow on the occult paraphernalia. In its swirling haze I seemed to see images of men, thousands of them, standing at an ocean’s edge, gazing at the horizon. A speck on the sea appeared, perhaps a ship…yes, a ship, with letters on its side: FINANCIAL…but wait, it’s sinking, its letters disappearing.

I saw more: women, beautiful women, thousands of them, in parade upon the beach like models on a Milan runway, steely stares and cold sneers, vacuous eyes, oblivious to the men. “What could it mean,” I wondered? Have these men been to The Gypsy, too? Did the prophecy become a curse?

It was time to go, for sure. In a maddening exodus I fled the room, flinging the money upon the table. Running from the house, I disappeared into the blackness outside with The Gypsy’s prophecy of a financial ship and fatal attraction still ringing in my ears.

It was a long time ago now, this voyage into the occult. Memory fades with age, but not curiosity. The Gypsy’s words, like a bad dream, recur each time I near a beach.

One day you may see a strange man, standing at ocean’s edge and gazing wistfully on the horizon mumbling to himself. If so, approach him cautiously and toss a few coins at his feet….and tell him he’s cute. It just might be me, re-living The Gypsy’s Curse on this elegant island….and I’ve long-since given up on women.

Bud
June 2, 2008