Follow the Leader

As traveling carnivals went, it wasn't anything to write home about. A half dozen tired rides, a sad and sorry Bingo tent, a couple of dancing chickens who had seen far better days and the food wagons - cotton candy, caramel apples, foot long hot dogs with cheese and chili - enough grease and sugar to make a 10 year old's heart beat like a hammer. Courtesy of my grandmother, who was more than happy to get us out from underfoot for an afternoon, Gilda and I each had two crisp, new dollar bills to spend as we wished. We hardly knew where to start but then Gilda saw the fortune teller's tent and her eyes lit up like Christmas.

“Wicked!” she breathed into my ear and began tugging on my sleeve, “C'mon!”

I was an imaginative child but not a brave one and the idea of leaving the summer sunlight and open air for a ragged and dark tent with some mad, mangy gypsy who I was absolutely positive would look like Elvira Gulch didn't appeal to me. I tried to hang back, tried to shake off Gilda's vise like grip on my elbow.

“Don't be a sissy!” she snapped and pulled a little harder.

A dirty, bedraggled yellow banner proclaiming Madame Zena's fame hung crookedly on the front of the tent. FORTUNE TELLER TO THE STARS! it read, TAROT READINGS AND TEA LEAVES!

SEE YOUR FUTURE IN THE CRYSTAL BALL! ONLY 25 CENTS! A sullen-eyed, leering midget sat Indian style in a rickety lawn chair by the closed tent flap, one grimy hand extended to take our quarters. I imagined flying monkeys were not far away but Gilda refused to let go.

“I'll leave you!” she threatened, “and the midget will get you and steal you like they do babies!” Next thing I knew, we had slithered by the midget and were inside the dark tent. It smelled of unwashed clothes and patchouli and was smoky with incense. The real world of grade school and Saturday matinees and spaghetti on Wednesday nights closed behind me. I wasn't at all sure we'd ever be able to get back but Gilda was fearless, a warrior with braids and a toothy grin, always a step away from adventure or disaster.

Once our eyes had adjusted to the dimness, we could see a round wooden table with four overturned barrels for chairs. She pushed me onto one and took another across from me and

Madame Zena appeared ….well, materialized was more like it....from out of the shadows. I saw at once that this was no Elvira Gulch and something in my gut relaxed. She was tall and slender and dressed in chiffon - the word “willowy” came to mind – and most surprisingly, she was young with a cloud of dark hair that fell to her waist, a sweet smile and pale, perfect, unlined skin. She couldn't have been much older than we were, I realized with a shock. How could I have been terrorized by a pretty teenage gypsy?

She whirled her skirts, threw back her hair and took a seat between us. “Well, little ones,” she said in a soft voice with just the slightest suggestion of an accent, “What shall it be? The cards, the tea leaves or …...........possibly the crystal?” The last was offered with an engaging tilt of her head and a sly smile aimed directly at Gilda.

“The crystal!” my cousin said without hesitation and Madame Zena nodded approvingly. With a flurry of chiffon scarves, a dramatic hand gesture or two and a quick incantation, she seamlessly produced a crystal ball and placed it on the table. This expert bit of misdirection was so elegantly and unexpectedly done that Gilda and I both jumped in surprise but the pretty gypsy girl just lowered her eyes and favored us with a mysterious smile. She peered into the crystal ball, alternately frowning and smiling. Without warning, a smoky haze rose from the floor and enveloped us. At the same time, something warm and furry brushed by my ankle and I nearly shrieked but it was only a cat – all black (no surprise) with glowing yellow eyes and a bob tail.

It jumped lightly to an unoccupied barrel and regarded us impassively.

The smoke cleared and Madame Zena looked satisfied.

“You are of blood,” she intoned solemnly, “But not sisters.......cousins, I think, but close in mind and spirit.” Here she peered into the crystal ball, eyes narrowed. “One leads,” she said slowly,

looking directly at Gilda, “And one follows.” she finished, looking straight at me and a chill seemed to slither up my backbone.

The rest was plain vanilla and not memorable. After several minutes, she covered the crystal ball with a pastel scarf, gathered up the black cat and invited us to come again. Gilda and I slipped out into the sunshine. The midget, now sitting on a wooden bar stool and calmly knitting what appeared to be several yards of scarf, gave us a toothy grin. I blinked and rubbed my eyes and he tipped his cap, hopped off the stool and ducked into the tent, trailing the overlong scarf over one shoulder. I blinked again and he was gone.

Nana liked to tan both our hides for being late to supper but when she asked where we'd been and Gilda immediately said we'd wanted one last ride at the carnival, I backed her up without a second thought. Some of us lead and some of us follow and hope for the best.