The Witch's Promise (6 page)

"I wouldn't deny much of what you just said," John continued. "I'm going to think about it. But my secular approach can explain things just as well, and it doesn't require goddesses and all that stuff."

Sean looked up suddenly and smiled like a man who recognized his opponent's strategy and knew his counter-move, but understood that the real battle was still ahead, and anyone's for the taking.

"And that's the rub," Sean said. "If there are two possible explanations, and one involves spirits and 'all that stuff,' but the other is nice and comfortable and doesn't disturb your materialist view of the world, then you'll take the latter every time. It kinda reminds me," he began, but the thought amused him and he laughed for a moment. "It reminds me of people who say that faith is for the weak-minded. It is for some. I'll admit that. But hiding behind science is just as cowardly. The weak religious person is afraid to face life on his own, without God. The weak scientist is afraid that he might be accountable to God, or might have to admit that the universe is too big and complex for his little ideas.

"I'm not calling you a coward," Sean clarified. "Not yet, anyway. I'm just priming you for my challenge."

And with that he reached into a back pocket and pulled out a deck of cards. Not tarot cards, John noticed. Ordinary playing cards.

So is the goddess going to help him fleece me at poker?
John wondered. 

"Here's a relatively normal deck of cards," Sean began with a glint in his eye. "It's almost a regular rummy deck, but I've made some substitutions and marked a couple of the cards. You might guess what they represent, but I figure two guys doing card tricks with the eight of clubs is less conspicuous than if I were to lay a proper deck on the table. But it's really a tarot deck, only the pictures aren't as interesting."

He winked and smiled a conspirator's smile, then set the deck in the middle of the table.

"You can look them over if you like."

John took the slightly large deck and glanced through. Most of the cards were just as you'd expect, but some had small notations in a bold, cursive script that he could barely make out. He cut the deck a few times and casually shuffled the contents, just to foil any kind of set-up. Sean didn't seem to mind.

"Here's the challenge," Sean said. "I'll do a reading, right here, and tell you something about your life. Maybe something about how you met Jillian, since you never told me that tale."

But she may have,
John thought.

"I take it you'll admit that your view of the world wouldn't countenance that sort of thing."

John nodded. "I can't see how you can tell events from cards," he admitted, "but let me make the job a little harder." Sean grinned with relish at the challenge. "The future is always clouded by unknown choices and things. So let's make it something in the past. Tell me something about my father that you couldn't guess. Something that would make me believe there's an intelligence behind those cards -- other than yours."

Sean's grin broadened until his whole face was smiling. He reached across the table and slapped John good-naturedly on the arm.

"All right, my friend. Let's see if the spirits have any interest in persuading a hardened skeptic."

Sean's expression suddenly changed, as if he was entering a kind of trance, or deep meditation. Somewhat mechanically he cleared a space on the table and laid out a series of cards. John expected to see the same pattern Jillian had used, but this one looked more elaborate.

Sean studied the cards for some time. John took the opportunity to finish his sandwich and beer, but out of the corner of his eye he noticed a man in the restaurant who seemed agitated. He kept looking around suspiciously. John could only see the back of his head, but he had an odd feeling that the man was searching for him, as if he was sensing him in some strange way.

Sean pulls out a deck of cards and suddenly I get all spooky.

He chided himself for the bout of superstition and turned his attention back to Sean. He was touching the cards one by one, as if to focus his attention on each, or to get inspiration on their meaning. He hadn't said a word. John watched in silence for a long time.

Suddenly John noticed a man at his side. It was the same fellow he'd noticed before, looking around the room. And now John noticed that he was a priest.

"I wouldn't do it," the priest said to John. "I felt some kind of evil going on -- above the hum-drum over at the bar, I mean," he said with a wink and a nod towards the meat market section of the Green Turtle. "The four of diamonds doesn't fool me. I know what those cards are, and I know that you're getting yourself into more than you bargained for. Here's what you don't know, young man. If you do this, you're opening a door, and you won't be able to control what's on the other side. It'll start to control you."

John wanted to laugh, but he worried more for Sean than for himself. He expected Sean to get angry, because from his experience modern paganism was an angry reaction against Catholicism more than anything else. And here was this priest, butting in to their business, saying Sean's little card game was evil. But Sean looked up from his cards, regarded the priest with a kindly expression and said the last thing John expected.

"Listen to him, John," Sean said, sliding over on the padded bench and offering the priest a seat. "This is exactly what I'm here to tell you. I had no intention of reading these cards for you until I warned you, like the good father did just now. These cards are like your relationship with Jillian. You're about to open a door to another world. If you continue, you're going to see changes in your life. Maybe they've started already."

John remembered that this wasn't the first time someone had read cards for him.

"You may start to have uncanny intuitions," Sean continued, "strange dreams, or odd thoughts. They'll come unbidden. The safest thing for you to do right now is to ask me to put the cards away. And I think you know what else that would mean. But what would that say about your philosophy? If there's nothing to fear from these cards, what does it matter? But if there is, then your philosophy is wrong.

"I'm here to tell you that your life is about to change. Turn away from this," Sean gestured to the cards, "or you enter a new reality. I'd be happy for you if you did, and I'd welcome you with open arms and help you find your way. But the good Father is right. Once you open that door, it's hard to get it closed again."

"So what will it be?"

John hesitated, and it seemed for a moment that the room grew quiet and all eyes were on him, or as if the whole world had stopped and time was unable to move forward until he made his decision. Heaven and earth waited and watched to see which future they would take, which reality would prevail.

But then he laughed and looked around the room. People were still eating, joking, flirting, or trying to drown their sorrows in a lonely beer in the corner. He knew that outside the wind still blew and the traffic continued on its merry way, and that whether or not Sean turned over a card and pretended to read "meaning" from it made no difference at all.

Could anyone really believe that reality changed because of such a small thing?

"It seems to me that it's an even bet either way," John said. "If I ask you to read the cards, maybe I believe in your magical power, or maybe I just want to see a fancy card trick and laugh at the whole thing. And if I ask you to stop, maybe I'm afraid of the spookies, or maybe I think it's just too silly to bother."

"Then don't do it," the priest said suddenly. "If not for your sake, then for mine -- just to please a superstitious old Irishman, if that makes you feel better." And then he turned to Sean and earnestly said, "Can you put the cards away, my friend? As a favor to me. Can you do that for me?"

Sean looked at the priest with genuine affection, but with some regret and a little condescension -- as a man might look at a drunk on the street corner, knowing what he might have been. John looked on in amazement. Every bad suspicion he'd had about this man had turned out to be wrong, and now he wondered what Jillian could possibly have against him.

"I can do that Father," Sean said at last, reaching for the cards and putting them carefully in the box. "I've made my point, and there's no need to offend you."

The priest nodded thankfully. "No hard feelings then?" he asked.

"None at all, Father. Sit with us and have a beer. We can tell Irish jokes until it's time for morning prayer."

The priest laughed. "I'm not young enough for all that, but thank you kindly. No, I need to drink my prune juice and take my medicine." He stood up with a twinkle in his eye and a visible sense of relief.

"You're a decent man, my pagan friend. God bless you." He reached into a pocket in his sweater and set two business cards on the table.

"Thank you Father," Sean said. "And God bless you too. Next time let me buy you that beer. I'm sure you've got some kind words for me."

The old priest's eyes sparkled. He nodded, smiled at them both and walked away.

John and Sean sat in silence for a while, nibbling at their fries or sipping at their beers. John felt a tinge of regret that he wasn't going to hear the reading, and despite the mental fortress he'd erected after years of practiced materialism, he wondered if he didn't feel a slight draft blowing through that opening door.

CHAPTER SIX

The open window in John's apartment let the cool, Fall air blow across his body as he lay sleeping. A neighbor was getting an early start on the adjoining patio, pruning a small rosemary bush she hoped to keep inside all winter. The scent drifted into John's room and stirred his memory. The driveway of his parent's home in Pennsylvania was bordered with rosemary. That was where he and his father used to play basketball. His mother loved those bushes, and every time the ball slipped out of bounds the familiar scent filled the air -- as well as fear of maternal reprisals.

"What are you doing, son?" John's father asked as he poked his head into the bedroom.

"Just trying to figure something out, Dad," John said, looking up from one of the many books stacked on his desk. He had gone straight to the library after school and came home, precariously balanced on his ten-speed bike, with books under each arm.

His father was wearing gym shorts and had a basketball in his hands.

"What is it?" his father asked, coming in and looking at the titles. He saw A Primer on Physics, Elementary Physics, College Physics, Physics for Math Majors, and Newton's Revolution.

"Kind of heavy stuff," he said.

John smiled. "We were talking at lunch today about how cats always land on their feet. I'm trying to figure out if a cat can spin around in midair. Kirk said it can, but I said it can't because of conservation of momentum."

John's father nodded thoughtfully. "The really important thing," he said, "is what would happen if you strapped buttered toast on its back. That's what I want to know." John laughed. "But seriously, what's the big deal, son?" he asked. "You don't take physics until next year."

"I know. I just hate being wrong, or not knowing why I'm right."

His father laughed. "Get used to it, kiddo. You can't know everything. C'mon. Get your head out of those books and let's shoot some hoops while it's still light."

John smiled and set the books down. He could always come back to them later. He already knew that Kirk was wrong. He just had to find the right way to explain it at lunch tomorrow.

The newspaper deliverer slammed the door of his car, startling John out of sleep. He sat up, wide-eyed, and looked around, realizing that he wasn't going to get to shoot those baskets with his dad. A sharp, acidic feeling filled his nose and an old ache returned to his stomach as he shook his head and lay back down to sleep.

*              *              *

"What happened to you?"

It was John's best pal, Al. He hadn't seen John since his adventure with the would-be radio thief, and even though the cuts and bruises had long since healed, Al could see the fading scars. John gave him a quick run-down of the essentials as they changed for their monthly racquetball game. He left out all references to Jillian's choice of spirituality. Al's excitement warmed John to the role of story-teller.

"Cool," Al said when he got to the part about meeting the old boyfriend at the party. "Is she good-looking?"

"Very. But the whole thing's real weird. Later I got together with Sean for a beer, and ..."

"You what?" Al interrupted, incredulous. "You're moving in on this guy's girl -- who you met because she played junior medic on you -- because you chased some guy through the woods -- in your dress clothes -- and then you go have a beer with the ex? Were you trying to get into another fight?"

John laughed and shook his head. "It's even weirder than that."

"I'm all ears," Al said, setting down his racket and showing no interest in leaving the locker room until he heard the whole story.

John filled in the rest of the details as they sat on the locker-room bench and talked, forfeiting the first ten minutes of their court time. Al stared, wide-eyed, suppressing his laughter and astonishment as well as he could.

"I'm Catholic," Al replied as John finished his story and they started to make their way to the court, "but it's a shame about that priest. If I were you I'd be dying to know what those cards said."

"I am. And what's the big deal about tarot cards? What was that priest afraid of?"

"I don't know. The devil or something. Evil spirits. Catholics can be really weird. Ever heard of the infant of Prague?"

John shook his head as they filled their water bottles at the fountain and went into the second court. It smelled like a dirty sock, but it looked clean enough.

"So what are you going to do? And what about that guy with the radio? Did you call the police?" Al asked as they warmed up with a few light volleys.

"No. No police. What would I tell them? They'd probably write me a ticket for stupidity, or give me a lecture about 'taking the law into your own hands.' Anyway, Jillian and I have been out a few times. I'm taking her to dinner again on Friday."

"You're not!" Al dropped his jaw and let the ball go past.

"Really," John laughed, picking it up and serving again.

"Can I get the next table and listen in?"

*              *              *

The steady morning routine had taken somewhat of a new twist over the last week or so. The newspaper couldn't draw his attention away from reflecting on his dreams. And what dreams! He woke nearly every morning with vivid memories of spectacular adventures. At first he suspected some change in his diet, or stress at the office, or noise from the neighbors, but eventually, and perhaps a little reluctantly, he decided it must be the new ideas he'd been pondering.

I'm opening up new areas of my mind
, he joked with himself.

Last night's dream had been more of an elaborate memory. John had been sitting alone in a corner of the high school library, pretending to study. It had been a month since his father had died, and he still didn't have the heart to hang out with his friends before school began. The library had become his quiet place of refuge.

The sound of footsteps approached his table. He looked up enough to see a pair of saddle shoes, white, lacy socks, and a pair of cheerleader's legs. He wasn't in the mood to make it easy on anybody, so he looked back into his notebook, trying unsuccessfully to read his notes from Biology.

"Hi, John," Suzanne's voice said. The captain of the cheerleading squad had recently become one of the most active in promoting the new Young Life club. Her family was from the Philippines, and John thought she was the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

"Hi, Suzanne," John said, looking up.

"Can I sit down?" John nodded. "I'm really sorry about your dad. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Thanks," he said, "but I'm okay. It's just life."

He could sense that she was priming herself for something -- taking a deep breath, steeling herself to fulfill her mission. "Do you ever wonder what happens to you when you die, John?"

This was the third time someone had tried to give him some religion since his father died. "Yeah," he said sarcastically. "I know exactly what happens. You go to Hell and suffer under the wrath of God forever and ever. Isn't that right?"

Suzanne was used to sarcasm when she tried to share her faith, but she didn't expect it from John. He had a reputation as a nice guy. "Not if you believe in Jesus," she said, confidently.

"But if you don't, you go to Hell. Right? Isn't that what your religion teaches you? Frankly," he said, setting his pen down and looking at her seriously, with thinly veiled anger, "I don't want to hear any more talk about salvation until somebody's honest enough to admit what it is we're all being saved from. Do you believe in Hell, Suzanne?"

"Y- ... yes," she said.

"So if somebody dies and doesn't believe in Jesus, then they're in Hell, right?"

"Did your father ..."

"I don't know," he interrupted, "but I want to hear your answer. Do you really believe that your pal Jesus will send people to Hell forever and ever, with no chance of reprieve? Can you look me in the eye and tell me that you believe that. Because if you can't, why should I believe in this salvation you're selling?" He was speaking a little too loudly, and the librarian gave him a sharp look.

Suzanne tried to look him in the eye, but she couldn't. She looked down at the table for a long moment, and then her shoulders started to shudder. John immediately felt remorse for venting his anger and frustration on her. He walked around to the other side of the table, taking the seat next to hers. He gently put a hand on her shoulder and apologized. He expected her to push him away, but she put her head on his shoulder and cried.

That was sixteen years ago. John spent a long time that morning thinking about the dream and remembering Suzanne. He sipped his coffee contemplatively. Within a week she had quit Young Life, but she and John were going steady. They stayed together until John's first year in college, when her parents moved back to the Philippines. They had tried to stay in touch for a while, but it was hopeless, and they grew apart. He hadn't heard from her in years.

*              *              *

The next Saturday John and Jillian drove to Philadelphia to take John's mother to lunch. After picking her up from her modest two-story, they found a local hotel restaurant with a $5 lunch fajita special.

Jillian and Liz, John's mother, immediately fell into an easy rapport. Jillian asked about details of John's childhood. She even seemed to care about the name of his doctor.

Liz told several stories that John had never heard before -- often things about his father.

"You really loved him," Jillian said approvingly, then glanced over at John. "I think a child has a special blessing when his parents love each other."

On the whole drive North John had been rehearsing ways to introduce Jillian to his mother, or to bring up common interests. He'd dreaded this meeting more than a root canal, but it was all for naught. Now he wondered if the danger didn't lie in the other direction. If Mom liked Jillian that much ....

The hotel had seen better days. From the outside John noticed that a few windows had been boarded up, and sections of the exterior needed paint. He supposed the hotel made most of its income from the restaurant, which contrasted fairly sharply with the rest of the building. The carpet and furniture in the restaurant looked new, and it was very well decorated and bright. The walls and ceilings were hung with well-tended plants that gave the room a very clean and inviting look.

Overall, lunch was a little too pleasant for John's tastes. The fact that he genuinely liked Jillian didn't ease the uncomfortable feeling that he was walking into a well-laid trap.

But the lunch served another purpose. John had never known his mother to open up with anyone the way she opened up with Jillian, and he learned a lot about her as they talked. He had known that she was raised Roman Catholic and was now only nominally religious, but she had never explained why she had left the church. Liz and Jillian shared their childhood experiences as they tinkered with their fajitas. Both had been terrified by the nuns and priests, stifled by the routine of Catholic piety, and exhilarated by the liberty of growing out of it all when they got older.

"It was like the gates of Heaven had opened and I could escape," Liz said. "I found things more to my liking on the outside."

Jillian smiled, but John couldn't help feeling shock at her irreverent language.
Escaping from Heaven and liking it better outside?
"Mother," was all he could say, but Jillian shook her head.

"You weren't taught by vindictive nuns," she said. "They acted as if they had God all boxed up in their cathedrals to do their bidding -- according to their rules. When you find out that God has the arrogance to do as He pleases, without permission from the pope, it's quite a surprise."

John filed it away for another time. No, he really didn't know what it was like, after all, and it was better not to argue about it. But he had always associated the domineering nun with a previous generation. How had Jillian's and his mother's experiences been so similar?