Paul Negler proceeded to the fortune-teller. He walked in her door, causing a tinkle of belles which startled him. The fortune teller, from her seat at a table just inside the door, smiled at his timidness.

"No need to be afraid," she said, "I shall not bite you. Now, come over here." Paul did as he was told. He sat at the table, without being asked, as the fortune teller began shuffling cards into a neat stack and shoving them into a small box.
"Madam Majestic, I am here because..."

"Be silent!" she ordered. "I can see why you are here. I see the way you have travelled. I can see your entire past, my friend. I know what you want to ask before the words are formed in your head. Do not doubt me; I warn you of that, do not doubt the powers I possess."

Paul shook his head from side to side in agreement and adjusted his glasses. The Madam reached under the table and lifted a crystal ball into view. She held it for a moment toward the window, and then placed it in front of her. She gazed deeply into the layers of fog.
Paul sat straight in his seat and said, "I just want to know if..."

"Silence. You were born in April of 1973, or '72. It is a bit hazy, I will grant you that, but it will all become clear as we speak. You are one of a number a children, the youngest one. You are upset because you are not doing well in school, you fear your grades will not merit you the job you desire. Your academic excellence is threatened by a number of things. First, there is the relationship you have with your mother. She is aggravated with you for some inexplicable reason, but will not tell. Perhaps even she does not know. Perhaps you have committed some grievous error. I cannot see the error, but that is because it is between your mother and yourself. It has nothing to do with your future. It is merely your present. Scientists may disagree..."

Madam Majestic gazed deeply into the crystal for some moments before speaking. Paul looked baffled, but kept his mouth shut. Finally, the madam resumed her speech: "Another thing which causes you distress is that the person you are engaged to is out of the country. This person thinks of you often, and you are afraid you do not think of this person as frequently as you assume you should. This is a pseudo-problem. Your distress here is caused not so much by your relationship with this particular person as with your school work and your mother. Trouble designs a circle over your head, and I jump ahead a bit to tell you that you have nothing to worry about."

Paul moved forward in his seat.

"Shhh. I tell you everything will be well. The third loop in the ring of problems is a terrible cold you had caught some months ago and have not to this very day been able to rid yourself. The cold in itself is not a suitable worry. It will pass; pass as the cloud which hangs over you. The cold is truly the result of worries caused by the one kind of absent relationship with your mother and the other kind of absent relationship with your lover. These shall each be resolved. The cold will disappear first, for it is not your time to die. You shall live a long life, privileged and proud. The situation with your mother will be concluded when she learns the errors of her ways, and the necessity of speaking with her children. All of them. You come from a very large family can see that now. There were many of you. The years stretch long through your mother's deliveries. This must cause her worry as well. She is terrible aggravated. She will catch a cold at some point. The cold will linger long and fruitless, long like a drifting cloud. Fruitless like unadorned condensation."

"But I..."

"Silence. These words sound enigmatic to you now, but they will become clear. When your relationships are resolved to your satisfaction, I emphasize, to YOUR satisfaction, your school work will improve tremendously, and you will find satisfaction in all being. Now listen..."

The fortune teller leaned closer to Paul, squinted, and spoke in a deep, almost melancholy voice, "You must refuse to consider yourself in any manner designed. You are your own design. There are few to whom I would tell these words, but you do not need fortune tellers. You do not need horoscopes. You do not need the I-Ching. You do not need the entrails of dead birds. You create your own future. You are one of the chosen. I cannot, therefore, continue. I have been interrupted; given the knowledge that you are your own destiny. That will be twenty dollars, please."

Paul, who had leaned forward to listen to this last bit of information, sat straight and said, "Incredible!"
"It is a gift."

"Astonishing."

"You compliment me, my dear."

"That's funny," Paul spoke somewhat tartly, "I do not mean to compliment you. In fact, I want to tell you that everything you told me was completely erroneous and false."
"What?"

"That's right. I am the oldest child from a family of three. I am not in school, but have job I enjoy very much. My mother and I are no doubt not talking because she has been dead for seven years. As for my making my own future, I believe that is precisely true. My future at the moment, I should inform you, is to serve you with this notice that you are being sued for fraudulent practices. That is what I am paid to do, and that is precisely what I will do.
Here you are, Madam. As for all that nonsense you have spoken pahh!"

So saying, Paul handed the fortune teller an envelope. She took it into her hands and lifted it to her nose.

"Gracious, woman; what are you doing?"

"On this envelope I smell the working of your life. You will die shortly. A run away beer truck will send your life into oblivion. You shall leave your wife and children grieving. There shall be no comfort for them. You are a petty man, who has lived a petty life. You are ridiculous and do not respect the powers that be. You have erred greatly. You have not paid your latest insurance bill, and they will give nothing to your widow. She will bury you in the lowest pine box, and curse you all her days because she must struggle now, and will struggle harder to send your son, Sean, to school.

"Sean..." Paul said absent-mindedly.

"As for my previous words, I smell the perfume of a woman who is not your poor Melinda. This is the name of your wife, is it not?"

"My Melinda. Yes. Yes, Melinda is my wife."

"She will not be in ten minutes. I swear to you, I only see. I do not contrive. I apologize to you. You must leave now. Destiny awaits. You will turn left out of my door and walk the block and a half to your car. Your fate is sealed. There is nothing I can do about it. You should have come to me years earlier. But you were too proud. Too petty. Go now. Go. You make me sad, all you doubters. Go, Paul Negler. Say 'goodbye,' for it is the last time you will say goodbye to anyone."

Paul looked at the fortune teller, thought to say something in rebuttal, but held back. He stood, turned quickly, and walked out of the door. He turned left to get to his car.
Madam Majestic watched after him for some few second. Finally she stood, brought out her Tarot cards, and said, almost to herself, "Enjoy your beer."

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