The Gypsy

EPILOGUE
The Wolf and the Cub

Bells fasten to your feet.

That you needn't be alone,

And I'll dance with you the Gypsy Dance

That you have always known.

"GYPSY DANCE"

"… not really surprised… No, it's what I'd expect her to do… Because if she waited for the kid to ask her, she'd wait forever. So, what did he say?…Yeah, that's about what I'd expect. Well, maybe they would be smarter to wait until this whole mess got cleaned up, but smarter isn't always best, Marilyn,you tell Tiffany that for me." Stepovich listened while he thumbed through his statement again. He started to switch the phone from one ear to the other, then remembered that shoulder no longer worked. "Yeah.I know, it is quite a mess. They said they could have saved my arm if the quack who fixed my shoulder the last time hadn't bungled it… Well, thanks, I appreciate that… I guess I'll have to, won't I?…No, I don't mean to sound bitter, I'm just tired of all the damn questions about… sure I understand, I didn't mean you, ask whatever you want… What makes it so bad is that I'm so foggy about what happened after I got hit… Ed? I don't know. From what I can gather, he was under a coffee table or behind a couch or some damned thing while Durand had all the fun… I was being sarcastic, Marilyn.But as I say, after I got hit, I didn't know much of anything that happened… Yeah, I knew about Ed's friend Madam Moria, but.. yeah, I'd heard that the guy who shot me was the one who did the liquor store clerk, but I don't know why he was at Moria's place,… Me? I told you, Ed just wanted to introduce Durand and me to Madam-Huh? Yeah, as far as I know, the killer just happened to show up while we were there. These things happen…, Holes? Who are you. Internal Affairs?… No, really… No, really… Okay, well, tell you what, Marilyn, soon as I'm feeling better, I'll buy you a cup of coffee and tell you the whole story… that's right, the whole story… Yeah, I guess I do owe you that much, but don't blame me when you don't believe it. Hell, I was there, and I don't believe half of it… Yeah, I guess that's a promise. Okay, dinner, not coffee… Okay. Hey, I've got company right now, though, so I got to get off the phone… huh? You bet, Marilyn. A beautiful woman." As he said this, Stepovich's visitor gave an exaggerated look around the hospital room and harrumphed. He bravely waggled his eyebrows at her. "Right… much better, hell, you know cops are made of unbreakable plastic… How should I know, Marilyn? Maybe. I don't even know if they'll offer me a desk job after they read my statement… Yeah, they finally got it out. It ended up lodged between two ribs… bounced all over hell inside me getting there, I guess, they say I'm lucky I'm even… Right. I will. No, really, I will, I promise. You, too. Thanks for calling… Bye."

As soon as Stepovich hung up the phone, she said,"Cut the cards, three times."

He sighed and obeyed her. It was awkward, one-handed. They were peculiar cards, even for the kind of deck it was. Thick edges gone soft with age and handling, smelling like some old spicy perfume. Not even their backs matched. She shifted the piles, muttering to herself as she did so. He watched her practiced fingers lay the cards out in a careful pattern on the white hospital sheet beside him. She bent over them, her hair falling forward like a curtain. "Of course," she muttered. "I can see it."

"See what?" Stepovich asked crabbily.

Her fingernail tapped a card, two people exchanging chalices. "I see Durand asking a woman with red hair to join her fortune with his. She hesitates, but not for long."

"Actually, Tiffany Marie asked him," Stepovich pointed out. She ignored his interruption.

Her hands moved again, jabbing at the ornate cards. "This one, the Queen of Stars? She receives gifts soon, gifts due her. A kettle, perhaps, and a new cane. Perhaps a pound of good tea."

Stepovich harrumphed.

Her fingers wandered on. "An older man close to you opens new doors, or finds a new opportunity."It was a hand coming out of a cloud holding a flowering stick. Stepovich noticed that it was a single arm,then threw the thought away.

"You knew Ed got himself a part-time job. Down at the Classic Caddy. Spends all day arguing about cars with a bunch of other old farts." He coughed slightly, winced from the bruises the bullet had made inside him and the pull of the healing wounds. He took a quick breath, reached to tap a Moon card-"What's this?"

She shook her head. "One we don't wish to speak of. She is gone from here, but not so far as to give me any comfort. But there is another," she tapped a card with a guy upside down on a cross. "One who is not far behind her. This, the six of Swords, nearby?He does not travel alone." A card with ten circled stars overlay a man on a horse carrying yet another star. Her fingers stroked the two, then lifted away.

"Here," she said. "This is you. The Fool."

"Oh, thank you."

"No. Trust me. It's the right card for you. The beginning of knowledge, the beginning of a spiritual journey"-Stepovich rolled his eyes-"and someone who can walk through danger and not be harmed."

"Not be harmed?" He gestured at where his arm had been. "What do you call this, a dimple?"

"And this," she continued quickly, "the five of Cups beside it? That's disappointments, but they're past now. This is the future." It was a woman in a garden with a bird on her finger. "She's enjoying the good things in life. Alone, but getting wiser about herself."

He suddenly thought of Marilyn, then chided himself. If he wasn't careful, he could start taking this stuff seriously, and then what? Can't go out on patrol today, the cards say it isn't auspicious. But no, he wasn't going to be going out on anymore patrols. Shit. Aloud, he said skeptically, "You can tell all this from a deck of cards?"

She fixed him with a steady gaze. "The knowing is already within me. The cards are like guideposts for my Seeing." Her gaze went distant. She had aged since he had last seen her, but not in a way that was bad. Almost, he could see as she claimed to. A sadness, a regret in your past, he'd say to her, but something you've learned from.

"I have the gift, you know," she told him, in a voice gone soft with mystery. Then Laurie grinned suddenly, spoiling the effect. "Or so Madam Moria tells me."

"You should stay away from that old witch," Stepovich chided her. "Filling your head full of superstition."

"Daddy!" Laurie objected heatedly. "She does not.And she's going to take me and Jeffrey to the Farmer's Market. That's where she buys the spices to put in her teas."

"That okay with your mom?"Laurie shrugged. "She said she'd think about it."

"I bet. Don't go telling her it was my idea."

"Don't you want to see me in the layout?" Laurie changed the subject.

"Where are you?" Stepovich asked grudgingly.

"Here." She tapped a card of a young man with a fish in his cup. "This is me. Page of Cups. It means a captivating young person, studious and drawn to the arts. And you know what this means, here, in my future?" A man with a crown on his head, holding a wand. Green was the color of his jerkin.

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

"It means like beginning an apprenticeship. Learning something." Laurie gathered up the cards carefully.

"Learning what?" Stepovich asked guardedly.

"Music lessons," she said matter of factly. "That card almost always means music lessons."

And the street lights never waver.

And the red lights never dim.

And the neon always glitters;

And it was better me than him.

"RED LIGHTS AND NEON"

The End

STEVEN KARL ZOLTAN BRUST was born in 1955. His hobbies include arguing and drumming. He plays psychedelic rock n' roll for Cats Laughing, twisted trad and quirky Celtic for Morrigan, and Sufi drumming for Sulliman's Silly Surfing Sufi Circus, as well as doing the occasional solo act with guitar and banjo. He supports his music habit by writing, and lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota.

For information on ordering "Another Way to Travel"by Cats Laughing (tape or CD) or "Queen of Air and Darkness" by Morrigan (tape), send a self-addressed,stamped envelope to:

Steel Dragon Press

Box 7253

Minneapolis, MN 55407

MEGAN LINDHOLM lives on a small farm in rural Roy, Washington with her four children and occasionally her fisherman husband, Fred. Hobbies include cleaning up after the children and intending to have a garden. Her tastes in music include psychedelic rock n' roll, twisted trad and quirky Celtic, and Sufi drumming. She highly recommends the soundtrack from the movie that should have been made,"Another Way to Travel." Said soundtrack can be ordered from:

Steel Dragon Press

Box 7253

Minneapolis, MN 55407

Oh, she also writes.