From the Sky - Part VII


From the Sky - Part VII

By James M. O'Meara, © 2009

Need to catch up on From the Sky? Just click an installment below:

  • Part I
  • Part II
  • Part III
  • Part IV
  • Part V
  • Part VI
  • Insalata di Pomodori

    Insalata di Pomodori...

    After church the following Sunday, my aunts went to Aunt Carmella’s fortune teller. My father, barely a teenager at the time, was in tow. They stood outside the fortune teller’s house, a structure like many on this leg of Washington Street: nondescript, with faded, dirty white siding and a small fenced in front yard. But for the house numbers, it was almost impossible to tell one from another.

    "Why are we here?" my father asked. "I want to go home."

    "Hush, Paulie," scolded Rae.

    "I don't like this place," he whined.

    "We won't be long," said Sal. "We'll buy you candy on the way home if you promise not to tell Papa we were here."

    "I want to go home. I’m telling Papa. I don’t care about candy. I’m not a child, and I don’t want to see any fortune teller."

    Zia took put her hands on his shoulders and bent down to look into his eyes.

    "Listen to me, Paulie. You will come inside with us. You will sit quietly. If you tell Papa, the fortune teller will put a curse on you."

    "Don't frighten the boy," commanded a thin, nasal voice with a raspy edge.

    The fortune teller stood in her open doorway, half her face in a smile, half of it frozen, a sinister countenance. Her eyes were bright and piercing. She wore a black skirt and a white blouse. Draped across her shoulders, despite the thick summer heat, was a loosely-knitted shawl the color of overripe tomatoes.