effect she had on me, and no way was I gonna let myself get empathically bushwhacked.
And
I was working at staying inconspicuous in the process, which don’t exactly come easy when you’re a lone grown man in a greatcoat at a carnival fulla kids and families.
In other words, I was a touch preoccupied.
If it’d been an attack of some sort, it woulda caught me square on. Since it
wasn’t
an attack, I only almost jumped outta my skin when the call rang out, “Come, stranger! Vould you gaze into your future and see vhat destiny has in store for you?”
She was addressing me, specifically. I dunno how barkers and showmen do it, somehow “aiming” their voice through a milling crowd, but the experienced ones somehow pull it off. Guess I coulda ignored it, but I’d already turned to look despite myself.
Short. I dunno why that was my first impression of her, especially since she was behind a kiosk, and sittin’ on a stool to boot, but it was. Dusky skin, Mediterranean if I wasn’t totally daffy, dark eyes, black hair tied up in something between a normal scarf and a babushka. She also wore heavy kohl around her eyes, lipstick so bright it looked like she’d smooched a wet stop sign, and enough gaudy rings I was amazed she could bend her fingers.
She was also a lot younger’n she was tryin’ to look, and pretty behind that mask of showmanship; surprisingly so, the sorta pretty that sneaks up on you, takes a second look to notice but then won’t let you forget it.
“Come!” she called, once she’d seen her pitch’d snagged my attention. “Come and let Madame Tsura impart her visdom. You… you…”
Her lips kept movin’ but the only sound was a tiny squeak. Cheap brass clattered and gouged furrows into the wood of the kiosk as she clutched at it to keep from toppling over.
Me, my shoulders went tight as a snare drum. Oh, yeah, I knew that expression. I’d seen it before, most recently on Gina’s face a few months back. And I was startin’ to get downright irritable about how many people in this friggin’ town knew I was more’n just some average Joe.
Muttering under my breath, I made my way over.
The kiosk was even gaudier than she was, painted in bright colors and designs meant to look exotic without actually meaning anything about anything. It was only just starting to peel, too. The curtains were velveteen, a sorta pinkish-purple, I guess intended to enhance the idea that “Madame Tsura” could see into the fuchsia.
I’m so sorry I even said that. Too much time hangin’ around with Pete.
“All right, toots.” I leaned in, elbows on the counter where the cards or crystal ball would normally go. “Spin me a tale.”
“I don’t… I’ve never seen anything like…”
“Is this part of the act? Does it cost extra for punctuation or somethin’?”
“Who
are
you?
What
are you?”
“Careful, doll. Your accent’s slipping.”
Somehow, despite her shock and behind her stage makeup, she blushed.
“I’m not actually a gypsy,” she admitted.
“No kidding. The Roma would laugh at you.”
“Yeah. It’s embarrassing, really, but…” She shrugged.
“But it’s what the rubes expect.”
“Something like that.”
I studied her, lookin’ past the makeup, not that I had to. I could taste the tang of history around her, the weight of civilization.
“Greek?”
She didn’t seem surprised.
“Guessin’ your real name ain’t ‘Tsura,’ then. Madame or otherwise.”
No doubt about it now. She blushed redder than the rouge on her cheeks.
“I just go by Tsura these days.”
“Uh-uh. You’re the one who—”
“Hey! You! Yeah, you, pal!”
I sighed, pretty much for her benefit.
“Speaking of rubes… Excuse me a minute.”
Then I turned to face the gink who’d shouted at me. He was a burly fellow, round-faced and red-haired, with two equally round-faced and red-haired brats. Each of ’em clung to one of his hands with one of their own, stuffing wads of cotton candy
And
I was working at staying inconspicuous in the process, which don’t exactly come easy when you’re a lone grown man in a greatcoat at a carnival fulla kids and families.
In other words, I was a touch preoccupied.
If it’d been an attack of some sort, it woulda caught me square on. Since it
wasn’t
an attack, I only almost jumped outta my skin when the call rang out, “Come, stranger! Vould you gaze into your future and see vhat destiny has in store for you?”
She was addressing me, specifically. I dunno how barkers and showmen do it, somehow “aiming” their voice through a milling crowd, but the experienced ones somehow pull it off. Guess I coulda ignored it, but I’d already turned to look despite myself.
Short. I dunno why that was my first impression of her, especially since she was behind a kiosk, and sittin’ on a stool to boot, but it was. Dusky skin, Mediterranean if I wasn’t totally daffy, dark eyes, black hair tied up in something between a normal scarf and a babushka. She also wore heavy kohl around her eyes, lipstick so bright it looked like she’d smooched a wet stop sign, and enough gaudy rings I was amazed she could bend her fingers.
She was also a lot younger’n she was tryin’ to look, and pretty behind that mask of showmanship; surprisingly so, the sorta pretty that sneaks up on you, takes a second look to notice but then won’t let you forget it.
“Come!” she called, once she’d seen her pitch’d snagged my attention. “Come and let Madame Tsura impart her visdom. You… you…”
Her lips kept movin’ but the only sound was a tiny squeak. Cheap brass clattered and gouged furrows into the wood of the kiosk as she clutched at it to keep from toppling over.
Me, my shoulders went tight as a snare drum. Oh, yeah, I knew that expression. I’d seen it before, most recently on Gina’s face a few months back. And I was startin’ to get downright irritable about how many people in this friggin’ town knew I was more’n just some average Joe.
Muttering under my breath, I made my way over.
The kiosk was even gaudier than she was, painted in bright colors and designs meant to look exotic without actually meaning anything about anything. It was only just starting to peel, too. The curtains were velveteen, a sorta pinkish-purple, I guess intended to enhance the idea that “Madame Tsura” could see into the fuchsia.
I’m so sorry I even said that. Too much time hangin’ around with Pete.
“All right, toots.” I leaned in, elbows on the counter where the cards or crystal ball would normally go. “Spin me a tale.”
“I don’t… I’ve never seen anything like…”
“Is this part of the act? Does it cost extra for punctuation or somethin’?”
“Who
are
you?
What
are you?”
“Careful, doll. Your accent’s slipping.”
Somehow, despite her shock and behind her stage makeup, she blushed.
“I’m not actually a gypsy,” she admitted.
“No kidding. The Roma would laugh at you.”
“Yeah. It’s embarrassing, really, but…” She shrugged.
“But it’s what the rubes expect.”
“Something like that.”
I studied her, lookin’ past the makeup, not that I had to. I could taste the tang of history around her, the weight of civilization.
“Greek?”
She didn’t seem surprised.
“Guessin’ your real name ain’t ‘Tsura,’ then. Madame or otherwise.”
No doubt about it now. She blushed redder than the rouge on her cheeks.
“I just go by Tsura these days.”
“Uh-uh. You’re the one who—”
“Hey! You! Yeah, you, pal!”
I sighed, pretty much for her benefit.
“Speaking of rubes… Excuse me a minute.”
Then I turned to face the gink who’d shouted at me. He was a burly fellow, round-faced and red-haired, with two equally round-faced and red-haired brats. Each of ’em clung to one of his hands with one of their own, stuffing wads of cotton candy
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