While
Christina was waiting at home, one day a Gypsy woman appeared at her
door to tell fortunes. The Gypsy woman prophesied “There will
be a big accident when your husband’s ship lands, but he will
not be hurt.” On May 05, 1907, the ship put into port in
Galveston, Texas, U.S.A. Throngs of people crowded on the wood dock
to welcome the ship. The dock collapsed; many people perished in the
water. All those on the ship were uninjured. It happened just as that
Gypsy woman had predicted.’ (By Rhonda Leanne Stock, from her
2002 story, “The
Immigrant Experience” at www.storyhouse.org.
*****
I
have never had a cat as a pet. For the first twenty-nine years of my
life I had never seen a domestic cat. And so when I was six years old
a peripatetic part-time fortune-teller predicted that sometime in my
future a cat would save my life, all my family members at that table
having a tea-break were skeptically and dismissively amused.
For
two reasons, that fortune-teller did not mind the skepticism. First,
because my Grampa poured him a second cup of tea, nonetheless.
The
second reason was that his main reason for visiting us was not as a
fortune-teller.
A
family member observed that the best news of that prediction was that
it guaranteed I would live safely as long as I had nothing to do with
cats; and since there had never been a cat in our lives for
generations this side of the horizon, I was guaranteed a long safe
life.
Another
family member cautioned us that the fairy tale of “Sleeping
Beauty”, first told in Italy in the year 1550, was proof that
defeating a prophecy by avoiding one of its stipulations just does
not work.
Since
I had never seen a cat by then, the prediction meant less than
nothing to me.
I
had so forgotten the prediction that when it happened to me
seventy-five years later in another country, memory of the prediction
took years after that to kick in. It was only a few years later when
I was reading the story by Rhonda Leanne Stock, that it all came back
to me with tsunami-like impact!
Seeing
futures in tea leaves was not that fortune-teller’s main
occupation. He was paid for re-furbishing coir mattresses. He
traveled by bicycle to the homes of his regular customers. His tools
were two sturdy long wood canes, a sewing kit in a wood box, and
mattress cloth.
Coir-filled
mattresses were not sold in stores, and not made in factories. Those
bicycle itinerant coir mattress makers were common sights all over
our village-town.
Coir
is the coarse fiber from the outer husk of a coconut. It is known for
its durability, breatheability, and resistance to mold and mildew. It
took about three hours to make a coir mattress, or to refurbish an
existing mattress.
The
process was hard work but straightforward, and required no special
skills. One person could finish making or refurbishing a coir
mattress within three hours. A coir mattress was the first choice of
poor people because each mattress made in the backyard cost less than
a tenth of any other kind of mattress sold in stores. Coir was
inexpensive and was sold stuffed in canvas bags in General Stores,
and markets. I remember carrying bags of coir on my back in my teens
working for a pittance as a delivery worker.
I
emigrated in my thirtieth year. In my new country, domestic cats as
pets is as normal as having dogs as pets. It is not unusual for a
home to have cats and dogs as pets. Most pet dog owners keep their
dogs within their yards. Most pet cat owners allow their cats to roam
freely far away from home, and to stay away from home for days.
One
of my homes overseas was an apartment on the third floor of a
three-storey building. Each of the apartment homes had a balcony with
a glass sliding door.
It
was a noisy building, day and night. A fair amount of the noise was
made by cats fighting cats, day and night. Many tenants all around me
owned cats, which had free run of the building by day and by night.
I
had no animal pets. However, the repair person of the building would
bring their cats when they went about repairing. For that reason, I
did not report minor malfunctions; I repaired them myself at my cost.
The
balconies were cat highways, by day and night. When I had to keep
balcony windows and door open for fresh air, I kept the openings to
only a finger width.
Petty
crimes were so frequent on the premises that Police cars were a
normal sight in the parking lot and on the adjacent streets.
Especially at night, law-breakers continually exploited the
ubiquitous noises to mask their illegal shenanigans.
One
windy rainy thunder lightnings night just after midnight, I heard
sounds of a violent conflict on my balcony. As usual, I tensed and
armed myself, and made sure there were items of furniture against all
doors. The noises sounded like there was a skirmish happening between
a cat or cats, and persons.
That
there were cats and strange persons on my balcony was not new
information. That there were strange persons on my balcony so near
after midnight made it certain I would still be awake when it was
time for me to prepare to leave for work in the morning.
The
weather was still stormy when I was ready to leave for work at about
eight o’clock that morning. Before I left, I worked up courage
to go out on the balcony.
I
found a screwdriver on the floor by the balcony door, and smears of
blood on the balcony floor. I guessed that if most of the blood smear
on the balcony floor was not because of the rain and wind, the wound
source must have been fatal.
I
left the screwdriver where it lay, and hoped the wind would
eventually blow it off the balcony. To aid and abet the wind, I used
my booted feet to move the screwdriver to the edge of the balcony.
When
I arrived from work late that afternoon, I was most happy to notice
that the rain had washed away all the blood smears, and the wind had
cleared the balcony of the screwdriver.
By
the time that incident occurred, there was nobody still alive who had
been there at my home in the country of my birth drinking tea when
that mattress-maker fortune teller had made the prophecy.
Sometimes
I think that had that fortune-teller added the stipulation that my
future would have a violent cat in it only if I was in another
country, I might have chosen to never emigrate.
Contact
Ezra (Unless
you
type
the
author's name in
the subject
line
of the message we
won't know where to send it.)