365 Fiction Bites

'Well, maybe I shouldn't have', she was telling me, with a high-pitched voice and a too familiar a tone. I barely knew the woman. 'But I sure as hell wanted to. I just hate unprepared hosts, you know. It makes you feel unwelcome, like you are disturbing their peace. Even if it's them that insisted you come over. And then they go and even forget what day or what time you were supposed to arrive and don't even have a cot or half a decent meal ready for you. No manners. That's why I'd rather be a hostess than a guest. I hate being a guest. So don't you go apologizing for accepting my invitation. You're welcome here anytime, son. You hear me? Anytime. And you know I mean it.'

All that was very well, but it just made me feel more uncomfortable that I already was. I am quite the opposite of that, always been. I hate planning and pre-planning and making arrangements and working for anyone else's sake. I very seldomly extended staying invitations to anyone, not even to my closest friends. Specially to them, we wouldn't stay friends for much longer if I did.

She had laid down the table, way too fancily for my taste, and what I thought the situation would require. The contents of the plates didn't quite match the tone of the linen, silverware and crystal glasses. There were little sandwiches -crustless-, various trays containing cookies, pastries and all kinds of sweets. It made no kind of sense.

I wasn't really hungry, but I smiled and started to munch on one of the bite-sized sandwiches when we sat. They were cucumber and goat cheese. I have never gotten that. Why put raw cucumber between to slices of white bread? An abomination, that is what it is.

She insisted I at least tasted one item in every plate before I showed her the card. After I finished my jagernaut piece of home-made tiramisu it occurred to me I could have claimed to be a diabetic, and my agony would have ended with the cucumber sandwich. Too late.

Now that I felt like a complete pig we could get down to business. The old woman removed the trays from the table and set a mat in the space between us.

'Ok', she said, her voice suddenly dropping a few octaves. 'Let's see it.'

I took it out and put it down on the table face up, facing her.

'As des épées', she pronounced. That was what the card read, "AS DES ÉPÉES". Ace of Swords. 'It stands for conquest, triumph, great force in love and hate. It also shows the beginning of a situation whose potential is as double-edged as the blade of a sword.' She made a pause, gave me a suspecting look, looked down at the card as she picked it up again and back up as she spoke again.

'Did you ever heard about the Double-edged Irish twins?' I had. My mother used to tell me a tale about them. It was so cheesy I always assumed she herself had made it up. Legends are usually more imaginative.

There were once a Catholic family of Italian descent that had long settled in Québec. Most of them lived in Montréal. Being Catholic and devout followers of the Church, they usually had a full house. In every generation there was bound to be at least a couple of siblings less than twelve months apart. Now, this family had had a curse placed on them. Not on the whole family, but on one of its ancestors. He had apparently pissed off a young gyspsy woman by cheating on her, or maybe repudiated her after knocking her up. Something of the like. Here is when my mother's version of the story varied from time to time. Sometimes she would assure that it was his brother, eleven months younger than him, who had gotten her pregnant after forcing her and that is why he left her. According to this version, the young woman had cursed both brothers.

Thing is, she put a curse on his seed. That, in every generation which had two brothers less than a year apart in age, one would end the other's life. Their roles would not be assigned by birth, though. One of them would inevitably choose to become one or the other. Separatedly or together, they would make a choice. Not always an informed or a conscious one, but a decision nonetheless. It wouldn't matter who resolved to kill the other or refused to do so first. Even knowing about the curse, the other would always make the opposite resolution.

I had recenlty learned that my grandfather, on my mother's side, had been a native Montrealer. Another piece of the puzzle that fell into place.

'The one about the curse, the brothers and the fratricide?' I said it with a tone of disbelief.

'That one. You understand the killing always has to be deliberate, yes?'.

'I guess. I've never had homicidal feelings towards my brother, though.'

'That's completely irrelevant. Do you remember how you first saw the card? Was it right-side-up or upside-down?'

'I don't know. I can't remember.'

'Well, that would help you a lot. It wouldn't change the outcome, but we'd know which side of the knife you're gonna end up on.' My eyes must have looked like saucers. What the hell was this woman saying?

I didn't bother responding to that. I got up and left the house, as fast as I could and without looking back. When I got to my car and sat down behind the wheel I was still huffing.

Before I could properly calm down the beginning of Debussy's Suite bergamasque started playing in my pocket. My cell screen read Incoming call: Victoria. My brother's fiancée.

'Hey. It's me,' she sounded anxious. 'Listen, I have something to tell you. I know I shouldn't tell you on the phone, but I need you to know before... Well, I just have to tell you now.'

'What is it? Is everything alright with Ian?'

'No. Yes. That's not it. I'm pregnant. And it's not Ian's. It's yours.'

'Are you...'

'Sure? Yes, of course I'm sure. I'm telling Ian when he gets home, that's why I had to tell you now.'

'Fuck, Mary. Are you out of your goddamn mind? You can't fucking tell Ian, he will fucking kill us both!'

'I have to. You know me, I can't live a lie. Not like this, I can't keep this in any longer. He has to know.'

'No, wait. I'll tell him with you, wait for me.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Henry. I have to tell him. No way. I just wanted you to know, just in case. Bye, Henry.'

I tried to make her wait but she had hung up. Giving up, I went to put the phone back into my pocket and I felt something in there. It was the card. The Ace of Swords. I couldn't remember having taking it when I left the card-reader's house, but there it was.

Without missing a beat, I put the keys in the ignition an started the car, my mind resolved.