Journeys and Star Gazing

Joe strolled through the streets of Redfern, the full moon casting its luminous glow upon the tenement rooves. The scorching heat of the day still emanated from the footpath beneath his feet. In the distance, a man briskly approached, clutching a book in one hand and a fireman’s helmet in the other.

Upon reaching Joe, he halted abruptly, prompting Joe to scrutinize him from head to toe. The man, clad in a black suit and tie, met Joe’s gaze, his eyes fixed above Joe’s head. Placing the fireman’s helmet near his shoe and tucking the book into his coat pocket, he leaned in and cupped his hand near Joe’s ear, whispering softly, “I possess the skill of palm reading, young man. My mother taught me, and I offer this service to those I encounter on this very street.”

With his owl-like eyes, he bore the semblance of an undertaker. Raising his hands to chest level, he added, “If you spare me a few minutes of your time, we shall unravel the mysteries that Fate has in store for you… if you permit me to read your palm. Rest assured, you have nothing to lose.”

Joe felt a slight dizziness, a loss of control. “You want to hold my hand? I’m afraid that won’t be happening, mate,” he replied.

“Yes, so that I may discern its secrets. Every day, I must read the palms of at least three individuals. You are my third,” the man explained.

“A quota, akin to traffic fines handed out by police officers? A quota of fates? Fascinating! Three per day, you say!” Joe remarked with a touch of sarcasm.

The man in the suit appeared driven, as if on a mission—a renegade Freemason or a peculiar Scientologist without the customary folder, seeking redemption. The impression was fleeting, but it piqued Joe’s curiosity. And what was the significance of the fireman’s helmet at his feet? Joe’s mind drifted back to a distant memory of his eight-year-old self, playing with two small magnets his father had given him. He reveled in the way they snapped together and how, when he reversed their polarity, they repelled each other—a minuscule push in the invisible realm that his fingers could feel.

“Alright then, how long will this take?” Joe reluctantly acquiesced.

The stranger reached for Joe’s hands, assuring him, “Not long.” Turning his head and sniffing the air, he took hold of both of Joe’s palms, turning them upwards and scrutinizing them intently. Releasing Joe’s left hand, he focused solely on the right, his hovering fingertip traversing Joe’s palm. Joe felt a familiar magnetic force, reminiscent of his childhood. This time, it glided over his palm, countering the hovering finger’s movements.

“Every human hand harbors a landscape, with rivers and mountains, deserts and plains. Right here, in the middle of your palm, lies the Plain of Mars,” he pointed. “And to the northeast, Mount Jupiter. The River of Life courses southeastward beneath the Mount of Venus.” His finger traced the lines on Joe’s palm. “Saturn resides here,” he indicated, his finger lingering over the mounds beneath Joe’s fingers. “Beneath these hills lie the Head and Heart lines.”

“So, what does it say?” Joe inquired, now consumed by curiosity. He had no idea he held the entire solar system within the confines of his hand. A smile graced his face.

The man sniffed, retrieving a small cube from his coat pocket—a dice. Placing it in the center of Joe’s hand, he explained, “Now, upon the Plain of Mars, you possess a compass.” Amidst the plains, rivers, and mountains of one’s life, a single dot on the ivory cube stood out. How long had the man been standing there? Joe observed intently and asked, “Well then, what is my fate?”

The man in the black suit and tie chuckled softly and whispered, “Roll the dice within your hand, then observe the number.”

Joe twirled the dice within his closed palm. Upon opening his hand, he beheld two dots. They resembled eyes, and Joe stared at them intently. Slowly straightening his back, an air of revelation engulfed him, akin to a cobra hearing its melodious tune. He gazed up at the palm reader, his entire being ablaze with contemplation. “Perhaps this is what religious awe is all about,” a voice uttered. Did it emerge from his own mind, or did the palm reader speak it? Joe could no longer discern the boundaries between his internal and external world. The posture of his body, the ambiance surrounding him, resonated throughout his nervous system, tingling in every inch of his being. A newfound sense of anticipation welled up at the base of his spine, spiraling upward like a neon coil, igniting a spark of recognition within his chest.

“Well, this cannot be real,” Joe declared, facing a replica of himself. The palm reader had vanished into thin air. The dice was no longer nestled in his hand. All that remained before him was his own reflection, gradually fading away. As he continued on his journey, his foot collided with a fireman’s helmet. Leaving it behind on the ground, he pressed forward toward Mal’s place.