The manitou Read Free Page B

week, when Daddy started complaining about it,
Mrs. Winconis would remember my words, and be mightily impressed with my
incredible clairvoyant talents.
    “What about me? asked Mrs. Winconis. “What is going to happen to me?”
    I stared
gloomily at the cards.
    “Not a good
week, I’m afraid. Not a good week at all. On Monday you will have an accident.
    Not a serious
one. Nothing worse than dropping a heavy weight on your foot,
but it will be painful. It will keep you awake Monday night. On Tuesday,
you will play bridge with your friends as usual. Someone will cheat you, but
you will not discover who it is. So keep your stakes small, and don’t take any
risks. Wednesday you will have an unpleasant telephone call, possibly obscene.
Thursday you will eat a meal that does not agree with you, and you will wish that
you never ate it.”
    Mrs. Winconis
fixed me with her dull gray eyes. “Is it really that bad?” she asked.
    “It doesn’t
have to be. Remember that the cards can warn as well as foretell. If you take
steps to avoid these pitfalls, you will not necessarily have such a bad week.”
    “Well, thank
God for that,” she said. “It’s worth the money just to know what to look out
for.”
    “The spirits
think well of you, Mrs. Winconis,” I said, in my special voice. “They care for
you, and would not like to see you discomfited or harmed. If you treat the
spirits right, they will treat you right.”
    She stood up.
“Mr. Erskine, I don’t know how to thank you. I’d best be getting along now, but
I’ll see you next week, won’t I?”
    I smiled my
secret smile. “Of course, Mrs. Winconis. And don’t
forget your mystic motto for the week.”
    “Oh, no, of course not. What is it this week, Mr. Erskine?”
    I opened a
tattered old book that I kept on the table next to me. “Your mystic motto for
this week is: ‘Guard well the pips, and the fruit
shall grow without let.’“
    She stood there
for a moment with a faraway smile on her withered old face. “That’s beautiful,
Mr. Erskine. I shall repeat it every morning when I wake up. Thank you for a
wonderful, wonderful session.”
    “The pleasure,”
I said, “is all mine .”
    I showed her to
the elevator, taking care that none of my neighbors saw me in my ridiculous
green cloak and hat, and waved her a fond farewell. As soon as she had sunk out
of sight, I went back into my flat, switched on the light, blew out the
incense, and turned on the television. With any luck, I wouldn’t have missed
too much of Kojak.
    I was just
going to the icebox to fetch myself a can of beer when the telephone rang. I
tucked the receiver under my chin, and opened up the beer as I talked. The
voice on the other end was female (of course) and nervous (of course). Only
nervous females sought the services of a man like The Incredible Erskine.
    “Mr. Erskine?”
    “Erskine’s the name, fortune-telling’s the game.”
    “Mr. Erskine, I
wonder if I could come round and see you.”
    “Of course, of course. The fee is twenty-five dollars for
your ordinary glimpse into the immediate future, thirty dollars for a year’s
forecast, fifty dollars for a lifetime review.”
    “I just want to
know what’s going to happen tomorrow.” The voice sounded young, and very
worried. I took a quick mental guess at a pregnant and abandoned secretary.
    “Well, madam,
that’s my line. What time do you want to come?”
    “Around nine? Is that too late?”
    “Nine is fine,
and the pleasure’s mine. Can I have your name please?”
    “Tandy. Karen Tandy. Thank you, Mr. Erskine. I’ll see you at
nine.”
    It might seem
strange to you that an intelligent girl like Karen Tandy should seek help from
a terrible quack like me, but until you’ve been dabbling in clairvoyance for
quite a while, you don’t realize how vulnerable people feel when they’re
threatened by things they don’t understand. This is particularly true of
illness and death, and most of my clients have some kind of