The curtain dropped at nightfall. Engulfed by the waves of gloom that swept Virgo Star Alley, I knew my path by the backlight of memory—the destroyer of darkness and the sojourner’s guide. I squeezed through the iron gate that hung ajar, to be struck by the scent of a familiar incense. To my good fortune, I found no visitors in the house. She appeared to me alone, sitting cross-legged on her Persian divan, wrapped in a robe of many quiet colors embroidered with a pattern of crescent moons and flowers, drawn over the curves of a distinctly firm form. Her eyelids dangling like veils, in her fingertips she held some cards—she never grew bored peering into the Unseen on her own. She did not lift her eyes toward me, as though she knew who was coming by the sound of his footsteps, and as if she intended to pay him no heed. Sensing strongly that I was intruding, I did not offer her greetings, but sat in the chair nearest her, seeking refuge in silence. She continued reading her cards as I contemplated how to open our conversation, when all that I had prepared to say evaporated from my mind under the effect of this room, grave with the remains of days gone by.
What do You think about The Seventh Heaven (1999)?
