The Witch, the Chemist, the Shepherd, and the Stars

Raffaelo shouldn’t have trusted the caravan atop the hill. He had only heard stories of curses coming from its depths, the woman inside rumored to be a witch some days, a demon on others. 

But Raffaelo was a desperate man, having chased his love, Julietta, from afar for much too long. A night after too many drinks led to a stupid, friendly bet of Mario’s doing, who was a jester at best and a fool at his worst. Mario said he was sick of seeing Raffaelo swoon over Julietta’s soft peachy skin, her delicate lips, the soft waves of her honey hair. He bet Raffaelo to ask for her hand in courtship, or else go see the witch for advice on how to pursue his love. 

Of course, sweet Raffaelo is often filled with cowardice, and upon seeing Julietta at the river with her wet hair stuck to her back, he promptly turned around and fled before her tinkling laugh could lead him into the water’s depths. 

Matteo guffawed when Raffaelo confessed to his failure, nearly falling off his bar stool. The next night, Raffaelo packed some silver, one piece of gold for emergencies, a clove of garlic, and a pouch of dried rose petals, in preparation for his trip to the witch’s caravan. He was ready for anything. 

Well, almost anything. Raffaelo did not expect her to open her caravan door before he had even raised his fist to knock, and certainly not the powerful smell of compost and earth that stifled the room. He wouldn’t have guessed the room to be filled with quilts and pillows, nor the elaborate candelabras precariously perched upon stacks of very flammable parchment. He did, however, find himself having assumed correctly when he spotted the witch’s giant crystal ball on her table. 

She beckoned him to sit, pulling him onto an elaborately embroidered cushion. Her bracelets sang as she pointed to a seat, her inky black hair wrapped up with dyed cloth and adorned with small charms and shells. He remembers the scratch of the pillow’s beads on the backs of his thighs, bothersome even through the velvet of his trousers. 

But most of all, he remembers her soft gasp when the woman turned over one of his tarot cards: The tower. Raffaelo had leaned across the table, desperate to find what she meant. 

“Does she love me?” he asked. “Does she hate me?” All he could think of was Julietta’s green, curious eyes. 

The witch paused, turning the card so he could study it, and though Raffaelo wasn’t quite sure what it meant, he could tell it was something ominous. 

Two figures leapt out of a building, flames roaring out of the windows. A bolt of lighting struck the top, the people plummeting headfirst through the flames, arms outstretched. 

“Chaos,” the woman whispered. “Destruction.”

Raffaelo traced the two figures falling; one must be him, the other sweet Julietta. “What kind of chaos? What kind of destruction?” His voice was raspy, harsh compared to the woman’s soft breath. 

“Change is coming. Yes, something will change. Maybe for the worse,” she responded, eyes closed.

“Please, can’t you tell me anything more?” Raffaelo begged. 

“You come to me asking for answers about a girl, yes?”

Raffaelo nodded frantically. 

“I cannot see. I cannot say for certain. No, that I do not know.” She held a hand over her eyes as if suddenly blinded by a light. “But something will change.”

Hot anger surged through Raffaelo. “You are a fake! I come to you for advice, for help, and you deceive me! You tell me nothing– for all I know, you lie!” He stood, his stomach turning sour. 

“I do not lie,” the woman responded, eyes still covered. “I simply do not know. But I see you are unsatisfied. Why don’t you try the chemist two towns over?” 

Raffaelo’s brow furrowed. “What can a chemist do that a witch cannot?”

At that, the woman cackled, high and long. “You haven’t heard of tea leaves? The man can read them like chronicles. They tell him your fortune as the cards tell me.”

Raffaelo rolled his eyes, imagining great disappointment if the chemist was to be anything like the woman. 

“You are a skeptic. I do not blame you, but I urge you to try anyway. Isn’t this girl worth it?” The witch stood as well, only coming to Raffaelo’s collarbone. She beckoned him down, kissing him swiftly on each cheek before seeing him out of her caravan. 

Raffaelo was halfway down her hill when the wind carried her voice down to him.

“And tell him Magda sent you!”

He turned, watching the woman in the doorway of her home, her hunched silhouette retreating into the shadows as she turned back inside. 

It was only until Raffaelo reached the end of her hill that he realized she had pocketed his pouch of gold and silver, taking the garlic and petals with them. Raffaelo cursed Matteo and his bet loudly into the sky. 

Raffaelo walked day and night until he reached the chemist’s village, the thought of returning to Julietta’s rosy cheeks pushing him to march faster and faster. The sun had just spilled its runny egg yolk yellow over the village, orange light seeping into the night-dark corners and alleys. 

The chemist’s door sign said it was not open yet, but Raffaelo was much too tired to care. Seeing faint movement through the thick, stained-glass windows, he banged and pounded his fists on the wooden door. 

“Oi, oi!” a man shouted at Raffaelo as he pulled the door open. An old man with a thick, white mustache glared at Raffaelo, still in his nightcap and gown. “Who are you? Don’t you know what time it is?”

“Magda sent me,” Raffaelo panted, the exhaustion catching up to him. 

The man paused for a minute, still glaring, before stepping aside and allowing Raffaelo to enter his shop. The man sped to the back, muttering to himself. Raffaelo followed slowly, ogling at the glasses filling the shops. He saw colors he’d never seen before, some liquids black as night and others as sparkly as the stars. Some seemed angry in their vials, thrashing against the glass, while others were so still, they almost seemed solid. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, still unlit in the early morning. 

By the time Raffaelo caught up to who he assumed was the chemist, he was mumbling into a teapot, pulling jars of leaves from drooping and weathers shelves. 

“Signore? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to intrude–” Raffaelo started. 

“HA!” the chemist barked. “You come banging down my door at the sun’s first light, and only now you are sorry? But I will excuse it because Magda is dear to me. She would not have sent you if you did not need me and my tea.” The chemist snatched up the kettle as soon as it started to hiss, passing the pot to Raffaelo as he scooped up a tray with teacups balanced on top of each other. 

“She’s right,” Raffaelo began, taking the steaming pot, trailing after the man again. “There's a girl–” he started again but was soon cut off. 

“Ah! A girl,” the chemist scoffed. “Always a girl. You want to know if she loves you or not?”

Raffaelo nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Very much so.”

The chemist stopped suddenly at a table, nearly sending Raffaelo careening into him. “Well, I suppose you should sit,” he sighed dramatically. He cleared the table of the many parchments and vials cluttering the surface, sweeping clouds of dust into the air. Raffaelo sneezed once, then sat and took a cup. 

“Rose leaves,” the chemist said, pinching some of the plant into their teacups. “For love,” he added, voice softer than it had been yet. 

Raffaelo watched intently as he poured the water, steam ballooning into the air. The pair was silent until the chemist prodded Raffaelo. 

“Now you can drink.” 

It was silent again, only the soft clinks of china being set down and lifted interrupting the still air. 

When Raffaelo’s cup was empty, he set it in front of the chemist. He took his cup, swirling the cup twice with his eyes closed. Slowly, he cracked one open. With a yelp, he squeezed it shut again. 

“What, what?” Raffaelo cried, running around the table to peer over the chemist’s shoulder. 

“Patience, please!” The chemist shooed Raffaelo back, inspecting the leaves again. He hummed curiously. 

“Well?” Raffaelo pestered. 

“Well!” the chemist snapped. “I see an animal, a large one.”

Raffaelo squinted, nodding. “Yes, yes! I see it too!”

“A bird, or a fox, maybe,” muttered the chemist. 

“A bird! I agree!” Raffaelo cried. “Yes, I see the wings.”

“Hmmm… a fox can be unpredictable. It means distrust,” mused the chemist. 

“So, what does it mean? What about my Julietta?”

“I cannot say for certain.”

“What? How can you not know?”

“The leaves are ever-changing! See how this is a bird, but this,” the chemist paused to swirl the cup once in the opposite direction, “is a fox? A fox can be dangerous. A bird can be good luck.”

“Good luck!” Raffaelo exclaimed. “Well, I suppose you have been more helpful than Magda. But I still want to know if she loves me as I love her.” He quieted, leaning his chin on his fist. 

“Well, if you’d really like to know, you should go see the shepherd in the fields.”

Raffaelo paused. “A shepherd? What can he read?”

“Nothing,” replied the chemist. “But he is wise beyond his years. He will know how to ease your anxious mind.”

“Well,” Raffaelo reasoned. “I suppose I have nothing else to turn to.” And with that, he thanked the chemist, apologizing once more for the intrusion, and set off into the then-afternoon sun to find the man of the sheep. 

The shepherd was easy to find, as his flocks could be seen from across pastures. 

Raffaelo marched across the grass, wading through clouds of sheep to find the shepherd. “Excuse me,” he said, tapping a young man on the shoulder, “are you the shepherd?”

Raffael was surprised to see a young boy turn to face him, not a man as he had thought. Not one winkle disrupted the flat plains of his face. Raffaelo was taken aback by the softness of his lips, the fullness of his cheeks. 

“Aye. That I am,” he said, voice just as young as his face. “The chemist sent you, then?”

Raffaelo nodded. “Please,” he began, “I need to know if this girl loves me.” 

The shepherd remained quiet, his cloak nearly swallowing his small frame. He was only a head or so taller than his sheep. The pair walked amongst the grazing animals, Raffaelo following the boy like a puppy. A sheep belted as they moved through the crowd. 

They came across two boulders, the shepherd beckoning for Raffaelo to sit. They were quiet for many more minutes, and right as Raffaelo could hardly bear to sit in the silence anymore, the boy finally spoke. 

“If you are talking to me, you have already listened to all those you could have possibly heard from before.”

Raffaelo nodded. “I was told to expect a change. Or good luck. Or distrust. But I have heard nothing of this girl. I love her. I want to know if she loves me too.”

“I have only ever loved my sheep,” the boy said. “I do not meet many people who aren’t looking for my advice.” He stared at his animals, petting the fluffy head of a sheep who had ambled over to the pair. 

Raffaelo was silent. 

“I think,” the boy went on, “that you love this girl very much. You must, for not only have you told me so, but you have visited three people for advice. Why can’t you take control of your own destiny?”

Raffaelo tilted his head, studying the boy. “I don’t understand.”

He sighed. “I didn’t expect you to. But what I mean is, why can’t you profess your love for her? Then you will finally know if she loves you or another.”

Raffaelo’s stomach sank as he realized the boy still did not give him what he had been seeking. He stood from the boulder, smoothing out his trousers. 

“I would like to know if she loves me now. I do not want to hear another man’s name come from her gentle mouth, should her feelings for me not be the same as mine for her.” With that, Raffaelo turned to begin the trek back to his own town. 

The shepherd stopped him with a soft tug to his sleeve. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you what you wanted. But don’t give into hopelessness yet. After all, there are always the stars.” The boy raised his arm and swept it across the sky, now a bright orange, the light from the sunset mimicking the rays of the morning. 

Raffaelo sighed. It was no use. No one had given him his answer. He was never going to know if Julietta loved or loathed him. 

He began his journey home, defeat pooling in his boots and turning his feet to lead. Raffaelo sniffled, a tear slipping down his cheek as he walked past the village’s outskirts. More followed, until he crouched on the side of the dirt road, knees sinking into the soft earth as he clutched his heart and sobbed. 

He was alone in the black ink of the night. A cool breeze drifted past him, drying his tears and matted eyelashes. Gulping a ragged breath, Raffaelo threw his head back. 

“Stars above, I beg of you, give me an answer!” he cried. “My fair Julietta, does she love me? Does she hate me?” 

Despair bled from Raffaelo’s body as anguish contorted his face into that of a ruined man. Through his wails, he searched the sky for a message. The stars should be infinitely wiser than the witch, the chemist, and shepherd. If Raffaelo was going to get an answer, it was going to come from the twinkles above. 

He held his breath, watching the stars flicker and glitter. 

“You tease!” he shouted. “You know something, yet you will not share with me!” Raffaelo bowed his head into the dirt once more, this time sinking into it as his breathing evened out and he fell fast asleep. 

When Raffaelo awoke, it was not on the side of the dirt road he was at the night before. He was back in his village, propped on a pile of hay in the back of a farmer’s cart. 

“Raffaelo! My boy, are you okay?” It was Matteo, clapping his shoulder and peering into his face. 

“Move, Matteo!” a motherly voice scolded, and pulled Matteo’s wide grin aside to reveal nearly half the village peering into Raffaelo’s face. Looking down at him was the tailor’s wife, a kind and gentle woman. “Raffaelo, we were all so worried!” Her brow furrowed; worry etched into her face. 

“Signora Sartori, I am fine. But I seem to have slept for so long, what happened?” Raffaelo propped himself up on the itchy hay, looking at all the concerned faces around him. 

“Signore Bianchi found you sleeping on the side of the road on his way to a delivery. He brought you back,” the local book merchant said, pointing to the farmer leaning against the cart. 

“Oh,” mumbled Raffaelo, sheepishly thinking of his pitiful plea to the stars. He began to explain his curious behavior when a high cry interrupted him. 

His heart leapt, knowing just who that voice belonged to. 

Julietta ran up to the cart, pushing people aside to reach Raffaelo. 

“Raffaelo! I was so worried!” Julietta exclaimed; her clear green eyes glassy with tears. “Are you okay? Are you not freezing, nor starving?” She ran her hands down his arms, looking for any cuts or scrapes to tend after. 

“Julietta! I am just fine, even more so now that I have seen your sweet face.” Raffaelo clutched her hands in his, watching her apple cheeks glow red. 

“Oh, Raffaelo,” she whispered. “I have been waiting for you to say my name with such emotion behind it for months. I am a happy woman now that I have.”

“My dear Julietta, you do not know how great my yearning for you is! I have been searching all over for your answer to my love,” Raffaelo replied, kissing her fingertips. “It seems my journey, no matter how long, has eventually led me into your arms.”

And though the witch, nor the chemist, nor the shepherd, nor even the stars had given Raffaelo the answer he had been wanting in the moment, they still gave him his answer, no matter how much longer it had taken. And that was enough for him, for he had Julietta at last, and Julietta had him.