Ballserus

Madame Balla was quite worried that the company would be busy, but as soon as she saw the van approach, she felt relieved. It was going to be a good day.

“Madame Bella?”

“Balla.”

“Ah, yes, Balla. What seems to be the problem?”

From what she read about the company’s services, Madame Balla knew that he already had the answers. His name tag said, “Mr. Stevens”, but even that was probably a dodge. Why did she have to know his real name, anyway? They had a good reputation, despite the ridiculous name (at least it wasn’t on the van he drove up in; a very small logo on his tag was all she saw). There was something else about him that made him feel confident. He was an older man, slightly shorter than her. Male-pattern baldness and a slight paunch were there, too. And despite all of those little touches, he seemed to possess… What was it? She was usually quite good at reading anyone who came here. But Mr. Stevens… Nothing yet…

He took out a clipboard from his black leather satchel and stared hard at the information.

“Forgive me, but I should have looked over the material here more than just the one time.”

“That is all right. Please…” She pointed through her curtains into her inner sanctum.

To be fair, Mr. Stevens could have laughed at her set up. It was a parlor designed to appeal to tourists, drunks, and the desperate. All the touches were there: the round table; the melted candles now unlit; the slight hint of incense in the air. Madame Balla even had her kerchief wrapped about her head (one with dark purple and blue paisley patterns). Everything about her workplace was laughable.

But Mr. Stevens wasn’t laughing.

“Is this the one?” He pointed at the table.

“Yes, I left it out until I was sure you could…”

Mr. Stevens smiled, as if he knew what she was about to say.

“Understood. When did you first notice that there was a problem?”

He sat down on one of the chairs. Madame Balla felt compelled to sit across from him, just as she would for any client.

“This began on the weekend. I had a housewife here, a young woman. She was quite worried about her husband and his philandering – I knew that he was cheating on her from the moment she walked in, but never mind… And I sat here, stared into the ball, closed my eyes for a moment, and saw…nothing. Not one single thing.”

“Hmm…” He was looking at the clipboard again. “And this has never happened before?”

“No, not once in over twenty years.” She adjusted her robe and put her hands on the table. “I was lucky with that housewife, but my predictions have always been aided by the crystal. I could always see something there…”

“Of course, of course…” Mr. Stevens had the bluest eyes Madame Balla had ever seen. He was looking at her the way she often looked at the ball in front of them. What did he see, she thought? “You have a big problem here.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, here’s what we can do. We can start with a reading and then, if that clears our criteria for a substitution, we can give you a new ball.”

“What kind of…criteria?” It was a word she rarely used and it felt odd on her tongue.

“Oh, it is just a list of things we always look for. Nothing too serious. The more important thing is the reading.”

Was he actually trying not to smile? Again, she found it hard to read him.

“A reading?”

“Of me.”

She really thought that this was a joke and smiled politely (was this part of their sales pitch?).

“Mr. Stevens, I don’t think that you really want this.”

“Oh, I don’t.” Again, those eyes… There was a glitter there that felt like a form of hypnotism. “But when we encounter such situations, we must all do our part to make things better. So, please…” He put his hands on the table and reached out slowly for her. “Let’s give it a try.”

Madame Balla, a woman who had practiced her art for over thirty years – ten without the ball when she read palms at first – was about to undergo one of the most difficult and revealing experiences of her life; a moment that would haunt her thoughts for the rest of her days. But it did not feel that way as she looked at the two hands in front of her and made a decision to let this play out.

“If you insist…”

As soon as she held the strong hands of Mr. Stevens – surprisingly strong for a man whom she guessed was near retirement and not much of a bodybuilder – a panel opened up in her head. There was no other way to think of it besides that image. Not a door; a door would have been obvious in such a clear projected image. Doors have knobs, hinges, framed glass and the like. This was a panel, sliding open and admitting some of the most beautiful lights and colours she had ever seen, more beautiful than she had ever imagined. Where was he taking her?

Clearly, Mr. Stevens had a plan for her.

“Okay then, Madame Balla. Let’s see what the problem is.”

And they explored an inner world that she had often doubted truly existed. It took about an hour for all of the negative energy to be dissipated and cleansed. For all that effort, it was clear and ready for their exit once Mr. Stevens let go.

Madame Balla opened her eyes and saw the cracked crystal ball in front of her. The air in the room felt heavier than before and there was no sound audible from the street. It was a silence that made her very uncomfortable.

“Well, that seems to be solved. You had a lot of negative thoughts stored on this one. Problem was you kept a lot of yours with your clients. Please remember to keep them separate next time.”

He said all of this as he filled out a bill of sale on his clipboard and tore it from the other papers.

“Standard price will apply here, as we discussed earlier. I’ll just go out and get you a replacement.”

Madame Balla saw him leave. She heard the door open to allow Mr. Stevens to return to the van and find another ball for her business. She knew that all of this was happening, but she was not really there. There was too much that she would have to do now. She saw the cracked ball in front of her and smiled. There was so much that needed to be done.