It’s rare for someone to be born with a genuine gift. I certainly wasn’t. Only thing I ever saw in a crystal ball was my own reflection, not that it stopped me taking the coins off the hopeful and the hopeless. Maybe that’s why I’m still here, dead but not gone, trapped in the body of a crow and trailing Ramila wherever she goes.
Ramila. Now there’s someone who has a gift, though that’s not the word she uses for it.
When we first met, I was a woman and she was a child, and the carnival was winding its way through one of those dusty states where everyone looks weary, even when they’re dressed in their Sunday best. I woke one morning to find her huddled in the corner of my tent. She was sobbing and pleading with me to help her, to take away her curse. I didn’t believe in curses back then, except maybe the curse of being born woman in a man’s world. Seeing the state of her, tattered too-small clothes clinging to a budding young body, I figured that musta been her problem.
Luckily, some problems got solutions.
She was a girl on her own, and I was an old woman and feeling my age. I told her I’d let her stay with me if she swept the floors and fetched my tea and hushed up with the curse talk. People came to me for good fortunes, and I didn’t want my tent associated with any kind of rotten luck. That’d be bad for business, among other things.
I dressed her in loose clothing and men’s shoes, made her look younger than she was, and she became invisible, just another carnival waif. Except, to me, she became much more than that to me. I didn’t realize how empty I was till she filled me up.
But, as the months went on and my affection grew, I had to admit there was something unusual about the girl. There were too many coincidences, too many times a queer expression come over her face and she turned into a puddle of worry. Like when she insisted we avoid the cookhouse, and the next day half the company was laid low near the point of death. Like how she’d start crying every time the lion tamer came near, long before anyone knew what he’d done to those women.
About a year after she came to me, I sat her down and said it’s time we talk about her curse. She burst into tears and let it all spill out.
I didn’t believe in visions back then either, but the terror in her eyes convinced me. I couldn’t tell the future, but I knew people, knew how devious they could be. The girl was right to be afraid. Knowledge was dangerous, especially when people started thinking you knew more than you ought to.
I hid her in plain sight, christening her Ramila, the Great and Amazing, and taught her the art of telling people what they wanted to hear. She was a quick learner. She already had some experience of what happened when you gave people bad news.
That was twenty-five years ago. She might think it was a curse that brought her to me, but I’ve never thought of her as anything but a blessing. I loved that girl so much I’d have given my life for her. Still do. Still would.
So maybe that’s the reason I’m still here, in my crow body, waiting for breakfast and pondering the inexplicable ways of the universe.
I caw in annoyance when Ramila enters the tent. She places her food on the table and raises an eyebrow in warning when she rightly suspects I’m about to swoop off my perch.
“You’ll get yours in a minute, Crow.” Ramila’s gift lets her see the future. It doesn’t let her see me for who I am. All she knows is, a few years back, a crow started following her around and she was grateful of the company.
She moves around the small tent, setting up. The beads around her neck clink as she sweeps the floor. She wraps several colourful scarves around her hair, lines her eyes with kohl, and drapes a clean blue cloth on the table.
“Here, Crow.” She puts a crust of bread and a few apple slices on a chair. “Eat up and go check on the boy.”
Jimmy’s an orphan who joined up with the carnival last year, not much older than Ramila was when I found her. She took him in and poured all her love into that boy, and he adored her right back. That’s the way it is for folk like us; we find family where we can.
I spot him smoking under the Ferris Wheel with one of the stable boys. Ramila’d be cross if she knew about the smoking, but she won’t hear about it from me. Jimmy and I have an understanding. I hop around his feet and peck at his boots until he digs a few peanuts from his pocket and drops them on the ground. I finish my second breakfast and head back over to the sideshow.
The fairground crowd is swelling. As usual, there are all kinds. Old folk and young. Wealthy and poor. Foolish and unsuspecting. Those last ones are easier to spot than you’d think. The operators mark them with a bit of chalk almost as quickly as they fleece them of their hard-earned money.
I strut back and forth between the pictures of the open palm and the tarot cards on the painted sign above Ramila’s door, cawing and clicking at the passersby. Whenever a mark glances my way, I glide to the ground and pull back the beaded curtain. They think I’m a sign, sent directly to them from the spirit world. They eat that stuff up.
Today’s no different than any other. In no time, I’ve got a line forming outside Ramila’s tent, their heads filled with questions about friends and enemies, finances and futures. When I get bored of toying with them, I go inside and settle on my perch.
Candles flicker in the dimly lit tent. My old crystal ball is in the middle of the table, where it catches the light and casts an eerie shimmer on the canvas walls. A gray-haired woman sits in the worn wooden chair, twisting a handkerchief around her fingers. Ramila reaches across the table and takes her hand.
“I sense concern for a child,” says Ramila.
The woman gasps. “Yes! My son. I worry he’ll never settle down. And I want so desperately to be a grandmother.”
Ramila pats her hand. “You’ll have many little ones to dote on in the future. One will be called Matilda, but there’ll be at least four others.”
“What a relief! Thank you.” The woman adjusts her hat and leaves with a smile.
“The other ones will be called Smoky, Snowball, Fluffy, and Mittens,” Ramila whispers to me. “Her son’s got no interest in a family, or women at all.”
Ramila sees the whole picture, but she never tells them the whole truth. Telling the truth was how she ended up alone in the world.
When she was a child, long before she became Ramila, her best friend was a neighbor boy named Clark. She never told him how she always found the best fishing spots or his lost toys, or why she was so good at predicting the weather. She didn’t understand why she was different, but she knew different wasn’t good, and she guarded her secret.
One day, she had a horrifying vision: Clark on the ground, his anguished father standing over him with a rifle. She warned Clark not to go hunting. He laughed at her. She begged him to listen, but he wouldn’t. Desperate, she told him about her vision. Clark called her crazy, and then he told his pa. He said Clark should play with boys, not half-wit girls, and chased her out of the yard with a switch.
After the accident, Clark’s pa went mad with guilt and grief. He rounded up whisky and kin, and they came to her house with guns and flames, looking for revenge. They blamed the witch-girl for the Clark’s death. His pa swore he’d kill her if he ever saw her again. Her family packed up their things and moved to the other side of the state.
Her parents didn’t know what to do with her. They agreed she was peculiar. And it was disturbing the way she knew things a child ought not know. But a witch? That couldn’t be. Best not give attention to her odd ways, said her ma. Better yet if she learns to keep quiet, said her father, belt in hand.
Despite the beatings, she tried to warn them about the fire. When they ignored her, when they locked her in the barn, when their house burned to the ground with her youngest brother inside, her parents decided it was time to change towns again.
They left her behind.
Ramila’s last customer of the day is a young man. He ducks nervously through the curtains, looking over his shoulder to make sure no one he knows has seen him enter.
“What brings you to Ramila, the Great and Amazing, today?” she asks him and gestures to the chair, but the man stays where he is.
“I got a question I wanna ask.” He tugs at the sleeve of his jacket, trying to hide his fraying shirt cuffs.
“Yes.”
“I wanna ask my girl to marry me.” His cheeks flush crimson as he stares at his feet.
Ramila stands and waits until the man looks at her face. “Yes,” she repeats, “is what your girl will say.”
There’s a spring in his step as he walks off.
Ramila turns to me. “She’s pregnant, and the other fella’s married. She has to say yes, but it won’t be long till she abandons him and the baby.” It pains her, knowing the heartache that’s coming, and she’s gotten the habit of sharing that burden with me, a bird who can’t tell a soul. I hope it gives her some relief.
As she’s putting her things away, two carnival women stop by and invite Ramila to visit with them after dinner. Ramila agrees, but there’s sadness in her eyes. After the women go, I find out why.
“That Bette, her destiny is darker than most.” Ramila yanks off her scarves and throws them in a trunk. “You’re lucky you don’t have any business with men, Crow.”
Suddenly, she clutches her head and falls to the floor. I land next to her and coo with concern. I know she’s seeing something, and it ain’t good.
“Jimmy.” Tears stream down her face. “Train crash.”
I hop around in circles, squawking. It isn’t just Ramila who loves Jimmy; I do too.
She pulls herself up onto a chair and pours herself a glass of water. “What am I going to do, Crow? Jimmy’s going to die when the carnival moves on in two days. Him and three others.”
Do something! I scream inside my head, cawing and flapping my wings for emphasis.
“I have to stop it. But how? This isn’t a cheating husband or a lost pair of glasses. Death is coming for Jimmy.”
Talking ain’t going to fix things, that’s for sure. I pull on her skirt until she stands.
“You’re right, Crow. I’ll find a way. I have to.”
She runs out the door and I fly over the fairgrounds until I find Jimmy jawing with the roustabouts. Seeing he’s safe, I take off after Ramila.
I catch up to her as she’s coming out of the manager’s trailer, her face red. She turns, as if to go back in, then picks up a clod of dirt, hurls it at the door, and storms off. As she passes the strongman game, she stops and stares at the mallet before rushing back to her tent. I continue following Jimmy until he turns in for the night.
Ramila’s not in her tent when I get there. It takes time, but I find her creeping through the darkness to the rail yard. I keep watch while she takes a heavy wrench and sets to work on the carnival train’s wrought-steel wheels, detaching dozens of connecting rods and cranks and collecting the nuts.
“That’ll delay things,” she whispers as we sneak back into camp. “Maybe it’ll be enough.”
But the next morning, Ramila has another vision. Or perhaps it’s the same one, because Jimmy’s still going to die.
It’s the carnival’s last day in town. It’s a scorcher, but the weather doesn’t hamper the crowds. Everyone’s come out for one last look. The air is heavy with the scent of cotton candy and sweat as people swirl around the fairground. Ramila has a long line of customers, but I can tell her mind is elsewhere. Early afternoon, she closes up shop and shoots off, ignoring the complaints and jeers of the rubes in line. I follow her towards the athletic show where Bette, the woman wrestler, does her act.
“You’ve got a car, don’t you?” Ramila asks Bette when she finds her sitting outside.
“JP does.” Bette gestures toward her manager, a barrel-chested man with a handsome face who’s working the crowd.
Ramila shudders at something only she can see. “You’ve got to take my Jimmy with you. He has to go to the next town by car.” Her voice quivers.
“I’ll ask.” Bette stands and brushes the dirt from her legs. “But JP’s not the type to do anyone a favor unless he gets three in return.”
“I’ll do anything. I’ll pay. Please. It’s important.”
There’s a tremor in Bette’s lip, and I suspect she grasps the seriousness of the matter. Maybe her dark destiny makes her more sensitive to the cruelties of fate. She gives Ramila a sympathetic look and squeezes her shoulder before walking over to her manager.
Bette points at Ramila and starts talking, but he turns his back.
I fly overhead, trying to hear.
Bette implores; JP ignores. She offers money; he spits on the ground. She promises next time he wants her help, she’ll cooperate. He laughs and pushes her away. Shamefaced, she peeks back at Ramila, but Ramila’s gone. I didn’t even notice her slip away.
I circle above, searching, but Ramila has disappeared. An hour later, I find her outside the manager’s trailer, stone-faced, her clothes in disarray. I don’t judge. I’d have done the same thing to save her.
But that evening, she has the same vision. Nothing’s changed. Ramila and I stay awake all night, talking, pacing, cawing, crying.
In the morning, Ramila sends for Jimmy. She tells him she’s ill and needs to stay in town and visit a doctor. She begs Jimmy to stay with her and promises they’ll catch up to the carnival the next day.
Jimmy will not agree. He’s worried staying behind will mean they both lose their jobs. How will they pay for a doctor if that happens? Jimmy swears he’ll take care of her and find a doctor in the next town.
They argue back and forth, but Jimmy will not be persuaded. He has the confidence of someone much older, the man of the family, and, for a moment, I’m overcome with pride. Then I remember why they’re arguing, and I have to choke back a scream.
As Jimmy and the others pack up the tents and herd the animals into the train cars, I sit on Ramila’s shoulder, waiting for the broken wheels to be discovered. Finally, a commotion at the back of the train, men shouting and rushing around. Sabotage, says someone. A bad omen, says another. I’ll string up the bastards if I catch them, says the chief engineer. The heat and humidity do nothing to cool their tempers.
Will this chaos be enough to delay the train’s departure until tomorrow? And will that be enough to save Jimmy? Ramila must be wondering the same thing. I hear her quietly bargaining with fate.
But fate cannot be persuaded, either.
It’s nearly dark when the horn sounds, alerting everyone to an imminent departure. I look at Ramila, but she’s staring off in horror. I follow her eyes and spot Jimmy and three friends climbing to the top of a stock car where they’ll catch the breeze as the train moves.
Ramila drops to her knees. “It’s them,” she moans.
Jimmy sees her fall and scrabbles back down the ladder.
“What is it? Are you in pain?” He kneels in the dirt next to her.
“Yes,” Ramila says, clinging to him. “It’s the heat. It’s too much. Help me climb up on the car.” Jimmy seems unsure, but gives her a hand up. His friends make a place for her, moving to the other side of the train car’s roof.
“You can’t stay here. You need to ride with my trunks,” Ramila tells Jimmy. “There’s a saboteur at work and someone has to guard my things.”
“You’re not making sense. I want to stay with you.” Jimmy tries to sit next to her, but she pushes him away.
“No!” she shouts, beats at him, hysterical. “My things. My everything. You have to go!”
Jimmy opens his mouth to argue, but something stops him. Maybe he feels guilty for making her wait for the doctor. His shoulders droop in defeat.
Ramila grabs his hand and pulls him close. “I love you, Jimmy. You’re a good boy, and you’re going to be a good man.”
Now Jimmy knows something’s not right, and he’s staring at Ramila like she’s got a second head. If the horn hadn’t sounded again, if the engine hadn’t rumbled and sent a shudder down the track, he might’ve fought her more, but the train starts moving and he doesn’t resist when she pushes him gently towards the edge of the car. He sighs and tells one of his pals to watch out for her, his face filled with worry.
I set down next to Ramila and cock my head.
She taps her lap and I hop into it. She runs her fingers down my neck as she watches Jimmy run along the tracks. “He’ll be okay, Crow. Death’ll accept a trade.”
It takes a second for me to understand.
I screech and flap at her face. Let Death take me! I thrash against her with my useless wings that can neither pull her to the ground nor hold her tight. I peck at her chest, tear at her hair, trying to get her off the train, to save her.
Ramila lets me wear myself out. “Enough, Crow. It’s the only way.”
I cry out one last time, then let my wings fall to my sides. I know she speaks the truth. I know I would’ve done the same.
The train shudders again and picks up speed, the wheels click-clacking along the tracks.
“Jimmy’s going to be okay,” she says. “He’s going to take it hard, but he’ll recover, and he won’t be alone for long. He’s going to be happy.” Ramila lays back, a peaceful look on her face. “I couldn’t save anyone else, Crow, but I can save him.”
I wonder who she’s thinking of, which loss haunts her most. Is it Clark? Her brother? Some darkly destined girl?
Or is it an old woman? One who refused to go to the doctor no matter how much Ramila pleaded. It wasn’t because I didn’t believe her, but because I did. That was the one time I knew what the future held, and there was no point in drawing it out. I lingered longer than I wished and weighed heavy on her, but she never loved me any less nor left my side.
And maybe that’s the reason this old crow is still here.
I will not leave her.
The train charges into the night as the cooling wind embraces us. I put my head on Ramila’s shoulder, burrow my beak in her hair. She strokes my feathers as she hums an old song, a lilting melody I used to sing to her when she was a girl. Above us, the stars twinkle and anoint the night that Ramila’s curse will end.
