KATACLYSM: A Space-Time Comedy by Roy S. Rikman

except for Dr. Avery’s strident breathing.  The mystic put two fingers on the woman’s forehead and then quickly moved his hands to her shoulders, then her collars.  In a single jerk, he grabbed her wrists and bent his head down as though listening carefully for her pulses.  Next, he put a hand on her belly and then rapidly proceeded to rub each of her legs from top to bottom as though massaging out a cramp.  The whole procedure was over in thirty seconds.  The mystic stood to face the woman.
    “Jenny O’Brian?”
    “Yes,” she replied.
    “You are thirty-seven years old.  Your parents’ names are Patrick and Margaret.  As a child, you had difficulty adjusting to school because of a speech impediment which was corrected when you were ten.  You are far sighted.  You have no illnesses except for heavy periods that last seven days every month.  On the first two days you soak through four pads per day and are frightened to leave the house.  You are worried that you may have cancer.”
    He paused, waiting for some sort of affirmation.  Jenny nodded.
    “You do not suffer from cancer.  Rather, your heavy bleeding is simply a genetic phenomenon.  Your mother had the same problem but was too embarrassed to ever tell you about it.  Go to your local pharmacy and purchase some Black Cohosh.  Take the recommended dose for two months and return to me.”
    A look of relief swept across Jenny’s face.
    “You see.  Cheaper and better than an MRI,” whispered Dr. Avery to Eric who rolled his eyes.  The mystic turned to the three men on the wall.
    “Louis Avery next, please.”
    “Thank you so much,” said Jenny as she gathered her belongings and left the room.
    “Have you brought shorts and a T-shirt?” the mystic asked Louis.
    “Yes,” Louis replied.
    “Very well.  Please change and stand in the middle of the round carpet.  Try to move as little as possible.  I will go meditate on your problem for several moments and then I shall return.”
    And without another word, the mystic left.
    When Flower finished recounting Madame Sfortunata’s predictions, Jude took a sip of his beer, leaned back and puffed out his cheeks.
    “So I don’t get it.  It’s so preposterous.  What makes you think that any of this stuff is really going to happen?”
    Flower thought this a fair question but didn’t know exactly how to explain the way she felt.
    “I guess it’s just that Madame S is never wrong about anything.  That’s what’s eating at me.”
    “Ok,” said Jude putting out his hand.  “Give me an example.”
    “Well, most of the time we talk about shopping.”
    Flower ignored the look of confusion on Jude’s face.
    “But sometimes she tells me other things.  Like last month, she said ‘one of the senators in Washington is having an affair’.  Sure enough, I turn on the television a few weeks ago and there’s a whole sordid story about some senator from Missouri.”
    “Uh huh,” said Jude, unmoved.
    “And then, she told me that there would be a big hullabaloo outside my building last Sunday and that I wasn’t going to get a good night’s sleep.  And sure enough, she was right.”
    Jude rolled his eyes.
    “Of course there was a big commotion, Flower.  What planet do you live on?  It was the Superbowl and the Patriots were playing.”
    “Oh right,” said Flower flinging her hair back.  “The New France Patriots.”
    “Yeah, right…New France.”  Jude still couldn’t figure it out.  He recalled learning the history in school, had studied about the French takeover of New England just before the American Revolution, but somehow he felt that something about this was very deeply wrong.
    “And then…I forgot about this one Jude…she said that this past Tuesday a bird was going to go extinct in Africa.  So I picked up a copy of National Geographic and sure enough one had.”
    Jude shook his head in amazement.
    “Flower, get a grip.  Anyone could have told you those things.