My One Hundred Adventures by Polly Horvath Page A

hands,” whispers Nellie. She is turning her hands palm up to stare at them as if their power might be visible. “And I can move energy. But is that different from healing?”
    â€œOh, it’s different,” says Madame Crenshaw.
    â€œHow different?”
    â€œDifferent.”
    Hundreds of cats, thousands of cats, millions and billions and trillions of cats.
    â€œPraise Jesus.”
    â€œPraise Jesus, praise Allah, praise the whole lot of ‘em,” says Madame Crenshaw, who is beginning to slur her words. She goes back to the cabinet where she got the gin and takes out a pack of cigarettes. She lights one and draws in a lungful of smoke. Then she exhales and at the same time she says, “You ever seen a transparent poodle?”
    We shake our heads again.
    â€œYou’re on this earth for a great purpose but to divine it, you must go to Lake Mattawan, where I found a large, [inhale] transparent poodle.”
    â€œLike a…a standard poodle?” asks Nellie.
    â€œIs it someone’s pet?” I ask.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Madame Crenshaw snaps at us, exhaling. “This poodle is a poodle into the future.”
    â€œA transparent
portal
?” I say. It makes more sense but it is vaguely disappointing.
    â€œI hate dogs,” says Nellie.
    Madame Crenshaw pours herself another glass of gin and downs it as if thinking about matters. We don’t say a thing. We don’t want to interrupt her while she’s on a roll. “There are time and space poodles in a few places on earth. Transporting poodles. This is one. The energy here runs through a sacred meridian. You must realize this is why you have been drawn to this place. Can you feel its sacred energy?”
    â€œI wasn’t drawn here so much as I was born here,” says Nellie.
    â€œMe too,” I say.
    â€œ
You
weren’t paid for,” Madame Crenshaw says, and turns her back on me. “But YOU!” She says this so loudly that Nellie and I both leap to our feet. We are afraid she is about to spontaneously combust or do one of those other things the
National Enquirer
is always warning you about. “You have a great and sacred purpose.”
    â€œYou’ve already said that,” I point out, hoping to provide a valuable service and thus get back into the inner circle, but they both give me such a look I shut up immediately.
    â€œWell, how do I find this poodle?” asks Nellie.
    â€œIt’s easy. Find the reeds. It’s by the seventh reed as you wade out from shore.”
    â€œThe seventh reed!” says Nellie.
    â€œThat would make a good book title,” I say.
    They both look at me again.
    â€œWell, heck, come with us, then,” says Nellie. “We’ll find out my sacred purpose together. It’ll be a great moment. The combination of my gifts and yours.”
    â€œYeah, that’d be nifty but I got this wonky ankle,” says Madame Crenshaw, suddenly limping around the trailer. “Injuries at our age take forever to heal. You find that? Man, I hate getting old.”
    Nellie starts to advance on her, hands stretched out toward her ankle, looking a lot like Frankenstein’s monster, and I think Madame Crenshaw and I are equally startled until it occurs to us that Nellie is just planning on trying out those healing hands. Madame Crenshaw falls backward over a chair trying to get away from her.
    â€œYou’d better hurry. You must find this poodle and divine your purpose. All will be shown to you. But the poodle is closing soon. It’s a limited-time-only-offer poodle. You know, they don’t stick around in one place. I mean, after today it could be off to anywhere, Yellowstone, the Grand Tetons, the Smoky Mountains, Lansing,” says Madame Crenshaw. “Grand Rapids.”
    â€œIn Michigan?” says Nellie. I guess it surprises her. Michigan doesn’t seem like a portal place.
    â€œSome people say