A JAR OF FORTUNES

A short story by Dan Jire

“You can move that right over there.”

The old woman pointed in the opposite direction that she looked. She was too busy unpacking a suitcase of clothes to be bothered.

“I am only moving out here because I don’t have much time left and the Lord knows that a funeral and moving aren’t a convenient burden. So, my son and his wife deserve the master house. I will live out here while they start their family and when I pass on, well they can get my stuff out of the way at their own pace.” The old woman’s words were edged like facts, not a tinge of anger or even sadness.

I carried the box over to the dresser that I assumed she had been pointing at and opened it.

Inside was a large old pickle jar filled to the brim with folded notecards. It was light except for the weight of the glass, which made a nice thump when I set it on the dresser. That caught the old woman’s eye and it surprised me because she hadn’t heard much else. Certainly not her son and daughter-in-law who pleaded that she stay in the house where they could take care of her, even if only for show.

No, this old lady had to hire us to move her forty-two yards from the main house to the guest cottage. The phone conversation was excruciating since she seemed quite deaf as I had to repeat all my fees and availability over and over again and yet she still misunderstood enough to make this morning’s arrival an awkward surprise.

Still, there wasn’t much she intended to move from the main house and I knew I had about an hour left before I could stop by Reg’s for a pint and perhaps the Padres would still be playing their early game.

My mind wandered toward the future, the near future, when I realized the old woman was staring at me.

“Yes Ma’am?”

“Careful with those, they are the only fortunes I have left and I hope to use one more before I go.”

I stepped away from the jar and her shoulders relaxed as if I’d stepped away from a Ming vase or held silk sheets with my greasy hands.

“I figure if I get too long in the tooth, I’ll need to pull something unsavory, but hopefully quick.” She rambled on as if to no one other than her stacks of boxes. Still, I felt it was rude not to respond in case she wasn’t entirely senile.

“Fortunes?”

“Oh yes, this whole family was built on pulling good fortunes right from that very jar. Money has never been a worry. I’m sure if it were, we would just pull the fortune that guaranteed us the lottery. Been lucky that way.”

A small gray kitten skirted along the floor and ran up against the old woman’s leg. She knelt down enough to pet it.

“You belong outside, kitty,” the old woman said and she stood up like she was unfolding a sleeper sofa and then escorted the kitten out the door.

I gave the jar another glance. One of those long looks, like Christmas time, when the lottery gets up to insane amounts and with the odds the way they were you’d just be a fool not to throw in at least a buck. Still, it was probably no better than the kind of fortunes you’d get from inside a cookie. Maybe I’d learn how to say ‘Camaro’ in Cantonese.

I could hear the woman outside and decided it wasn’t worth losing my job. Moving people was a good racket most of the time. The only thing I had to do was not break anything and not take anything. I dug back into a box and started to pull out picture frames.

I heard a voice—a woman’s as soft as silk and as welcoming as a summer dress. I paused as I fought my brain to remember it wasn’t me that she would be calling. I was probably hearing someone outside.

A breath rushed against my ear. I turned quickly to find the room still empty. But my eyes caught the jar again and I was already standing next to it when I thought I would take a peek.

I just wanted to read one and afterwards, I could slip them back in. It was good enough thought for me, and that little red guy with the pitchfork on my shoulder. I dug my hand in and pulled the piece of paper, then unfolded it, my eyes at lid level, ready to toss it back in at a moment’s notice.

It read: You will be unsatisfied.

Well, they got that right! I laughed hard on the inside and flicked it back into the jar, eager to unfold another fortune.

I picked another and unfolded it.

It read: Beware the siren’s call.

There were no Cantonese to English translations on the back, not even lucky lottery numbers, just the vague warning.

Someone was coming. I yanked myself away, the fortune still between my fingertips. I crushed it in my palm and twisted back around to the box with the picture frames.

“Should I just set these out, or I can hang them if you’d like?” I said before I heard the footstep cross through the doorway.

“No, no. You can just leave them in the box. I’ll have my son put them up for me. I don’t know where I’d like them yet,” the old woman said.

I let go of the frame and slowly dropped the fortune into my pocket as her eyes found interest in some other part of the room. I felt like a shoplifter. I didn’t know why I’d taken it, but now I just wanted to run before I was caught.

I unpacked the remainder of the boxes so quick that I probably lost two hours of pay. I didn’t even stay long enough to get a tip, which I regretted, but my guilt didn’t make me feel like I had deserved one. The seat of my truck felt safe and I relaxed as I put the house into my rearview mirror.

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Beware the siren’s call. I thought about my fortune without any other purpose than it was still in my thoughts, like an echo, an echo of my guilt. She had talked about pulling a fortune from the jar that would give her a swift death. What was the one I pulled? A warning of death? Was that how I was going to die?

Just then an ambulance blew past me. Even in my full-size pickup I shook as it blared past. My heart boxed my eyeballs. I almost laughed. But I knew the ambulance was headed to something serious. Still, I couldn’t contain it and I finally let out a laugh for my own invisible audience. Beware the siren’s call. Was the fortune real? Had it warned me of an ambulance that almost ran into me?

I laughed at myself and drove home practicing the recap of my day to tell my wife. I planned to embellish here and there to make the old woman seem spookier and the jar more devious.

The ambulance waited in my driveway.

I was too scared to step out of my truck. But I stepped on the gas and reversed out of the driveway. I don’t think I let up for a moment until I reached the old woman’s home. She was shocked to see me, but I didn’t waste any time to explain why I was there.

“That jar of yours, does it have bad fortunes as well?”

“Did you take one?” She sounded surprised and then even more so when I nodded.

“Oh dear, I should’ve warned you, all the pleasant ones are gone.”

“Can I change a fortune if I took one?”

The old woman thought a moment, I almost wondered if she was merely debating whether or not to tell me or report me to the police as a nut job.

“Yes. But it combines them.”

“So, if I pull another one, my wife will be okay.”

“I’m afraid there aren’t any good ones. If you pull another it’s likely to make it worse.”

“How can it be any worse?”

The old woman shrugged. “I can see you’re disappointed,” she said.

The words brought an echo, the first fortune I had pulled.

I collapsed and sobbed.

Then I leapt up and grabbed the jar. I emptied it out on the floor. The old woman tried to stop me, but I shoved her aside and read each and every fortune until the police came. I felt each one echoing in my mind. I could hear the sirens wailing. But I kept reading.

They were all mine.

And my time is up.

THE END.