- Three Wishes -

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I made my way through the backstreets towards the beach, my pockets heavy with the stolen books, and suffered a pang of guilt. What would my parents think? What would my grandparents think? I gulped. Hopefully they’d never find out.  They wouldn’t understand that I’d done it to help my friend; to prevent him going to prison. For them life was black and white — they had never experienced in their whole lives the nightmarish dilemmas I faced on a daily basis. Or if they did, they certainly hid it well. 

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Regardless, I had to find a way to break the cycle — we’d been doing this for weeks now and it couldn’t be too long before the store noticed the missing books on the shelves, or the shortfall in their tills.

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Then they’d be sure to up security. Then they’d catch us. And it wouldn’t just be Terry going to prison.

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I found myself facing the beach and took a moment to take in a deep breath of the fresh salty air before heading home. The day had an eerie quality now: the sky white and empty as if the world had yet to catch up with the day, a thick mist rolling over the sea. I stood for a moment just peering into that mist, and as I watched it swirl I began to make out something emerging from the whiteness, a rowing boat gently bobbing on the still surface of the sea. I narrowed my eyes. 

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Was that a man, was that—

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Gong!

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My head snapped around towards the source of the sound and I looked up at the ornate clock tower. One p.m. I touched my heart and looked back to the sea. 

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The boat was gone.

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I scanned the sea but it seemed almost completely blotted out by the mist now. I shrugged. I’d better get back and prepare for work. I walked for a few minutes down the esplanade and noticed a figure emerging from behind the bus shelter, catching me by surprise. 

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It was only Grace though — an old homeless lady who often hung around on the esplanade, sometimes sleeping in the bus shelter.  

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As she lumbered towards me I saw her register my presence, her eyes flicking up at me. ‘Give ya a blowjob for a fiver,’ she said in a croaky voice. 

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I grimaced. ‘You’d have to give me more than a fiver!’ I said.

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She looked at me vacantly, not getting the joke. Her face was a tapestry of lines and wrinkles, a large gold earring hanging from one ear.

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I smiled and shook my head as I walked past her.

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‘Mark!’ 

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I froze. How did she know my name?

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‘Mark!’ she said again, her voice now deep and commanding.

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I spun around. ‘How do you know—’ 

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She pressed herself up against me, her chin upturned against my jumper. I could see the blood vessels in her eyes, smell cigarettes and…dog food? on her breath. 

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She opened her mouth and a torrent of alien words spilled from her cracked lips. ‘Ando gav bi zhuklesko jal o pavori bi destesko,’ she said, her voice grating  like a knife being scraped along a plate. Her eyes, which I’m sure had been brown just a moment ago now looked at me, through me, a pale blue.  

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I gulped. ‘Excuse me?’ I said.

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Her eyes narrowed. ‘In the village without dogs the farmers walked without sticks. Ando gav bi zhuklesko shai piravel o manush bi destesko. 

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‘Riiiight...’ I said.

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Without warning, bony fingers shot out and seized my wrist, fastening it in a vice-like grip. She peered up into my face, her eyes darting from nose to chin to ears to eyes, scrutinising me.

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‘You wish to escape the drugs your friends force on you don’t you? It’s not your will, not your will.’

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‘Wha—’

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‘Shouldn’t be here. Not for you — kitchen of the damned!’ She held her head back and cackled into the white sky before snapping it back toward me.

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‘Greater things in store for you. Yekka buliasa nashti beshes pe done grastende.’ She cackled again and I could see the fillings in her mouth and lurid yellow patches on her tongue. “With one behind, you can’t sit on two horses.’

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I’m not going to lie, I was proper freaked out. ‘Look, I really must go,’ I said. My voice seemed to be swallowed up by the mist that had crept over from the sea.

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‘Shhhhh!’ said the woman suddenly. Her eyes shot upwards and to the left, then narrowed as if accessing information. The claw of her hand still clung around my wrist, feeling clammy, making me shiver. When she spoke again I almost jumped. ‘Three things I tell you quick and true: one, you are good boy, but you are weak. Two, those you call friends are parasites of this world. Three,’ she paused, ‘a worm languishes within.’ 

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At the last statement something seemed to shift inside me and I shuddered.

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‘Do not question these facts,’ the woman continued, ‘I prove to you now that I speak Romany truth: Your father was milkman, your mother cut hair. You wish to be more than you are. You wish for a sign.’

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Her eyes slowly rolled back to focus on mine and a sly smile spread across her face. ‘Look at time when t’is short in the early hours. Nashti zhas vorta po drom o bango. You cannot walk straight when the road is bent.’

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This avalanche cascaded out of the woman faster than I have ever heard a human being speak and I felt transfixed by her words, which were flavoured with a rich accent, the likes of which I had never heard before. But, the thing that rooted me to the spot was that, interspersed with the seemingly nonsense words, were clear fragments of truth: my father was a milkman. My mother did cut hair. She seemed to know about my friends too. Knew I didn’t belong. 

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Before I had a chance to respond, she continued.

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‘One last truth I tell you,’ she said, and her blue eyes seemed to sparkle. ‘You fear the abyss.’

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A shiver shot up my spine and my eyes went wide. 

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Still holding tightly to my wrist she said: ‘Reach into your pocket and you will find three coins — two, two, two.’

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Gingerly I reached into my pocket with my free hand trembling. 

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There were three coins there. 

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When I withdrew them I stared in astonishment at the three two pound coins that lay in my palm.

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Before I knew what was happening, the gypsy grabbed hold of my other hand and closed it tightly over the coins, now sandwiching my hands between hers.

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‘Te avel mange bakht drago mange wi te avav po gunoy. I give you three wishes — one for each coin. Think them in your mind and they will be. Now, choose.’

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‘Huh—’ I began, my voice very small.

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‘Say them in your mind and they will be! Anything but money, this I cannot grant. Number one!’ she commanded.

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I stood, perplexed.

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‘Number one!’

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I should have walked away but I felt almost unable to — my entire body felt like it had turned to jelly. ‘Okay,’ I said, and absurdly, the first thing that came to mind was:

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I want to be as strong as a lion.

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‘Two!’ she said immediately, as if I’d spoken aloud.

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To make ideas reality. 

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‘Three!’

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To live forever. I gasped. 

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A look of deep concentration appeared on the gypsy’s face as she closed her eyes, her lips and eyelids quivering as she muttered something under her breath. She squeezed my hands even more tightly and then abruptly pushed them downwards before finally relinquishing her grip. 

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I felt a bit like Ray at the end of Ghostbusters, the character who inadvertently wishes for the Stay-puffed marshmallow man to appear.

 

The gypsy slowly opened her eyes and looked down at my hand. I followed her gaze and, as I opened my clenched fist, she took the three coins that lay there.

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‘Zhan le Devlesa tai sastimasa,’ she said, then turned round and began to walk off in the direction she had come.

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I watched her for a minute, head spinning, wondering what the hell had just happened. ‘Wait!’ I shouted. I jogged after her, and, coming level as she turned back to look at me, I saw that her eyes had changed back to brown, the intensity gone, replaced with apathy.

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‘Can I help you love?’ she said — the west-country twang returned to her voice.

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‘I—’ I began to say.

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All at once she seemed smaller than she had before — hunched and broken — a rabbit in the headlights. She gave me a frightened look and continued walking.

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Shaken and confused, I stood there for a long time and watched the little old homeless lady shuffle off, back into the mist.