Suffer No Fools - 1. Suffer No Fools

Hazel Daneswort could be officious and judgmental, and she knew it. However, those two unbecoming traits were stoked like coke in a blast furnace by the young man before her now.

She half hid herself behind the glass door, snatching glances from his steel-studded jacket to his spiky hair.

Notions of …there must be some mistake… were stifled in her throat. She stiffened her spine, while daring to pry the portal a bit wider. 'Are you sure you're in the right place?'

The lad's blue eyes held firm. 'My Auntie Miriam set this up…? Said I needed to hear what you have to say.'

Her mouth relaxed into a frown, for indeed, Miriam Church was one of Hazel's oldest clients, or natives, as they were properly known.

'Oh,' she said, suddenly ushering the boy into her little high-street storefront with open door and fluttering hand.

The woman's commercial neighbours in this up-market village, just three miles outside the centre of Sheffield, consisted of a "foreign-run" nail salon on one side, and a home grown residential leasing agent on the other. She wanted neither to see the sort she was currently letting into her discreet fifteen-foot-wide establishment, nor wanted neither to make enquiries about what manner of activities she was up to in her shop. Hazel Daneswort had avoided all signage except the building number, frosted the windows with contact paper, and visitors were appointed strictly by word of mouth, only.

'Cheers.' The jocular young man had to duck to accommodate his blonde Mohawk, but he did, and Hazel quickly closed the door behind him.

She looked him over. From boots to the tip of his hair, he was every inch a Punk, and not the fair-weather variety either.

His foot apparel was high-collared and thick-soled; construction boots Hazel guessing started life as patent black, but shellacked and worn clean again with yellow varnish. The effect made them look "broken in", although the wear on the leather itself was minimal.

Tucked out of sight in the calve-height boot shafts were the fitted legs of the overalls he wore. In a shiny fabric, dark brown or black, these were not of the workman variety. On the thighs appeared large patches of printed fabric, and zips here and there ran at angles to reveal odd and useless pockets. The bib of the coveralls hung loose at his waist – no doubt cinched in place with a hidden belt – and the front and rear fasteners for the shoulders linked up on either side by his knees.

Above this he wore a black T-shirt with a huge crimson circle. Sword points converged in the middle of the red dot, and over the top of his entire upper body resided the most striking feature of his attire: a black leather jacket everywhere studded with stainless steel spikes. Some were low and large, like the ones featured on the inside of his broad lapels; others were banded in rows like lace decoration across the bottom of his sleeves and waist belt – the two sides of which also hung loose at his sides like the overall fasteners.

The higher Hazel looked up on the jacket, the more elaborate and smaller the studs got. By the chest and upper arms, swaths of them crisscrossed at angles; however, the crowning glory was reserved for an even-higher position. Perfect cones of steel, one and a half inches tall at least, rode the crest of his epilates in double rows on each side. It made an oddly decorous complement to the shiny links of a construction chain he wore as a choker around his neck. A neck that was proud, straight, and held a noble head.

For on her way up, Hazel's inspection had noted the young man's large and expressive hands, the fair colour of which matched the flawless complexion of his face. A solid and kind mouth grounded ruddy cheeks. A straight nose led up to intensely blue eyes – the kind that seem to survey all they see with sincerity and lack of malice.

His hair might have been judged very malicious indeed though, especially by one of her generation. Hazel now thought "Mohawk" had not been entirely accurate. The truth was more fantastical, for while a swath of longer hair lay down the centre of his head – the perfect matching width from outer eyebrow to eyebrow – it did not stand up in spikes. In fact, the unbleached flaxen of the lad was combed forward and moussed up an inch or so. It made a sort of elegant dog-tongue shape standing away from his forehead, about two inches higher than his eyes.

But the real drama lay to the sides, for although everything below the combed-forward "badger hawk" was shaved close to his skin, leaving only enough to verify he was blonde all over, two whimsical lines of long hair stood like dinosaur crests. Shooting out at an angle from his skull halfway between the tops of his ears and the edge of his middle lick of hair, the four-inch spikes glowed a candy hue somewhere between pink and purple.

Hazel Daneswort blinked and suddenly remembered her manners. Noting the beads of water competing with the shininess of the studs on his jacket, she asked, 'Is it still raining? Shall I take that for you?' Her hand reached out – carefully – for his lapels.

He stomped his boots in a little jovial bounce and smiled. 'It's proper pissin' away. But, as they say, the only thing us Sheffielders can agree on is how miserable the climate is round here'.

Hazel coughed up a banal grin. She again made a move to take his coat.

'Nah, thanks,' he said, grabbing the flapping belts to bundle himself for a moment. 'I'm awright. I'm used to havin' it on all the time, ya see.'

'Oh.'

They stood there for a second while he glanced around the sparse "reception room". After a moment more, he appraised her frankly, raising a smirk. 'So. Is this where the magic happens, then?'

Hazel was not amused, however, overcoming her initial shock, she led the way into the inner space – her sanctum sanctorum.

A light-grey interior, it was just as plain as the outer space, only here a large round table waited in the centre with four places to sit. To the side of the table was a bureau with many thin drawers.

As she showed him in, her attention drifted across the few discreet pictures on the wall – ones that only vaguely hinted at what she was about now – and contrasted them with memories of her workspace in the "old days". Back then her office had been bedecked with a huge periodic table under glass, and molecular models resting on wall shelves were intended to impress those in the visitor chairs…. But not now – not anymore.

She indicated a seat for her young native to take, the one where he'd have his back to the door, and went to the bureau. As she opened the top drawer and retrieved a file, she asked, 'Would you like a tea or pop? I have some in the back.'

'Ah, nah. Thanks, though.'

She sat in the position right across from him, placing her forearms atop the boy's file in a protective manner. 'You know who I am; I'm Hazel Daneswort. And you are…?'

'Oh! I’m Traylen, Traylen McCall. I'd a thought—'

'I asked your aunt only for the pertinent information I needed, which did not include your name.'

'Right, then.' He held out his hand, spikes trailing along with his sleeve halfway over Hazel's table.

She was shocked, feeling her "hand was being forced". They shook awkwardly for a moment while Hazel realized she was not used to physical contact like this unless it was equal to equal, peer to peer, age and class group the same as hers. Perhaps the mischievous little leer on Traylen McCall's face informed her the boy was flaunting convention on purpose to make her uncomfortable.

She released his hand, not liking that notion one bit. Hazel puffed up, a black smile creaking across her thin lips. 'Ah, the fanciful names young parents will pluck out of the air these days—'

'Actually….'

'Yes,' she chirped, showing displeasure at being cut off mid-muse.

The young man betrayed his nerves by cracking knuckles. 'Actually, it's me granddad's. My mum's dad – his surname was Traylen, and I was christened with it so his family name could go on a bit longer.'

A piece of her, albeit a back-burning, cold-coal piece of her, said Hazel had acted rashly. It was, however, easy to ignore.

'But you can call me Len,' he added. 'All me friends and family do.'

Hazel Daneswort nodded in tacit acknowledgment, and then opened the folder. She carefully laid out the research she had done on the boy, whom she knew to be twenty-three. In terms of her documents, she always sorted and stacked so the chart was on top – which she now placed to her far right – and then all the other relevant worksheets and summary of findings were laid out like a hand of cards, fanning to her left.

She had done this semi-professionally for quite a while; semi-professional not in the amount of hard work she put into it, but in the meagre fees she asked her natives to donate. The money was never the important thing, and when she first began, Hazel was not sure how accurate she was, or indeed how much of a comfort she'd been to her initial clients.

At this stage in her life, the high level of correctness reported back to her, as her thoroughly plotted and studied findings attested to precision, raised pride in Hazel. She trusted her analytical mind was not going to waste in "retirement", despite anything else.

At fifty-seven she felt as young as ever, but still, she wanted her practice to remain hush-hush. Word of mouth only clientele would hopefully keep the public at large from thinking of her as an "old" eccentric.

Traylen broke her reverie by propping leather-clad elbows on the table. He bent forward, cracking a thumb knuckle, and asking, 'Is this it, then? Is this my readin'?'

Involuntarily, Hazel clutched at the papers, thinking Len was about to reach out for them.

She regrouped a moment later, seeing the lad make no such attempt, and settled back on her chair. Traylen's blue eyes sparkled mercurially, his lips skewered ever so dismissively to one side of his mouth, and his fingers now confidently laced themselves together on the table before him.

'How much do you know concerning what's about to happen?' she asked, expecting she had valuable insight on his psychological condition.

'My auntie believes, and gave me this "session" as a Christmas present. She says you can help, but I don’t know….'

She glanced at his fanciful hair, the tips glowing pink and purple, and felt herself stiffen, barely letting the dim recognition break upon her that there was something for which the boy needed help. Instead, she recited by rote:

 

'The past's already buried in the earth,

while the present crawls upon her surface –

but the Heavens yet hold All that will be.'

 

Traylen sputtered, leaning back hard on his seat, and his arms enfolding him in a sceptical hug. 'Sounds like a fuckin' load of shite to me.'

Hazel was stunned. 'You don't believe—'

'In ASTROLOGY?! Nooo….'

'So that's why you haven’t been in. Mildred gave me your date and time of birth months ago.'

He was silent.

Rude boy. He's rough. Maybe this isn't going to work out.

As if reading her mind, Len softened his stance. 'Sorry for my language, yeh? I'm used to being around me mates, that's all.'

'Well, please remember I'm old enough to be your mother.'

The expression in his eyes told Hazel Daneswort he could not forget her age.

'My mum is forty-seven. We had a good upbringin', me and my two brothers; wanted for nothin'.' He smiled. 'I'm the baby in the family. And Auntie Miriam, as you probably already know, is fifty-three. She told me you're into numbers and all that.'

'I'm ten years older than your mother, Traylen.' And as soon as she had said it a certain convergence of facts assembled in her brain. Forty-seven: it was Maya's current age; forty-seven, it was Hazel's age at the time she was forced to….

She shook her head, dispelling her own thoughts. 'So, young man, you don't believe. But how much do you really know about Astrology?'

'I know,' he snorted, 'about bored housewives reading their daily horoscopes in the tabloids, and worse yet, deciding whether they get dressed and go to Tesco based on it.'

‘Well, I agree.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes. Newspaper and glamour mag horoscopes are nothing but rubbish. They are generalisations built upon non-specific information, and give sincere practitioners and natives a bad name.’

He seemed interested, so she went on.

‘Genuine Astrology is a system of categories to separate humanity into several well-researched types. Drawing up an accurate horoscope and then understanding it is the science of judging the influence of the heavens upon human affairs. But, it has to be done on a one-by-one basis, only.’

‘And this science doesn’t make it into the papers, huh?’

‘No, it does not.’ She was not liking his obstinacy. ‘I can assure you, all of my clients praise my accuracy.’

‘Well,’ he said casually, ‘maybe you only got a band of gullible housewives droppin’ by.’

Hazel was further insulted, but she sensed, despite his appearance, this boy was inquisitive and open-minded.

‘So if you are that sceptical, then why are you here, Traylen McCall?’

He swallowed down his smirk, but said nothing.

She continued, feeling she had gained the upper hand. ‘Everyone knows their Astrological sign. Haven't you and your associates – your, um, Punk friends – ever noticed the attributes in one another?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean the twelve signs of the Zodiac in the Western tradition are well known. What people are supposed to be like is…. Here, let me give you a rundown. You think about your friends and family while I list them, all right?’

He nodded.

‘People born late December to mid-January are Capricorn. You can expect them to be disciplined, responsible, and endowed with good manners. On the negative side they can be overly opinionated, self-righteous, and condescending.

‘Aquarius natives – 20 January to 18 February – are selfless, generous, and peacemakers. On the down side, they might tend to waver between silent moods and flashes of temper.'

Speaking of "tempers," the scowl on the young Punk's face spoke volumes.

He looks like a petulant schoolboy being crammed fat for an exam…?

She waited until he shifted on his seat and paid her a bit more attention.

‘Now, as I was saying: Born between the 19 of Feb and 20th of March, Pisces individuals are sensitive to the point of being psychic, artistic, and deeply emotive of other’s feelings. They can also be easily overwhelmed by outside factors and resort to cynicism as a coping—'

'Ya know,' interrupted Len, 'everybody knows their own signs, including me, and what we're supposed to be like.'

The woman sighed. 'I'm listing them all – with their birth-windows – so you can think about others close to you, not just yoursen.' She slipped into dialect to drive her message home, and judged it was working by the boy's compliant silence.

Hazel soldiered on.

‘Natives of the sign of the ram – Aries, born between 21 March and 20 April – live up to the image and are generally headstrong. They can also be idealistic to the point of inaction.

‘As for Taurus people, born 21 April to 20 May, expect them to be stalwart. They are builders and movers, and make things happen; but they also tend to mistrust people and keep their own intentions “secret” until the bitter end.’

‘Gemini represent a deep-seated duality. The sign of the twins governs the calendar between 21 May and 20 June and tends to produce individuals who are charming and attractive. On the flip side, this can lead to conceited, shallow, and materialistic tendencies.'

Traylen sat back on his seat, letting his arms fall loosely by his side in concentration.

‘Although tenacious, persuasive and drawn to art and history, Cancer people born from June the 21st to July the 21st can experience fleeting emotional patterns, moodiness, and suspicious reserve towards strangers.

‘For Leos – 22 July to 21 August – they can be creative, passionate, and cheerful. On the negative side, they can also be inflexible, self-centred, and arrogant.

‘Virgo natives are those born between 22 August and 21 September. Shrew, questioning, and emotional, they can sometimes come off as uncaring.'

Hazel had been watching Len’s reactions, and noted with self-satisfaction a few glints of recognition in the young Punk’s eyes.

‘As for Libra, outsiders usually regard them as intuitive and artsy. Born between the twenty-secondths of September and October, some others might think of them as nosey.

‘The joke goes that non-natives of the sign of Scorpio should beware of the scorpion’s stinger, but folks born from 23 October to 21 November exhibit commanding natures and tenacity. On the bad side, they can be dangerously possessive lovers.

‘And finally—’ Hazel purposefully ended on the young man’s sign ‘—for those born between 22 November and 20 December, one can expect Sagittarians to be open and idealistic in nature. On the downside, they can be rebellious and vocal concerning others' shortcomings.'

Traylen remained quiet, so Hazel asked, ‘Well, do you think that’s a fair summary of your personality traits? Yes or no…?’

A peevish grin appeared. ‘Sounds like you’re sayin’ I suffer no fools.’

‘Well, yes.’ It was actually a very adroit summary. ‘Sagi natives don’t put up with much foolishness.’

Len made a motion over the documents. ‘Dunno about missen, to be truthful. But – well – I don’t know. Some of the Zodiacs you rattled off sound familiar, accurate I suppose, at least for my mum, dad, and Dominic.’

‘Dominic is one of your brothers?’

‘No.’

Hazel puzzled. ‘Then who’s Dominic?’

The tough lad blushed before her eyes; fine crimson rose along the stoic column of his neck. ‘Um,’ he said, cracking the same thumb knuckle as before. ‘He’s my – well, I guess I have to call him me ex-best mate, don’t I?’

She felt a wave of sorrow wash over the otherwise jovial young man. Before stopping up her mouth, a ‘What happened?’ slipped out.

‘Um,’ he said, gesturing to her far right. ‘Maybe we should stick to—'

‘Yes, you’re right.’

‘Is that my horoscope, then?’

Hazel picked up the boy’s Astro chart and held it up so he could see. 'It is. It's a basic diagram with you in the centre. Out from the spot and time you were born, the positions of the twelve Zodiac signs, the seven Planets, and the twelve Houses are filled in.' She indicated the numerous straight lines, many in colour, connecting various segments of the pie chart. 'These are influences I can reference and determine more detailed facts concerning you and your course in life.'

Hazel thought the young man looked engaged, so she gave him the chart and continued. 'Natal horoscopes are common, and I did one for you months ago. But after you rang up and made this appointment, I did a fresh one for this meeting. That's the one in your hands now, done for noon, April the First.'

He turned the chart around and pointed to the "X" dead centre, asking, 'So this is you and me, right here and now?'

Hazel's vision flitted over the sword points on his T-shirt, and then she nodded. 'Yes, and all the heavenly influences surrounding us.'

Instead of saying anything related to this information, he set the document down and surprised her.

'Did you always do this?' he asked.

'I began practicing fulltime ten years ago.'

'But you were always interested in it, I reckon.'

'Yes, that is true. When I was a teenager I started keeping a dream journal, a very detailed one. Even then I found I had an analytical mind, so I chose to categorize and process "esoteric matters" as well. I believed I could quantify, sequester, and study the patterns in my nighttime thoughts to ascertain a higher purpose. I wanted to understand why they made me feel the way they did. It was all spurred by an encounter with Jung's book on dream symbology in the school library.'

'Is that right…?'

'Yes. As I grew I extended my thinking to believe "the occult" could be subjected to the scrutiny of the scientific method as well, the only trick was engaging the imagination to figure out how to test it. So, with my newfound freetime late in life, I turned to an area that had always fascinated me – enter Astrology. I asked why certain understandings were true. The tenants of personality as captured in "the signs", for example. I began to apply myself seriously to the total study of it. I'm proud to say I got good, soon easily remembering convergences by rote – both good and bad – and noting them in horoscopes with a steady hand.'

'But why ten years ago?'

It was painful for Hazel to speak about, but she drew in a strong breath. 'I spent my twenty-five-year career as a high-level scientific researcher at Sheffield University, until…they pushed me out.'

'Pushed you out – what do you mean?'

'They gave me a choice: accept an "obsolescence" package at 70% of my pension, or be sacked with nothing.'

'Oh, that's bull shit.'

'Well, yes, it was. It also helped no one that they made it abundantly clear they wanted to vacate my position for fresh blood – "New insights on a more open-minded, European approach" – I was told.'

'That's bloody awful. So, how do you relate to what you said?'

'What do you mean?' she asked.

'Which sign are you, then?'

Hazel Daneswort pondered the boy's sceptical smirk and decided not to hold back on revealing the negative traits of her position on the Zodiac.

'Virgo natives, like me, can be viewed by outsiders as harsh and reserved. We are self-critical about appearing sentimental, and over-compensate by being matter of fact.

'We can be unscrupulous, doubting, find it hard to make up our minds, and responsibility is sometimes a great challenge. We're prone to addictive substances and emotional crutches – like food.

'In summary, people of my sign generally have broad minds, but narrow views.'

Hazel was finally able to wipe the smirk off of Traylen's face. She could feel her own left eyebrow flare in black triumph, but she just pressed on.

'You know, I understand your scepticism. I do, but the links between Astrology and psychoanalysis are not so tenuous, especially not abroad. Take Germany for example, where not so many years ago, employers routinely drew up charts on potential hires to see if they were a good fit. Engaged German brides and grooms still seek Astrology readings to make sure they should get married. And Carl Jung himself would have a natal horoscope drawn up for each of his new patients. He understood pertinent information would be revealed in the charts concerning inherent personality traits.'

''Ckin hell! Carl Jung…like the father of modern psychology…?'

'Yes. What's more, you will find in the research literature a very interesting double-blind study relating to Astrology and psychiatry. You know what a double-blind study…?'

'Two groups tested where neither knows a trick is involved.'

Hazel was impressed. 'Yes, well put, and that's more or less it in a nutshell. This famous study was commissioned by the German city of Freiburg. It seems a teenage lad was a chronic offender of the law, and a team of police psychologists conducted several interviews with the young man. Meanwhile, a local schoolmaster named Böer – who did not know either the boy or his name – was given the youthful offender's place, date and time of birth. The horoscope and findings he drew up without any knowledge of the police work confirmed the psych evaluation to a startling degree.'

'So you mean everyone born at the same place and time as him is gonna be criminal?'

Hazel blinked.

'Nah. See, I didn’t think so.'

'Ah,' she agreed. 'You're right. It's not so cut and dry. However, a natal Astro chart for two people born at the same place and time will show the starting point, the common denominator for them. Yet, as you suggest, social standing, access to nutrition, education, and even love, will throw considerable variables at them and how they develop as people. Astrology believes it can identify the way each individual will react to psychological situations in common, which if you think about it, is all psychologists say they can do as well.'

'Yeh, but even them born equals are gonna act completely different.'

'Well, that's where your scepticism comes up against my science. Statistics show sixty percent of any interpretation will seem correct, but that can't explain the rest – the other alignments of facts from an Astrology reading.'

'Dunno…. But the main part you say is like…what do they call it…the law of averages or something.'

'Perhaps, and that's why the other forty percent is so important. Most Astrologers learn the basics – how to plot a natal chart, and so forth. For them the interpretation follows what's known as the "cookery book" method. They look up the planetary alignments, and the influences of the various Houses, and jot down the descriptions from their guidebooks. When they read all the information they've gathered, they get confused. Much of it contradicts, much of it seems silly and overly detailed, and they don’t know what to tell their native. For them, the inexperienced Astrologer, they're likely to get to the sixty percent accurate level, but the other forty percent takes more.'

'Takes what, then?'

'Intuition and practice: intuition to scan the list of information and fundamentally know which is relevant and which is not; practice to get a feeling for when one gets praised for correct information, and gain from the experience when it's wrong. Those elements working together can get an Astrology reading up to ninety or ninety-five percent accurate.'

He cracked his knuckles under the table. 'I don’t know. You're saying it's guesswork and some kind of psychic mumbo jumbo?'

Hazel didn't like the terms, neither "psychic" nor mumbo-jumbo. She also didn't appreciate the young man's apparent retreat into a defensive posture.

She thought she'd try one last thing. Hazel rose and went to the bureau. 'I have an example here you may find interesting.' She pulled out a file and returned to her seat. 'It's the findings report of a very famous woman given a "blind reading", meaning the astrologer had no idea who the native was, that she was indeed famous, or even a woman for that matter.'

Hazel Daneswort extracted an Astrology chart and placed it in Len's hands. While he examined the cryptic markings and straight lines on it, she read from summary.

'Native is governed by several of the Planets and their aspects. Neptune, planet of glamour and mystery, is ascendant in the House of Leo, indicating showmanship. In trine to Neptune is Venus, the planet of beauty. Sun in the Eleventh House shows acclaim and material success.

'The Fourth House alignments reveal an unhappy childhood and a lingering desire to escape all unpleasant situations as quickly as possible.

'The Seventh House indicates unstable and disappointing love relationships; possibly several failed marriages.

'Uranus and Mars in the Eighth House indicate the strong possibility of a sudden and unnatural death while still young.'

Hazel set the report down, glancing into Traylen's rapt blue eyes. She delighted in revealing: 'There's more, but that's some the blind reading conducted on Marilyn Monroe.'

'It weren’t never?!' He was clearly amazed.

'Yes. Done a few years before she died and kept under lock and key at the Society for Psychical Research in London until 1970.'

Traylen sat back and folded his arms around his chest again.

Hazel shrewdly came to her point. 'You know, Len, people come to professionals with expectations of accurate predictions on career, money, marriage, health, death – or, even love. Which one do you suppose Miriam thinks you need help with…?'

He shrugged. 'It's not my career. I've got a job.'

'Oh, yes. Where?'

'At an art house cinema, in Ecclesall Road. Dominic brought me onboard when he used to work there too.'

'But not anymore?'

'Nah.' His dejected tone changed to one of questioning. 'Do people, you know, your housewives, really come to you for advice on their marriages?'

'Yes. And why not? Beyond the Astrology component of my services, most people know I've been married to the same person for thirty years.'

'A nice bloke?'

'Oh, yes. Very nice and patient with me, but Maya's not a bloke. She's my lovely wife…." Hazel Daneswort corrected herself. 'Or maybe I should call her my lovely, longsuffering wife.'

'What'cha mean?'

'I mean my feelings of depression and humiliation a decade ago when I was made redundant and had the rug pulled out from under me at the height of my research career. Maya was there to help me pick up the pieces. She dealt with my not-so-nice moods swings. It was only by delving into Astrology that I felt I was able to hang on.'

'But what does Maya think about all this?' His hand hovered over Hazel's intricately draughted charts.

‘She’s – well, frankly – she’s like you. Says it’s all bullshite.’ It was the first time Hazel had cussed before Traylen, and it made the boy smile and feel more relaxed. Perhaps they were bonding….

Leaning back, he said, ‘So you have a wife. Now I know why Auntie Miriam thought we’d click.’

She puzzled.

‘See, the way you like the girls is the way I like the boys.'

Now Hazel smiled too. ‘Like Dominic?’

‘Um, yeh. Sort of.’ Len suddenly propped steel-studded elbows on the table and got ready for story time. ‘But we really are just mates – used to be, at least. I met him Year 12 in school, when we were both seventeen.’ He chuckled.

‘What?’

‘Oh, just thinkin’ how we looked together back then. He has dark hair, is about 5’-9”, and wiry. Together roaming round town we made quite the interestin’ pair. Same contrast for our personalities, too.’

‘So you and he dated?’

Traylen was stunned. ‘Nooo…. It weren't never like that.’ He sounded hurt. ‘Nah, Dominic's the kid got me into Punk in the first place. As I say, we were 17-year-old layabouts and mates cuz he was new to school, and spoke weird – Newcastle. Anyway, I was drawn right away by his tough-boy attitude.’ Len cracked his knuckles, suddenly becoming aware of it. ‘Oh, this – this habit of mine – it came from him too. When that mardy bum did it, it looked cool. Threatening, like “I’m not gonna take any shite, so don’t try it”.’ He chuckled again, cracking one more joint. ‘With missen, maybe not so much.’

‘But – did you ever tell him?’

‘That I was attracted to ‘im? No! But, I was out. Auntie Miriam was the first person I told when I was 15, actually. So Dominic stood up to the bigots for me from time to time. We was mates.’

‘You sure he never knew?’

‘Ah, come on now. He knows I love – loved – him. How couldn't he? But it was not like that.’

‘So why the split? Why is he your ex-best mate?’

‘Awright, I’ll say it. I never had the balls to tell ‘im. But that’s because he’s into girls, and I didn’t wanna wreck the relationship. See, the brand of "punk" Dominic pulled me and him into is old school, anti-social, fuck the system PUNK! We turn down our noses at all those dyed-in-the-wool conformists who think punk is about wearing the clothes. Those wankers are neo-punks who go home at night, switch on the tele and know punk is just a “fashion phase” for them. Those pretenders are contemptible to us real Punks, like me and my Sheffield mates.’

‘So, with Dominic, you never told him, but you have been pining for him for the last five years.’

Silence greeted her, although colour began rising along the boy’s neck. ‘It don’t matter.’

Hazel felt her heart softening. She got “Dominic” now. ‘That relationship probably matters a great deal. It may be the sticking point Mildred Church sent you here to get unstuck.’

‘Look,’ said Traylen, ‘we’re ex-mates who hardly even text anymore. The truth is, he’s turned his back on us, that’s all.’

She felt like she’d hit a wall; Hazel straightened up with a new idea. ‘I’m just curious, but when was this young man born?’

‘His birth date?’

‘Yes.’

‘Twenty-sixth of January.’

‘Same year as you?’

‘Aye. Why do you ask?’

‘That makes him Aquarius, but more importantly, that makes him a Cockerel on the Chinese Zodiac.’

Len sputtered: ‘Sooo…?’

‘So, that means your sign – that of the Dog – and his sign are not suitable love matches. In fact, they just happen to be the absolute worst pairing.’

‘You still on about that—‘

‘Your Chinese Zodiac attributes are fine ones. You are sincere, reliable, considerate, understanding and patient, and I don’t need to refer to any books to confirm you are all those things. I can see so for myself.'

'How can he be a Cock and me a Mutt. We was born in the same year.'

'He was born before the Chinese New Years in February, and you were born after it – two different signs.'

He was silent again.

She went on. ‘Dogs construct ways to avoid the ugliness of the world, and they help others before considering their own best interests. That’s why when they are betrayed, they take it hard.’

Traylen went ashen. Betrayal; she knew she had uncovered the sticking point. More silence greeted her.

‘Are you going to school, Traylen?’

‘Yeh. Evening study courses in Psychology.’

She chuckled. ‘That might be a good career fit, but Dogs also excel at banking—‘

Len broke into full-throated but good-natured laughter. ‘Zack would shit his pants to hear that!’

‘Why…?’

‘Because that’s how Dominic turned his back on us, on our group of Punks. First he knocked up this posh girl, because they can’t keep their hands off us bad lads, then Dominic went corporate. She forced him to cut his hair, take out his piercings, and accept a position at her daddy’s bank.’

There was undeniable anger in his voice as he finished.

Following a hunch, she enquired, ‘And who is this Zack fellow?’

‘Zack? He’s me mate. Eighteen-year-old Punk from our gang. I’ve taken him under my wing, so to speak. Teachin’ him the ropes, so to speak. The kid’s out too, so we got paired together; big brother, little brother type a thing.’ A new tenderness crept into his voice as he concluded, ‘He’s awright.’

Hazel Daneswort suspected there was more to this “all right” than it seemed. Although perhaps more so on Zack’s side than Traylen’s, or maybe Len was keeping him at arm’s length to hold onto Dominic’s ghost.

‘And you say this boy is eighteen?’

‘Aye.’

‘That makes him a Rabbit on the Chinese Zodiac.’

‘Oh, yeh…?’ Len seemed to suspect a blow was coming.

‘Indeed, and I can tell you, believers hold the Dog sign and the Rabbit sign to be the most compatible of all the pairings.’

Traylen absorbed the information, not dismissing it as Hazel had expected. His blue eyes turned on her in total openness. ‘He has – he’s been sending out these…these love signals the last few months now. I’ve been seeing them, but not really wanting to, you know?’

‘I think I know. Yes, Len, I think it might be time to forgive Dominic and let him go. You might do best to turn your attention to Zack and let him in. At least let him have a fair chance at winning you over.’

Hazel felt close to Len at that moment.

A slow-moving shadow creeped over Traylen's face. He entwined his fingers together and leaned on the table once more. ‘Of course,' he said with a deliberate voice, 'you know I still think this is total shite, but if I can give you my own readin’, it would be this: Those bastards at the Uni broke your heart, and what’s worse, made you feel worthless and unwanted, but you’ve been using Astrology ever since to avoid dealin’ with proper issues and feelin's.’ He sat back on his chair. ‘It’s time to let go and face 'em. That’s what I think at least.’

Hazel saw spots before her eyes; she was devastated. A quick swallow, and her natural officiousness took over. She glanced at the boy’s paperwork laid out in front of her and decided to play a trick.

He’s never going to believe. All my breath has been wasted.

‘Well, shall we do what we’ve come here for?’ Her heart was pounding as her left hand raised the report of her findings.

The Punk sat up straight and folded arms across his chest. At a nod of his head, she began. The first of the five points read:

 

1) Personality

 

~ You are proud because Mars is in Leo.

~ Fun loving, high energy.

~ A cheerful and positive person.

~ Either happy or sad, your intimate life is

anything but even-keel.

~ When you or your intimacy with another is under

threat, you tend to shield your true feelings

with deflection and cynicism.

 

What she actually said was: ‘Personality: Because Mars in ascendant in Leo, you are humble. Shy and with a mellow personality, you are generally retiring and even-keel. When you feel your closeness with others is under scrutiny, you remain stoic and laugh it off.’

She’d decided to report to the lad the exact opposite of her carefully researched work. That would satiate his scepticism, and get him out of here all the sooner. Both would need to get on with their lives and forget this fleeting encounter ever happened.

Hazel scanned the second point:

 

2) Dealings with Others

 

~ You are known for being blunt.

~ Calm, cool, dispassionate, you find displays of

emotionalism confusing.

~ Work well alone or in a group of likeminded

persons.

~ Gregarious, you enjoy others' company, but

avoid out and out intimacy with any one

individual.

~ You and your peer group seek to change

society's attitudes towards customs and

authority structures.

 

She told him, ’Dealings with others: You are hesitant in speaking your mind. Emotional, you see displays of restraint as awkward. You like to surround yourself with people who have differing views from your own. Shy and quiet, you do not enjoy company and seek connection with people one-on-one. You handle displays of authority well, and strive to fit in.’

 

3) Interests

 

~ Live life on the cutting edge.

~ Love to penetrate below surface appearances.

~ Naturally inquisitive, you like to delve into

mysterious, hidden matters, especially those of

human nature and people's motivations.

~ Innate interest in the psychology of any

situation.

~ Can become emotionally overrun by the

complexity you uncover, and might revert to

displays of sarcasm.

 

‘Interests: You are fairly conventional and take things as they come. You like to think people show you their honest side all the time, and accept feelings at face value. You are never afraid to experience your emotions or share them in an open way with others.’

Hazel paused, briefly noting the boy's arms now hung loosely by his side.

Is that a pallid colour creeping over his otherwise rosy cheek…?

She pressed on.

 

4) Beliefs

 

~ Like new ideas and concepts -- prefer to

trailblaze. Not easy for you to be converted by

others.

~ You fight for the oppressed and forgotten, and

lack respect for any Authority showing no

sympathy for the helpless.

~ Your way of thinking deals with abstractions

well.

~ You wish to expose as normal things formerly

held as shocking or taboo.

~ Disappointments come as you find you have to

lower expectations to accommodate the lesser

standards of those around you.

 

‘Beliefs: You prefer to follow and are slow to warm to new ways of thinking. You have an inherit faith in the goodness of the system, and hope everything works itself out for the best. You are most comfortable with concrete concepts, and think others are perhaps dreamers who need to be more realistic about the way things are.’

 

5) Love

 

~ Because Venus is in Scorpio, your emotions

concerning others are intense and complex.

~ If you love someone, you do so completely; when

you hate anyone, they do not exist to you.

~ At times your feelings of love are so

overwhelming, you suppress them out of fear.

This is done because you despair of ever being

able to put your passion into adequate

expression.

~ Saturn rising in Pisces indicates you're prone

to believe your life is off kilter, most likely

owing to a disappointment in love from a father

or older brother figure.

~ Learn to take responsibility for your own life

and stop harbouring unrealistic expectations

concerning those you love.

 

‘Love: Your emotions concerning others are simple and straightforward. You love quickly and forgive readily. You find it natural to express how you're feeling, especially towards a partner. Saturn ascending in Pisces indicates you've received grounding love from a father or older brother figure. From it, you have learned to take responsibility for your own life and do not harbour unrealistic expectations for the ones you love.’

Hazel Daneswort concluded with a queasy feeling in her gut. She's just betrayed her own belief in Astrology, the thing she'd turned to for support to keep her grounded after the disgrace and treachery of the university. They robbed her of the purpose of her life, and she poured everything of her heart and soul into a scientific faith that a higher purpose existed.

Have I just cruelly hurt one of the natives I've sworn to help?

The woman's inward-looking thoughts were distracted by movement. Traylen pressed against the table again, his blues eyes coming closer like before.

He stammered: 'Fuckin' hell…. That's was…brilliant!'

'You mean—' Hazel felt the colour leaving her face.

'You nailed it. Everything was spot on. I mean, fuckin' nailed it!'

'Oh, my God….'

'Well, whatever you want to call it. I guess my auntie was right. Bloody hell, Astrology's real!'

 

~ ~ ~  ~ ~ ~   ~ ~ ~              

            

Hazel was alone in her shop. She had shown the boy out a few minutes ago and was now tidying up his charts and findings.

They were his fake findings; or were they the real ones…?

She suddenly stopped, holding the papers still.

Or am I the one who's fake?

The woman's world was shattered – her emotional crutch, knocked from under her. Tears came and blurred the carefully delineated red, blue, and black lines of Len's chart. One fell and created a rippling stain, running two hues together.

Angry, she methodically, with raging exactitude tore the paper in half, then quarters, and so on. Once finished, she reached for the others and scattered them round about the otherwise tidy room.

In her head, one word repeated over and over.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid! He was right. It's all just the law of averages. No more than that. It is bullshite….

Out of the blurred corner of her eye, light glinting off the glass of one of the pictures drew her to the wall.

From her beloved "Man and his Symbols" she had collected three favoured illustrations and placed them above quotes by Jung. The one before her now was the renaissance image of a man sticking his head through the blue dome of the sky. Beyond it, his eyes could behold the stars and all of their mysteries. The master's words were: “Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of others.”

She resisted the urge to tear it from the wall, instead calmly walking to the second one. In this a tree of life sprouted a roundel of roots and branches. A human figure raised his arms to become one with the upper growth, and his legs kicked themselves wide apart to merge with the earth below his feet. “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life, but you will call it fate.”

The third was her favourite: a modernist painting with a large yellow section to the left featuring Jung's face. Below it reclined the Buddha, while against a swath a blue to the right, a gentleman in an overcoat strolled amongst bamboo leaves. Here, she knew his words would affect her the most. They said: "The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both will be transformed."

She stroked the glass, seeing with cathartic clarity how the power of The Will can project the reality a person wants to inhabit, and there Hazel had lived for the last decade because she felt most comfortable there.

But it was a castle built on soap bubbles: illusionary at best. It was time for her to deal with the shame she felt from losing her career as a researcher. She'd been scared and adrift since then, and Traylen had spoken true when he advised her to dig it out and feel it. The boy had suffered no fools with her, and Hazel felt like the world's biggest clown.

Wiping her tears, an image of Maya came to mind. It was time to refocus on her, and to revitalize their marriage. Hazel had been a lousy spouse these last ten years, and a selfish one. But she must change that, and do it quickly, before it was too late to salvage their relationship.

With a bit more cheer in her heart, Hazel Daneswort went to the front of her small, fifteen-foot-wide storefront and lowered the blinds. She wondered how easy it would be to get the contact paper off the windows.

I'm closing the shop and setting this nonsense behind me to concentrate on what's real.

            

~ ~ ~  ~ ~ ~   ~ ~ ~ 

 

Traylen McCall jammed hands in his pockets, bundling against the cold drizzle as he waited for his bus back into town. A few middle-aged ladies with shopping bags eyed him nervously, but he didn’t mind. Instead he let a warm smile come to his face.

Hazel…what a funny old bird, and the woman's reading was utter rubbish.

For indeed, everything she had told him was the exact opposite of the way he really was, but his little April Fools joke on her seemed to do the trick. All he wanted to do was make her happy, and Hazel's stunned reaction reassured him he'd done good.

His musings turned darker for a moment and his grin faded.

He drew out his phone with his hands. The bright screen easily cut the afternoon gloom as he pulled up a familiar contact.

Dominic glowed in cheerful white letters, and the boy's heart pounded while he stared at it.

He cracked a few knuckles out of nervousness and became aware he was doing it.

It's time I stop.

Then, he did the right thing and pulled up Edit. In a tap or two, he confirmed it, and Delete removed the thoughts of betrayal from his heart. He truly wished his ex-best mate the best in life, but it was time for Len to move on.

He searched through his contacts again, going all the way to the end. He tapped the Call button and held the phone to his ear.

'Hello?' Zack said.

'It's Traylen. Ey up?'

'Nothin' much.'

'Naw then, love, I got somethin' to ask tha – serious like, yeh?'

There was an expectant pause on Zack's side. 'Shoot.'

Len swallowed a lump and continued, 'Wanna stop round my place tonight and chill? Pop a few beers…and…and, test the sparks between us, so to speak.'

After a moment, a helpless smile returned to Traylen McCall's face. The answer in his ear had been a soft-spoken 'Aye.'