2. High Priestess

Frustrated and mystified as to why this article seemed so difficult to write, I went to the abandoned Scotty’s on School Ave, which functions as a sort of Unspeakable Writing Clinic: in the basement (beneath a tarp, next to the “sweet smelling stone” of Rhazes) is an old fortune telling relic left behind from circus days: the Gossip of Thebes. The Gossip of Thebes is easy to use, her openings having been filed over the centuries to accept a variety of coins. American money works especially well, but for some reason the maple leaf of Canadian coins offends her. Interpretation, however, is difficult, for you get a different answer depending on which orifice you put the coin through and there is no small art in knowing which slot to use for what question. The Gossip of Thebes was well-known for saying untimely things, fatal tidings in an unforgettable voice that was all-too familiar; for this reason, it was said, over the years, she lost her voice (or it was silenced) and eventually the Gossip was modified to dispense little printed fortunes on something like paper, that, however, your should never put in your mouth nor touch with your lips. Having made my obeisance to the four directions and the Gossip, I placed a newly minted quarter through her ______ , this one honoring the statehood of of Virginia. The coin fell a surprising distance before registering its arrival; the name of a lost people came unbidden to my lips. An unmistakable scratching sound began inside the box at the base of the figure, as though a rat were trapped inside. Then a shuffling sound, the scratches interrupted by a light intermittent ringing, like the uncoiling of some internal spring mechanism, or the sound of an inkwell scraped by a nib. There was a great deal more shuffling, as though the primary task inside the mechanism was now for something to come to rest, or at the very least get comfortable. Finally, a different kind of scraping announced the issuance of the fortune from a slot below. It came out on a slip much the color and consistency of ancient teabag, with dull dark reddish writing printed on it. It said:

{In the prose of hell there is no single topic sentence. All the other sentences are afflicted with pride, lust and envy and seek continually to rule and organize the other sentences. They rebel, as before.}

Then, as a further inducement, it continued:

{Add another coin in her slot and the sphinx will whisper the nine sacred words in your ear that will give you an erection that can only be satisfied by the end of the world.}


I passed on this, because what is the point of losing your erection at the end of the world?

Further, I knew the Gossip’s true secret (if it indeed, even were the same Sphinx): whatever thing was inside the box and its labours were unimportant, a distraction. The Sphinx spoke in sudden jolts of memory and inexplicable phrases and thoughts that you suddenly came to mind and persisted. In this case, the Sphinx had given me a name that my lips sounded out before I heard it: Crotoan.

When I returned home, I found another part of the article had been written. It dealt, however, exclusively with the history of the Roanoke Colonies and the probable fate of Virginia Dare.