It wasn’t generally known that the elderly gentleman in apartment 18B was helping people.
Not that he was a volunteer or anything, far from it. He charged people for his services. In fact, he made a very good living out of it. He sometimes had as many as six or seven customers come and go from his flat during the day. The taxation authorities knew nothing about it. This coming and going would have been more easily noticed if there had not been a carefully placed flower trellis on the corner of the building. Only those with a particular need would be told how to find him. Most who went there were looking for answers.
He was an oracle, or at least that’s what people called him. He would have said he was a fortune teller, plain and simple. However, owing to his remarkable success rate at giving people the correct answers, the title had stuck. There was no mumbo jumbo about him. No turban, although it may have suited because of his Indian appearance, no crystal ball or cards, no trappings. His customers would sit with him, either side of the kitchen table. He would tell them to take their time and to word there request as clearly as possible.
Most of the time these requests would fall into one, common category. Would her husband pull through his operation, would she get the job, should he marry her, should she marry him. Then, there would be a different, perhaps more complex question, even ones that dealt with the customer’s mortality. This was the case with the man who was coming straight from his office. When he arrived he thanked the oracle for taking him at such short notice.
When they were seated, the old man said, “Let us just sit quietly for a time while you think about why you came here, and to think about how you are going to tell me about it. I’m going to close my eyes, but you don’t have to.”
After a minute or two, the man said, “The reason I came, well, it feels as though I’m on the edge of something. Something is coming up I mean. I’ve felt it for some time, but the feeling, whatever it is, was very strong when I woke up this morning.”
There were a few opening questions about how the man felt, was he worried, did he feel safe? Then came a long period of silence. Finally, the oracle opened his eyes and said, “Yes, I feel it.” He went quiet for a while longer. Then he said, “There’s something about a mirror. Not afraid of mirrors are you?”
“No.”
“Or perhaps you’ve broken one lately?”
He thought for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”
“Strange,” said the old man with the sight. “No matter, it may become clear.”
“Are you thinking of taking your children to the zoo, perchance?”
“No. I don’t have children and I’m not married.”
“A trip overseas, perhaps? Like Australia, for instance?”
“No. Nothing planned like that.”
“This may sound strange, but do you know anyone who keeps wild creatures as pets, like, crocodiles, let’s say.”
He sat thinking for a long time. “As you say, a strange question, but no, I can’t think of anything of that sort.”
The questions went on for some time before the old man grew tired. He knew there was something, something imminent, but all he could do was tell the man to take care. He always said that on such occasions as this, knowing full well that it wouldn’t do any good. It would make no difference.
The session ended and the man left for home. He would normally go home by train, but there had been a derailment on the news. Despite what he’d been told, he wanted to improve his chances. It wasn’t that far, he’d get a taxi, he could afford it.
It was only moments before the oncoming truck veered across the road into the wrong lane, that he noticed the little, plastic crocodile, happily swinging from the rear vision mirror.