She was unable to foresee the future with her man.
Maria sat by flickering candlelight, bathed in the scent of glowing joss sticks—sandalwood. An unlit Tiffany style lamp with gold fringe hung above the fortune teller, medium, clairvoyant and astrologer of some renown in Rio de Janeiro. In her hands, she held a deck of Tarot cards. Somehow she had not foreseen her future with Luiz.
Where was Luiz? At the Black Cat most likely, losing the 200 reals I gave him. He had never earned a paycheck and slept late most mornings to awaken angry or depressed—two sides of the same coin.
She turned one of the cards face up: The Three of Swords. Three long steel blades
impaled a bright red heart with clouds and rain behind. It spoke of absence and delay—removal.