The Eagle and the Rose Read Online Free PDF Page A

demonstration began. First he gave a talk, explaining how long tarot cards had been in use and the meanings of the pictures. Each card, he said, was different, and although a card placed on its own had one meaning, putting it with a few others in the pack could completely change the interpretation. Basically what happens is that a few cards are placed face up on the table, in a certain pattern. Someone adept at understanding the cards can then, by interpreting them “correctly,” gain a certain knowledge concerning the person being read.
    Now if you will remember, I had not been at all happy about going out and was not really in the right frame of mind to listen to all this. I was too busy trying to stay inconspicuous. So most of what this young man was saying went over my head.
    Then he told us he was going to give a demonstration, and he began, one by one and quite slowly, to lay down the cards, face up, on the table in front of him. Because I was seated so close to him, it was impossible not to watch. I could see every card as it was placed, and my eyes became riveted to the table.
    The strange but now familiar feeling began to creep over me that I was not myself, and I could do nothing but accept it. I knew for certain, sensed, that those cards were being dealt out for me. More than that, I knew exactly what they meant. They told of my life as it was now. Of the confusion and pain.
    Suddenly, almost as if he were reading my mind, John turned to me and, looking straight into my eyes, said: “These cards have been laid out for you.”
    I sat there, amazed, not daring to say a word, and I believed that he knew that I was crazy. But these were my thoughts, not his. He then turned back to the rest of the group and continued his explanation of the demonstration. I could feel panic rising inside me and thought, He's going to tell them—he's going to tell them about me. But he didn't, he didn't say a word, and soon after he ended his talk and sat down.
    We were then told that after a cup of tea a group discussion was to follow. All I could think of was that I must get home, get out of there, before John let the cat out of the bag. Jean, of course, would have none of it.
    “We're staying,” she said. “Don't be such a wet blanket.”
    As soon as the teacups were cleared away, Paul Denham, the host, brought the group to order. He suggested that perhaps there were people present who had themselves been for a tarot reading.
    “Or maybe,” he said, “there is someone here who has firsthand experience of the paranormal?”
    Of course, there is always someone in a group like this who has perhaps seen a ghost, or knows someone who has. In no time at all people began recounting stories, either their own or one a friend had told them. Everyone seemed to have something to say on the subject. Tarot cards were forgotten, as one by one tales of ghosts, ghouls, and things that go bump in the night took over.
    You may now be thinking that I must have felt more at home, but you would be mistaken. Sitting there, listening intently to all that was being said, only made me draw more into my shell. I think I felt more isolated because it was becoming obvious that these people, although ready to accept that strange things did indeed occur, had met with very limited experiences; mine had begun to take over my life.
    I said nothing at all, willing the proceedings to end. Then, without preamble, during a lull in the conversation, Paul Denham said: “We haven't heard anything yet from the young lady sitting next to John. Rosemary, isn't it? Tell us about your experiences.”
    I felt my face go red, burning red. And I knew in that moment what a cornered animal feels like. The feeling of panic hit me for the second time that night, and I replied as steadily as I could.
    “I have never had any experience of the paranormal. I don't see things, I don't feel things, and I don't ever sense anything.”
    Irene Denham spoke up. “I don't believe