The Palm Reader

I had my palm read once in my life, at thirteen. The reader was a bright girl that I loved just because she was bright. She was also free and open, or at least, more so than anyone else in our school. The other girls loved having their palms read, but not so with the boys, who dismissed her palm-reading as medieval and "just for the girls." They didn't see what I saw. They were looking at her chest, but I was looking at her soul. I was the first boy who volunteered, no, insisted that she read my palm.

She knew I was a skeptic, because I was never shy about my opinions. She scolded me for my doubts and defended palmistry with favorable anecdotes selected from history. I retaliated with Science, my favorite standby, but she was having none of it. This surprised me a great deal, because I thought she was smarter than me, and expected her to be at least as scientific as I was. She asserted there was no conflict between palmistry and science. She had me promise not to laugh, but to treat the reading with the dignity and gravity that it deserved. I was scolded if I so much as smiled. She was afraid of embarrassment, I think. I swore upon my honor not to laugh, and I kept my word.

The touch of her hand was electric, and I think the hand-holding lured the other boys over, curiosity winning over prejudice. But I was the first, the trend-setter. As she studied the lines, I asked many questions about palmistry, curious about what had ensnared such an intelligent person. She told me the names of the lines: the heart line, the head line, the life line, the girdle of Venus, and several planets and other nonsense like that. She noted they were only indicators, a guide through which she performed her art. I am to this day unsure what her precise methodology was, and I'm afraid she did not know how to explain it. She admitted that it was a bit of a mystery.

She told me that I would have many lovers in my lifetime, and this proved true over time, but it is also true of many other people. She told me I would eventually find a lifelong "partner," but she never disclosed the gender. So I asked her--"surely it's a woman?" She said she didn't know, but I think she knew more than she cared to say aloud. She did not tell me anything that a sober observer couldn't have guessed from ten minutes' acquaintance with me. So I remained unpersuaded, both then and now, though her unambitious predictions have proven true.

Later in life, she built a successful business around palmistry. Women go to her for counseling, therapy, and guidance. I am sure they wouldn't pay her if they didn't feel they received something of value in exchange for their money. My guess is that she succeeds because of her charisma, insight, cunning, and personal magnetism. It would be a mistake to dismiss her based upon her chosen profession, although I have been tempted. I don't approve of witchcraft, because it seems like a throwback to the superstitious past. On the one hand, I wonder whether she preys upon the gullible. On the other hand, I fail to recall her ever doing evil in the time that we were acquainted. Just the opposite. She was good, to my recollection, and never harmed another person, save for the harm that cannot be prevented, such as when a boy fell in love with her, and the love was unrequited.

Now my take on palmistry is as follows. I think some people are prescient. It is possible to perceive many things at a glance and divine many things based upon scant evidence. I have done this, and so have you in all likelihood. Sometimes I wonder about that. It is a strange and curious power, I will grant. To the best of my knowledge, this power is not based in magic, but in the brain. I have watched experts at chess calculate moves faster than would seem possible by a human being. They are seeing into the future as well, often with the faintest of clues to guide them. So it is with the good palmist, the one who has the power to tell you your future. Do not underestimate the agility of the human brain. Much that seems like magic is the natural and scientific product of this wondrous instrument. But nothing is outside the realm of science, which is the language of the Universe. And I am not impressed with someone who claims to see the future based upon skin. There is something wrong with that, racist even. Palmistry is a case of diversion, where a great fuss is made about an irrelevant topic (skin), with the sole purpose of disarming the defenses of the one being read. The actual work involves observation, psychoanalysis, and deductive reasoning. That is all mundane and boring stuff, but it works, and it is not necessarily as cumbersome or slow as one might suppose, and may even be accurate enough to raise the hairs on the back of your neck.