The Present Paradise

As the humdrum hours passed, the minutes seemed to get longer for Channah. Only the clatter of the doorbell announcing the arrival of a customer stirred the musty stillness. Elbows supporting her, Channah leaned over the counter engrossed in an open book. The page contained a diagram of the human body. "Illness, including hysteria, is caused by an unbalance of blood, phlegm and bile." She read the explanation, her brow scrunching in a thoughtful disagreement.

Picking up charcoal, she wrote in the margin, "Illness can be rooted in emotional pain from the past. The origins are not just physiological." She looked at her note and snorted in disapproval. Her sloppy letter smudged the charcoal into illegible lines. At a rapid pace, Channah had regained her language and her grasp on concepts of magic, but her kinetic abilities came back slower.

"Perhaps physical motion is more concrete so it is linked more to the memory." Her mentor explained after a headache formed due to a frustrating bought with crystals. "Trying common physical patterns that were a part of your life is scratching at your memories. And we know that doing that causes you headaches." His voice remained soft and comforting, but his facial expression hardened in contemplative thought.

Channah drummed her fingers as her mind drifted to her frequent headaches. She knew her headaches did not come from an imbalance of liquids in her body. "I always considered mine rooted in some magic blocking me from accessing my memories, but," Channah muttered to herself, eyes widening to the thought, "what if headaches are caused by my current emotional distress over that void or even some past pain?"

Picking up the small bag beside her, Channah pulled out a leather journal. She turned to an empty page and wrote, "I always thought that magic was the root of my headaches, but what if they were caused from my emotional pain? Talk to Asra about this. If my hunch is true, we could have a lead in how to regain my memories back. When my headaches are gone, then I can work on remembering again."

She flipped her journal closed and placed it back into her knapsack. Turning back to her book, she heard the low hum of voices from the backroom. She tuned her ears to their words, but she could not recognize who spoke. As she tried to listen, she imagined her master sitting cross-legged on the floor, reading maybe tea leaves, or crystals or even his trusted cards. Across from him, she pictured the newly wedded client, trying to catch Asra's eyes, her wedding ring hidden in her coin purse.

Channah sniggered at the image. "Oh Asra," she mocked, "always catching the town's eye, young, old, male or female. It doesn't matter."

"He certainly caught your eye." Channah's smirk fell at the invasive thought. Blushing, she focused her attention back on her reading. The low of hum of voices brought the persistent image of Asra, bent over the table, looking at the cards with a concerned intent. In Channah's imagination, he turned and looked at her.

She shut her book before she could complete her vision, a furious blush on her cheeks. "I better check the time." She hissed to the stillness. "Asra shouldn't be late for his next appointment."

As she stepped out from the shop, the force of the sun pushed against her skin. The pressing heat heightened the bitter scent of mulch, manure and sewage.  A splatter impacted the ground behind her, and Channah tensed at the smell of new urine.

"I am so sorry!" A female voice called out from above. "I didn't see you walking there."

Channah looked upwards to see a middle-aged woman holding an empty bedpan. The magician's apprentice forced a smile. "It's alright," she called up. "How is your father doing, by the way?"

"He's not doing better and he is not doing worse." The woman said. "His sickness still keeps me at his bedside, most days. I can hardly tell the hours apart."