Avian Auguries

A Moral Telling #3

There was once an old crone who had a trio of geese that could speak—or so she claimed. This woman lived on a hill about an hour’s walk outside her town, not entirely because she enjoyed the country air, but mostly because she was a liar and a cheat and no one liked her.

“Laverna! Please, I’m begging you… I need my future told!” gasped the man at her door—one pilgrim among many who sought her divine inspiration. “I’ll pay you in a few weeks' time, I swear! I need to know what the geese see.” His voice trailed off into a whisper so as not to upset the heavenly order of avian mystics.

How she smiled and sniggered at the wayward soul in her doorway! Her crooked teeth protruding from her large fish-shaped mouth, she cackled at the man’s doom and said: “Ahhh, my poor fellow, I’m torn, truly I am—but I simply cannot perform the sacred rites without the proper coin.” Drool leaked from the corners of her mouth as she spoke, wide-eyed, coveting the sight of her prostrated penitent.

How she lorded this power over these simple-minded townsfolk! And she, an adept avian augur, was touched by the Almighty and imbued with such powers. Why should she use these powers to give charity to fools?

“My Laverna, my priestess, please? Priam’s daughter is but a shade that sits at your feet! Only a few words from these mighty geese and I will be on my way…”

“No coin, no prophecy!” she said, slamming the door on the poor fellow, her grin twisting her face into distorted shapes.

Then one day, while a torrent poured from the sky, old Laverna heard a pounding knock at the door. “Who is it!?” She bellowed through the wooden frame, in a tenor higher than the rolling thunder.

“’Tis a humble friar, my lady, Gabriel is my name, I seek shelter from the storm!” he cried and pleaded.

Huffing and puffing, Laverna reluctantly opened the door. I can’t send a friar into this chaos, she thought, the townsfolk would hang me by my neck! He’ll seek room and board, but it’ll cost him!

Friar Gabriel, soaked and tangled as Neptune’s beard, walked into the tiny home and gave thanks to his host for her kindness. “Bless you, sweet woman!” he said, grabbing and kissing her forehead.

She wiped away the saliva from her brow and, with a scowl, said, “Only one night, friar, don’t think to get too comfortable here. When the storm is gone, so will you be!”

An uneventful night passed with few words between them, and when the sun rose, Friar Gabriel found his haughty hostess outside feeding her animals.

“What a gorgeous hog you have,” said the friar jovially, “yes, and such a sturdy mule, too.” He slapped the old beast on the ass. “And what do we have here?” he asked as the three geese waddled into sight, looking for their breakfast.

Now, sly old Laverna knew better than to try and wring a few farthings out of the naïve friar, being a man of God and all, she figured he wouldn’t bite into her story of prophecy and divination—but alas, she could not help herself.

“How perceptive you are, young friar,” she replied, “these three geese are worth more than all my animals combined.”

“You don’t say?” he looked over the curious waddlers in awe. They seemed as simple and ordinary as any other quackers he’d seen.

“Yes, yes, I do say,” her smile and ugly teeth twisting into shape as she spun her ploy. “These three geese are magi—they’re sent from GOD!” She figured that would be a better twist for her theologically inclined friend.

“FROM GOD?”

“Hush, my child,” she said in a soft and solemn tone. “For but two deniers, I will converse with these geese, and they’ll tell me your future! What say you?” She held out a wrinkled, greedy hand, palm up.

“By Saint Michael, but that’s witchcraft!” exclaimed the friar, falling back in shock. “You’re either a witch or a swindler, and I’ll have none of it, God help me!”

Before the chattering cheat could utter another word, the friar was up and out and running down the road towards the village. His robes dragged behind him, a cross in his hand.

“Ah, well, I’ll get another victim soon enough,” she said aloud for none but her livestock to hear.

Later that day, when the sun was at its crest, Laverna was sleeping outside in a bundle of hay when suddenly she heard her name being called.

“LAH-vern-AH!” the voice said.

She jumped and spun around, looking for anyone near, but all she saw were her three geese.

“LAH-vern-AH!” cried the voice, which seemed to be coming from her fowls. Confused and sleepy, she pinched her arm, letting out a great howl, and resolved that she was indeed awake and her beloved geese were speaking with her.

“Yes?” she asked reluctantly.

“LAH-vern-AH,” they began again, in a disturbingly rhythmic tone, almost indecipherable from a quack. “YOU’ve BEEN bad, LAH-vern-AH! Lying TO the TOWNS-folk and CHEATing them out OF their COINS!”

“But, but, but,” she muttered, utterly unprepared for the events at hand. “It seems I didn’t lie,” she retorted, gathering her composure, “by heaven, you do speak!”

“YES, we DO. And we SHOULD warn YOU of your FATE!” She swallowed hard in a dry mouth, the hair on her neck standing straight as an archer’s shaft. “FOR your SINS, you’LL be CRUSHED by the WEIGHT of CHRIST!”

“Crushed by… the weight… of Christ?” she stammered.

“REPENT! Laverna, REPENT of your CRIMES!” they spoke in chorus, ending in a quack and waddled off to swim in a nearby puddle that had formed after the storm.

The old witch, the smile having dropped from her face, wide-eyed and amazed, wasted not another second and scurried down the road to find Friar Gabriel and ask for his forgiveness.

Exhausted and delirious, she finally reached town and barged into the local church like the horseman on judgment day. The local priest, Friar Gabriel, and a few laborers who were renovating the parish, jumped out of their boots with fright and turned to face the intruder.

“Laverna?” started Friar Gabriel, “What are you doing here?”

“Sweet friar, please, I beg you?” She fell to her knees and crawled along the aisle to where the men stood. “Forgive me! I lied! I was wrong to slander and cheat and steal…” she whimpered and sobbed, “Please, take my sins away!”

“What on Earth is the meaning of this?” snapped the local priest, but before Friar Gabriel could explain, Laverna burst out, “I lied about the geese! But just now they spoke to me of—”

“You lied about the geese?” cried a laborer from behind the pulpit, “but I gave you one of my father’s hogs because your damned geese said if I didn’t, I would be struck by an illness!”

“But—I—they…”

And before Laverna could try to explain, refute, or recommence her groveling, the laborer, struck by the news of her deceit, had let go of a rope he was using to hoist up a large wooden cross. The other men, unsteady with the weight, dropped their end and jumped out of the way, leaving the large crucifix to balance itself.

All eyes were transfixed on the scene at hand, yet not one was quick enough to stop the catastrophe from occurring. The effigy of the Savior wobbled and tipped, spiraled straight down, and crushed poor Laverna right where she knelt.

The priest fainted, the laborer dropped to his knees, and the other two ran out of the church for fear of a holy retaliation for desecrating the image of Christ. Sweet Friar Gabriel, taken with grief and pity for the woman, strode a few steps towards her and blessed her mangled body.

“May the Lord forgive you,” he said solemnly over her corpse. And he paid the men to bury her behind the church.

Moral of the story: don’t conspire with quacks