5.3 Valley of Flowers

A more shocking and revealing experience took place in an encounter with a woman that afternoon. Tyler noticed her sitting by the counter vaping a shisha. As he came to finish his plate, she stepped towards him moving in a levitating manner. A tall slender woman with a long torso and a smile on her face in a lazy walk throbbing her hips. Both hands clinched but this time holding a bottle of Ballantine’s and a bottle of coke. She wore a long swing dress made of cotton, embroidered in vivid colours and jewelled, complete with a red-bordered vest, ornamented hat, teasels and plaits. He knew from that distance that she was coming right at him.

She paused at his table dissipating a dense scent around, “May I join you!”

“Please,” he rose to greet, “I am Tyler Friesen.”

“My name is Charragayt Shogh. Call me Cherry,” she corrected the barrel chair to sit sideways and faced to him, “I noticed you sitting here alone. Mind a drink!”

Tyler moved the glasses towards her to fill them up, “Please! You speak very good English.”

“I was at Oxford,” she poured a glass, “that was a long time ago. Are you an American?”

“Yes, and I’m a writer.”

“Did you notice that man sitting next to me at the counter?”

Tyler frowned in surprise, “No.”

“I thought so,” her lips were dark and continued to smile, “he was watching you. He could be Blue Beret.”

“Blue Beret?”

“A pro-Russian faction in Hrazdan and an armed group,” she passed him his glass, “curbing obstacles and supporting project works, rise against people who try to oppose,” her words flowed slowly.

“How do you know that he’s watching me?”

“I am psychic, Mr Friesen. I can read minds. I felt a strong vibration and there was a girl involved.”

“A girl?”

“A girl with strong black hair. Wait! I think I have a name,” she closed her eyes to concentrate and then she whispered, “Hajnal!”

Tyler sat jaw dropped.

Cherry snapped abruptly, “Puck!” cutting fingers across her lap, “She looks weird!” Cherry opened her eyes and laughed, “You have a very sexy mind, Mister Friesen!” She meant what she said but didn’t comprehend what she meant.

Tyler didn’t know what to say.

“You are focused on more vital areas.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I saw the girl sleeping naked.”

“You surprise me,” uttered Tyler, “I’m shocked. Everything you said was true. I confess, I took a photo of a girl while she slept and she didn’t know.”

“That man has the same face on his mind.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s gone.”

“Am I in any sort of danger?”

“No,” she said, “Blue Berets don’t operate in this village. You have nothing to worry.”

“Cherry! What is my future?”

“I can’t read the future. I grasp a vibration from an object or the mind as well as the surrounding. Sometimes it may not occur and I come up with nothing.”

“I wish I had a talent like yours. Can you read a vibration from a photographic image?”

“Possible.”

“Wow! Is this your profession?”

“I run a therapeutic clinic and a yoga class at this hotel. We have clients from all over the world. I do more serious stuff like mind reading in Makravan at my place.”

“Makravan?”

“It is a small village two kilometres away on the other side of the hill.”

“How long have you been practising this psychic reading?” asked Tyler.

“Twenty-one years.”

“What do you read in my thoughts?”

“Your mind is busy…sending strong vibrations. I can feel my body levitating when I begin to receive such vibrations,” she explained, “I feel light-headed and lifted in air.”

Tyler saw the white Volga stop outside. “There’s Grigor’s car. I think I’ll go back to the hotel now. How do I find you?”

“I’m here most of the time,” said the woman.

“I’m coming back for the show,” Tyler got up.

“Hope to see you then!”

“Nice to meet you!”

 

Grigor stopped the Volga by the fence gate. Tyler climbed down and waved him goodbye. As the car rolled away, somebody pausing there by the rock wall on a bike called him, “Mister Friesen!”

Tyler turned to face him with both hands in his jacket pockets. “Yes!”

“I would like to see your papers,” he stepped forward wearing a chocka with a bandolier of cartridges and a headgear, “Passport and visa.”

“Why?” he asked.

The man hesitated, “You are American!”

“That’s right.”

“They asked me to check.”

“Who?”

“I’m from Passport and Visa Office.”

“Do you have an ID?”

“No sir. My name is Boghos, I am from Hrazdan. Ministry of Territorial Administration in Yerevan called and my boss sent me here.”

“Ah!” Tyler understood something was lingering over him, “My papers are in the room. Will you come with me!” He decided to take him to the room and show a little candidness that could trick him.

18:50 on his watch. They walked down the long corridor and he was saying joyously, “You know, I am a writer. I look for some kind of excitement to counter with on my trips and I mean episodes like this precisely.”

And the guy nodded following Tyler.

“Here we are! This is my room,” he entered and swung open the first suitcase he touched and grabbed a couple of books shoving them into his hands, “These are few of my paperback novels. My work. Do you like to read storybooks?” Tyler saw a wrapping lying bare in the suitcase in which he placed those developed photographs.

Boghos shook his head glancing at those books in his two hands. Tyler grabbed his bag and produced his papers with three months of entry permit as well as his passport.

“What is the purpose of your visit?” he asked.

“I am just travelling through East Europe looking for cool places I prefer to sit and meditate that may help me come up with a new idea.”

Boghos tossed the papers back to him and said, “I go back and tell them you are a writer.”

“Go back and tell them,” Tyler uttered in total calmness.

“Enjoy your stay!” And Boghos left the room.