Aling Ligaya hummed over the cards, which I recognized from long-ago readings: the ten of diamonds, which was money; the jack of spades, a young man of questionable integrity; the king of spades, an older man of equally questionable integrity; and then a heart, but just the deuce, so not worth much. I couldn’t remember what clubs stood for, but I had both a six and an ace. I was happy I wasn’t playing poker. But I also knew that Aling Ligaya didn’t read in the traditional way, that the usual narratives spun out of suits were irrelevant to her. She took the little finger and ring finger of her left hand and began tapping the cards. “Eh-to! Eh-to!” she said each time she tapped a card. She did this at a moderate speed and then faster and then sat back in her chair, eyes closed, in a trance.

We waited patiently. The child shifted in my lap, his seat bones pressing into me. The finches hopped about their cage. Outside, a hawker called, “balut,” his voice growing louder as he came up the street. Finally, Aling Ligaya opened her eyes. “It’s all lies,” she said. “All of it. There is no truth. But you”—she pointed at me with a finger bent with arthritis—“you are tough.” The word she used was “matapang,” which made me seem almost thuggish. “You always survive. But don’t trust anyone.” Her face relaxed into a smile. “Anyone, except for me.”

I waited, but that seemed to be all she had to say. “Anything else?”

“He loves you.”

“Great,” I looked over to Bibo, who was stifling a giggle. “I wanted to ask about my book. I write books, you know.”

“I know,” said Aling Ligaya. She was done.

“Am I next?” asked Bibo.

Aling Ligaya looked steadily at Bibo and then waved her hand dismissively. “Not today.”

“Next week?”

“We’ll see.”

Ejected, on the sidewalk, I tried to process what Aling Ligaya had said. I didn’t believe her pronouncements but at the same time did not completely discount them. “You know, Bibo, last time I went in there she told me I was spending too much money and that I should grow the nail on the little finger of my left hand. Also not to eat chocolate for a month.”

Bibo shrugged. “Last time I was in there, she told me not to worry about saving my money, that I should spend it on pretty things.”

“Weird,” I said. “Let’s go to Max’s for lunch. My treat.”