By L. S. Sekishiro

Olive green tea leaves swirled about, rushing though hot water and nudging each other before taking their predestined places at the bottom of the white porcelain cup. Madame Quo peered over the lip and what she read through the bronze-colored brew caused tiny beads of sweat to form across her brow.

***

The tarnished bell over the glass-framed wooden door rang out announcing the arrival of another customer. Quo's Teashop at l0u' and Main had sold exotic teas and blends imported from China since 1941. A ceiling fan hummed, circulating stale air infused by a melange of dried aromatic leaves. Faded green paint chipped from every wall. Madame Quo rose from a stool behind the counter to greet her client, wincing before reaching her full height of four feet and eleven inches. Ai, my back! Perhaps more of my special blend would help. I must remember to prepare some later. She hobbled toward the cash register, hands clutched at her waist massaging her lower back through a simple cotton print smock.

A petite woman dressed in a fuchsia silk suit rushed in, calling out, "Quo!" Her heavy floral perfume interrupted the fragrance of the teashop.

"Ah! Councilwoman Yee! Such a pleasure to see you again. I have your mother's order right here." The shopkeeper retrieved a brown paper-wrapped package from under the aged Formica counter top.

"That's a full ounce, right?" The ambitious young politician snapped. Her irritation was no small remnant from last night's city council meeting. Councilwoman Yee's main platform during last year's election had been the redevelopment of the downtown area. But because of Madame Quo and several other old-timers' refusal to relocate, as recent as yesterday, she had yet to make good on those promises.

The shopkeeper was hurt by the city official's insinuation. She had never tipped the scales in her favor. And she always offered a free tea reading "for good measure". From atop the ancient register she pulled down an abacus, flicked the loose disks and turned the apparatus toward the young woman.

"Never mind." The councilwoman waved a hand through the air dismissing the telling beads, something she never took the time to learn. "Here's my mother's money." She slipped a fat white envelope across the counter.

"Thank you, Councilwoman. Please tell your mother. . . "

"I'm only here because my mother asked me to pick up her tea for her," Ms. Yee interrupted. "She swears by it, but you and I both know there's nothing to your so-called `special ancient Chinese blends'. You're nothing but a con artist, Quo," the young woman started, continuing her tirade from last night.

"How is your mother, by the way?" Madame Quo asked, wanting to change the subject. She turned toward a battered TV tray behind her. Ai, the younger generations! 7hey have such disrespect for the old ways! From the small table she took two white porcelain cups and a thermos of hot water. She reached into a jar on the counter and produced pinches of dried olive green tea that she sprinkled into the vessels. "Let's have some refreshment. I'll read your leaves. Free, of course."

The impatient woman eyed the shopkeeper with suspicion, but her curiosity had been piqued. She placed her slim leather day bag on the counter. "My mother is fine. Her doctor calls it a medical miracle, but I say she's just in remission. For some reason she believes it's this concoction of yours that's seems to have cured her." She reached for a cup.

The councilwoman, with lips pursed and arms folded across her tailored suit, leaned against the counter and watched the dried foliage twist and turn its random dance. Madame Quo stood rubbing her back but froze when she saw the star pattern begin to form.

"Quo! What's the matter with you? Why are you sweating all of a sudden? And your face is red," the councilwoman shouted.

Madame Quo wiped her damp brow with the back of her hand.

"Quo! What is it?"

"You don't have much time. . ." She blinked her eyes in disbelief.

"Don't have much time for what?"

"You . . .you . . ."

"I'll tell you what I don't have much time for. It's this ancient Chinese mumbojumbo crap of yours." The young woman picked up her teacup. Madame Quo reached across the counter but was unable to prevent her from taking the hot liquid in one gulp. "I'm going to have a thorough investigation done on your shop, Quo, and with the results you'll be out of business. Have a nice day." The councilwoman slammed down the cup, picked up her bag, scooped up her mother's package and stormed out of the teashop.

That's when Madame Quo heard the deafening sound of screeching tires.