This afternoon, while sitting on our back deck, I read a short story by Max Beerbohm titled A. V. Laider. Set in the early 20th Century, it relates the discussions of two English gentlemen who meet at a seaside resort while recovering from influenza. Their initial discourse is spawned by an article in a London journal titled Faith and Reason.
This leads to a debate about palmistry and they both claim to accept its legitimacy. The remainder of the story is devoted to the guilt that has haunted A.V. Laider after he failed to warn friends about what he saw in their palm lines, leading to unnecessary tragedy. The reader is left to decide if his account was truthful or simply a debate ploy.
When I finished the short story, I gazed at my own palm with its varied lines and wrinkles. As I did, a ladybird beetle landed on that open hand and wandered about its surface, seemingly inspecting its crevices and their significance. Before flying off, the beetle left a short, dark line of its own, a powdery residue from its latest meal. Apparently, she and I agree on the subject of palmistry (and on Faith and Reason for that matter).
