June 26, 2019

The Card Game

“So deal already,” urged the bearded one. Like the others, he had wrapped a sheet around his head to protect himself from the mid-day sun. He was drenched in sweat and anxious for the game to resume.

“Alright,” cried the dealer, “if you take your dirty hands from the table, I’ll be able to deal.” He, too, was edgy. The players were always somewhat nervous until the game got underway and they could forget what was ailing them, if only for a while. They had draped a cloth over a makeshift table and had gathered every day for a month now to play while they waited.

“Around and around they go,” called out the dealer as he expertly dealt the cards with a deft flick of the wrist. He was the permanent dealer at this game for they were his cards. Like the table, they were improvised, made from paper they had stolen when they left. Nobody complained about the unfair arrangements. This was, they knew, better than nothing.

“Bet’s to the Jack,” he announced after having turned over the up cards.

The man who held Jack stroked his long beard, checked his down card, then made a bet. The game began in earnest as it had for every day during the last month.

It had been a long wait.

The game, for now, was five-card stud.

Poker.

There were five players.

The players were always the same; they were the only ones who knew how to play.

Once, when the bearded one had been taken ill for three days, they had tried playing with four, but it had not been the same.

Aside from the dealer and the bearded one, there were three others at the table: the farmer, the shoemaker, and the merchant. In truth, back home they had all been common labourers, but the last three could lay claim to previous occupations. The bearded one and the dealer had never been anything but labourers, so the others had, charitably, accorded them their respective titles.

While they all had beards, the bearded one had by far the longest, so he acquired that honoured moniker.

The dealer, well, he was the dealer. No one had ever called him anything else.

Winning was more a matter of pride than anything else. There was nowhere to spend any accumulated riches anyway. The dealer was a real student of the game. He liked to figure out the odds and percentages. He knew if it was worthwhile to try to fill a straight. The shoemaker would clap his hands joyfully whenever he won a big pot, which was rare, while the merchant, who was a miserly sort, would mope whenever he lost. The farmer did not seem to care either way nor did the bearded one. They were just there to pass the time, complain a little, and reminisce about days gone by.

The bearded one would sometimes turn the conversation to what lay ahead but would usually be shouted down by the others.

“Do you think that the old man will come back?” asked the shoemaker to no one in particular. It had been their favourite topic of discussion these last few weeks.

“Are you crazy?” replied the dealer. “He’s gone for good. We’ll never see the likes of him again.”

“I wish that we had never seen or heard of him in the first place,” said the merchant angrily. “Just look where he has taken us.”

“A strange old man,” mused the bearded one philosophically, “almost as if he were in another world.”

“He gets visions,” added the farmer. “How could we have trusted a man who gets visions?”

“Oh yes, those visions,” said the dealer. Turning to the shoemaker, he asked, “Are you in or out?”

“I’m thinking,” replied the shoemaker, who was showing a four of hearts. “Am I allowed to think for a minute or are you in some kind of rush?”

“I’ll give you a month,” responded the dealer. “Just tell me if you’re in or out?”

The shoemaker took one last look at his hole card and then folded. The farmer quietly picked up the discarded card and took a peek. He had acquired a bad habit, if you could call it a habit, of looking at other players’ discarded cards. This type of unethical behaviour, cheating, in fact, had created tremendous furor in early days, but the players soon realized that this was virtually the only joy he derived from the game and his occasional cheating did not ever affect the outcome. Furthermore, while he was quite concerned with finding out what other players had, he often forgot to look at his own down card.

The shoemaker, now that he was out of the hand, asked again if anyone thought that the old man would return.

The dealer repeated that he did not think so and then asked the merchant if he was calling the bet.

“So why are we waiting?” asked the merchant as he threw in his bet. The dealer needn’t have asked him if he was in or not, because the merchant hated to drop out of a hand. Which is why he lost all the time. He was the least patient of the five and was in favour of breaking away.

“His brother has asked us to wait,” explained the farmer patiently, as he had done countless of times before. “So we are waiting.”

The dealer pushed in his bet and dealt another round of cards. Both he and the merchant winced when they saw that the bearded one had received another Jack.

“So we should listen to him?” argued the merchant as the conversation resumed. “He’s almost as crazy as his brother. Just look at where those two have led us.” He held up his hands in an expansive gesture and pointed at the surroundings. “For this we should listen?”

“You shouldn’t speak about him that way,” cautioned the farmer. “He is holy man.”

“He’s brought us nothing but troubles,” cried the merchant in disgust. “I don’t see why we should listen to either of them anymore.”

The table fell silent for a moment as the players considered the cards before them. The pair of Jacks in front of the bearded one sent all but the merchant scurrying away. Even the farmer, who did not ordinarily care, dropped out. The dealer surveyed the situation and flipped out two more cards.

“So don’t listen,” he said with a sardonic smile. “If you want to go, go, we’re not stopping you. But before you go, tell me one thing, are you in or out?”

The other players laughed but the merchant was not amused. “Sure, go ahead and laugh,” he said. “But don’t be surprised to wake up tomorrow morning and find that I’m gone.”

He had made this threat every day for the last week, but this did not deter the bearded one, who now had a Queen to go along with his two Jacks, from asking the obvious question.

“So where would you go?” he said softly as he methodically stroked his beard.

“Back,” replied the merchant.

“You would go back?” asked the dealer, unbelieving.

“That’s right,” said the merchant defiantly, “I would go back.”

“We have travelled all this way and now you want to return,” observed the bearded one as he made yet another bet.

“You heard me right the first time,” replied the merchant as he matched the bet. “We were fools to have left in the first place.”

“Last card,” announced the dealer, “down and dirty.” As he handed out the last two cards, he pointed out to no one in particular that the merchant, who was showing three spades, had a possible flush. The dealer enjoyed giving a running commentary of the game almost as much as he liked dealing out his custom-made cards. He waited a moment for the two to check their last cards before continuing his questioning of the merchant. “If my memory serves me right,” he began carefully, “you were the first to pack his bags when he heard the news. Have you forgotten how it was already or does your back no longer bother you?”

The merchant raised his voice in replying, “How could I have known that it was going to be like this? I would have never left if I had known that this was going to be our fate.” At the same time as launching into a long diatribe about their present situation, he made a big final bet. His speech, though heartfelt, was meant to be a diversion from what was an obvious bluff. Everyone at the table knew that he had not gotten flush.

“You know,” remarked the bearded one as he raised the bet, “ever since I have known you, you have been a complainer. Wasn’t it you who grumbled every day of the week that your back was killing you and that you could take it no longer? Wasn’t it you who said that we should revolt and fight? And now you are ready to return and give it all back. I wonder who is this fool?”

“I am the fool,” shouted the merchant, who was upset that his bluff hadn’t worked. “You speak of giving it all up. What is it that we’re giving up? We work harder here than we ever did at home. I can’t even remember the last time I ate some meat.”

“Ah, so it is your stomach that is dictating your brain now. I figured as much.”

“And you are…”

The dealer banged his hand on the table and called for quiet.

“Enough! Are we playing or not? I, for one, came here to play. Now you,” he said pointing to the merchant, “did you get your flush?”

The merchant shook his head and said that the best that he could come up with was a pair of fours, not good enough. The bearded one raked in the pot and the dealer gathered the cards and called it a new game. The game resumed with each player concentrating on their cards. The game was five-card draw and the conversation was restricted to matters at hand. The bearded one was debating whether he should draw two or three cards when the farmer spoke, almost to himself.

“A roast lamb would be nice,” he said in a sigh, licking his lips.

“Or maybe a chicken,” added the shoemaker.

“What I would like,” said the merchant dreamily, “is a nice cool bath in the river.”

The players all bobbed their heads in agreement, a nice bath in the river would be just the thing for this heat.

“I used to take a bath every day,” said the bearded one.

“I took two a day,” boasted the merchant.

“Must I remind you all that we worked from sun up to sunset every day of the week,” said the dealer. “How quickly you seem to forget.”

“So we worked,” challenged the merchant. “Has anything changed? I have the same blisters on my feet from all this walking as I had from work. At least there I could soak them in the river at night.”

“True,” agreed the shoemaker, “and we had food on the table every night.”

“Nothing special,” said the farmer, who had eaten better than most.

“But it was food,” added the bearded one.

“If I have to eat one more piece of that poor excuse for bread, I think that I shall be sick,” spat out the merchant.

“We had those strange birds last week,” argued the dealer, although even he had to admit that they had been barely edible.

Their thoughts turned to the ‘comforts’ and ‘delicacies’ of home. So lost were they in their thoughts that nobody noticed the dealer rake in the pot midway through the hand. They knew that he was prone to occasional cheating and would not have minded anyway.

The dealer re-dealt the cards without a word.

They continued to play as if nothing had happened. They had become, after a month of doing this, creatures of habit. Quietly reminiscing about the old days was part of the custom.

Back in the camp, amongst the others, fights had broken out and they were grateful for this opportunity to retain their sanity now that little made sense anymore. As the days went by, with the blistering sun ever-present overhead, it was easy to forget the hardships from which they had escaped. And now they had to wait for the old man, their leader, to return, if he ever would return. So they waited and played in silence.

The dealer won most of the hands but nobody seemed to care.

The quiet of the card game was broken by the cry of one of the women running towards them.

It was the merchant’s young wife.

“They have gone mad,” she cried, tears streaming down her face, “they have gone completely mad.”

“Be still, woman,” ordered the merchant. “Can’t you see that we are playing?”

“But they’ve gone mad,” she repeated.

“What happened?” asked the shoemaker, who, having lost the last three hands, was anxious for a break. “Why do you say that they’ve gone mad?”

“My earrings,” she cried, pointing to her now-naked earlobes. “They have taken my earrings.”

“Your earrings,” said her husband. “Why have they taken your earrings?”

“They did not say,” she said, regaining her composure now, “but they have taken the earrings and bracelets of all the women.”

“Quick,” shouted the dealer, “we must get our weapons, the enemy has attacked again.”

They had been attacked twice already during their journey.

“It is not the enemy,” explained the merchant’s wife, “it is our own people. They have become restless. They do not want to wait anymore. The old man’s brother has asked them to gather our earrings.”

“Why should they want your earrings?” wondered the bearded one. “Have they discovered a market in this wasteland?” He smiled broadly, displaying an uneven set of yellowing teeth.

“Yes,” said the farmer hopefully, “perhaps they will use it to barter.”

“I think not,” said the wife, “for they have thrown all the gold in a big pot, I know not why.”

“Do not fear,” said the dealer, “they are probably only cooking us lunch. It will be a nice change from that flat bread.”

The card players had a good laugh and returned their attention to the cards.

“But what shall I…”

“Be off, woman,” ordered the merchant. “Return only if you bring good news. I think that I shall raise the bet,” he said to the bearded one, who was showing a pair of fives.

“Your wife is an emotional one, isn’t she?” commented the dealer.

“Ah, you know how women are with their jewelry,” replied the merchant. The players all nodded their heads in agreement. Even the farmer, who had never been blessed with a wife.

They played through lunch, as they always did, taking only a short break to stretch their legs as the sun began its downward journey. They had distanced themselves quite a ways from the camp, but they could hear the chanting and singing from where they were.

“I wonder what it is?” said the farmer.

“Sounds like a celebration,” noted the shoemaker, “a religious celebration.”

“Perhaps we should return to partake in the festivities,” suggested the farmer timidly.

The dealer did not want their ranks to be reduced to four.

“All of a sudden you become religious,” he chided. “Perhaps you, too, have had visions like our great leader.”

The farmer was far too timid to argue, so the merchant took up his case.

“That may be a good idea,” he said. “Perhaps they have sacrificed a goat.”

“Ah ha, the stomach speaks again,” joked the bearded one.

“You know what the problem is,” replied the merchant, happy that the discussion had turned away from religion. “You’re jealous, that’s what the problem is. All your life, you have been no more than a simple labourer. You have spent almost all of your adult life making bricks from clay and straw. You have had no possessions in life, so you cannot miss them. I should think that you are very happy in this wasteland.”

“I thought that we were having a simple philosophical discussion but now you get into personalities,” said the bearded one. “What is your reaction to his wanting to pray?”

“I don’t find it so strange,” replied the merchant.

“You don’t find it so strange?” mocked the dealer.

“All that I’m saying is that we’ve been walking aimlessly for three months without water, hardly any food, being attacked left, right, and center. And now, we have to wait for the old man. If I could, I would go back. Why should it be so strange that a man might want to pray in such a situation?”

“So pray,” said the bearded one.

“But first tell me if you’re in or out,” added the dealer.

The shoemaker found this very funny indeed.

“And you laugh,” cried the merchant. “In the old days, there wasn’t a day that went by when you didn’t complain that they weren’t allowing us to pray. So now that you can pray, you spend all your time playing cards.”

“So do you,” remarked the farmer, stating the obvious.

“Yes, but I…”

“Enough of this,” cried the dealer.

“But there is a difference,” said the shoemaker. “I never wanted to pray, I only wanted to be able to.”

“Speaking of praying,” interrupted the dealer, “you all had better pray that I don’t fill this full house or you’ll all be out of luck.” The dealer, in fact, had two pairs showing and the conversation once again returned to the business at hand.

The sun had almost ducked completely behind the mountain when the messenger arrived.

“I bring news from the camp,” he cried.

“I don’t need news,” replied the dealer. “I need a 10.”

“Will you shut up,” the shoemaker told him. “What is the news from the camp?”

The messenger scratched his head. It was clear that he was unsure of what he was about to say.

“The old man,” he began slowly, “finally came down from the mountain.”

“Hooray,” cried the merchant, “we can finally get out of here.”

“Not quite,” responded the messenger.

“And why not?” asked the bearded one.

“Because he took one look at what was going on and promptly went right back up.”

“Oh no!” cried the merchant.

“It can’t be!” cried the shoemaker.

“What a shame,” cried the bearded one.

“Another long wait,” cried the farmer.

“Well, gentlemen,” said the dealer shuffling the cards, “while we wait, how about draw poker, deuces are wild?”

The end.