Cards in the Cloak

by Jeremy Bursey

  Chapter 14

  “Black Jack or Die”

  As his consciousness returned, the sounds of blips and bleeps echoed all around him. Norman slowly opened his eyes to get a visual perception of all that surrounded him, but he could see only shades of red and green. The mattress he lay on felt thick and flat, but it was considerably more comfortable than what he was used to feeling. He palmed the surface to see if he could find his glasses lying about; all he found were tubes and wires flowing across the sheets. There was also plastic suctioned around his lips, and a steady flow of fresh air coursing through it. He searched the room as best as he could to see if there was anything else to note, but most of it blended together into a mass of abstract art. Something white moved around nearby, shifting shape like a morphing blob. He hoped it could provide him answers, so he removed the plastic cover from his mouth to address the unusual being.

  “Excuse me,” said Norman. “Does anybody have my glasses?”

  “Oh, good morning, Mister Jenson,” said the white blur with a man’s voice. “Your glasses are safe with us.”

  “Could I have them?”

  “It would be best if you recovered first.”

  “Can’t I recover while I’m wearing them?”

  “I suppose so, but they might get in the way of the wires.”

  Norman wanted to bang his head against his pillow to properly absorb the runaround he was getting these past few weeks, but he didn’t feel it would accomplish much, so he let it go.

  “I just want to see.”

  The white blur paused. Norman couldn’t tell exactly what the figure was doing, but it looked like it had possibly scratched its head, or picked at its teeth. The only thing he could tell for certain was that it walked toward him and stopped just a few inches away. An appendage of some sort, most likely an arm, reached toward a brownish colored mass, and then immediately switched direction and reached for Norman’s face. The next thing he knew, he could see more clearly. The blurred images transformed into a hospital room, and the shades of red and green became Christmas decorations. The white blur turned out to be a young man in a doctor’s uniform. He was holding a clipboard.

  “Is that better, Mister Jenson?” asked the doctor.

  “Yes, much. Let me ask you something. Is it the New Year yet?”

  The doctor shook his head and smiled.

  “No, sir. It’s still December Twenty-third. Just a few more days to go though.”

  “You mean I’ve been here one night? Sheesh. Why is it that time flies until you’re a hundred, then it virtually stops when you want it going its fastest?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I’m still thirty.”

  “And you’re a doctor? Tell me something, Doctor. I’m a hundred years old and I was dying last night from rat poison. The question I’m asking is that if a hundred-year-old man like me was spending last night holding on for dear life, then what was a young thirty-year-old doctor like you doing last night?”

  “Watching TV.”

  “Watching TV? You could’ve done anything you wanted to—go to the beach, go out on the town because you’re young and agile—but you decided to watch TV?”

  “Well, yeah. Two Guys and a Girl was on, and I hate missing it. It’s my favorite show. Last night was the episode where Pete went to Paris and—”

  “I don’t want a synopsis. I want to know why you’re wasting your life away when you can go out and do whatever you want. Like building a family. Or curing the flu.”

  “I am doing whatever I want. I want to help people like you, and watch TV when there’s nothing else to do. That’s who I am. That’s what I enjoy. Speaking of which, I have other patients to attend to right now. But, we can continue this conversation later when I’m back on this floor doing my rounds. Until then, get some rest.”

  The doctor nodded at Norman and walked away. Within a moment he was out the door. For some reason, Norman wished he could’ve stayed.

  Norman sighed as his gaze drifted toward the ceiling. Streamers hung above him, running from one edge of the room to the other. He wanted to reach out and grab them—perhaps to use them to swing out the window and escape this place—but they were made out of paper, so he gave up the fantasy and remained in his bed. He had hoped that maybe the doctor or some Good Samaritan would rush into the room, toss him into a wheelchair, and wheel him the heck out of there, maybe take him to his beach house in Daytona that he’d never had the chance to step foot inside, but again he rationalized that his hopes superseded truth. Giving up his dreams, Norman let out another sigh and closed his eyes. His back started to get numb, so he tried to turn to his side. The wires got too much in the way, so he turned his head instead.

  The Reaper sat in the chair by the wall a few feet away. His hands were folded and his mouth curled upward. The scythe lay dormant on the floor.

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” said Norman. “What is it with you? Why won’t you just wait for me to get my affairs in order?”

  “Norman,” said the Reaper, “you’re not holding your treatment well. I can’t just leave you here to suffer.”

  The Reaper held out his hand. Norman was tired of watching him doing that.

  “Please don’t prolong the agony any longer,” he continued. “Besides, even if I do leave you here until the next century, you won’t remember it when you finally come with me. Time is noticeable in this world only.”

  Norman felt his body weakening, but he tried to hold on to his strength as long as he could.

  “You know I don’t actually care about that,” said Norman. “I have something else to do. Something more important than lying in a hospital bed. Something you’d never understand.”

  “I understand plenty. I’m as old as time. Which is almost as old as you.”

  The Reaper laughed at his punchline. Norman didn’t.

  “Please don’t take me yet,” Norman said. “I just want to have one more dream come true. That’s all I ask. Just leave me alone for a little longer until my mission is complete. Okay?”

  “Why do you fight it, Norman? You have faith in your Creator, if I’m not mistaken. You know the world ahead of you is far better than the world you spent the last century getting to know. Just because you had some good memories of this world doesn’t mean you can’t make better memories in the next. Can’t you imagine hearing the angels sing your favorite songs in person and in volume? And what of your Lord God casting His majestic light over you. I tell you, Norman, it’s a whole lot better than any radiance that you’re gonna get from these hospital lights. So why do you resist me?”

  “It’s just that I need one more shot at seeing this mission come to pass. I’ve devoted so much of my life to it already. With you here, that dream is threatened, and frankly I’ve had enough of my dreams shattered over the years. I mean, think about how many times my heart has been broken. I’m still waiting for Jimmy to visit me. Of all my grandkids, he’s supposed to be my favorite, you know, being the firstborn. Yet, I haven’t seen him in several years. My other grandkids think I’m senile, but my mind is as sharp today as it was when I was their age. I haven’t forgotten how much time has passed. I haven’t forgotten the time that’s still coming.

  “I don’t expect to see my grandson again before I leave with you, but I do expect to at least visit his house in Daytona. It’s where my mission ends. And I know that you want to keep your schedule and all, but I’m just not ready for you to fulfill that yet. Not ‘til I get there. So, please come back another time.”

  The Reaper cupped his hands over his mouth, fragmenting the glow of light from his face into a prismatic rainbow. The streamers above cast colorful shadows against the walls from the sea of illumination that filled the room. The pinwheel of discoing colors made Norman temporarily dizzy. The Reaper checked his watch.

  “You know I can’t keep dipping out like this,” the Reaper said solemnly. “You now have thirty seconds to atone for your sins.”

  Norman tried to sit up in protest, but
his body was too weak.

  “Please let me have a little longer,” he begged. “Please allow me this dream.”

  After about ten seconds of staring at his watch, the Reaper rubbed his forehead. Another five seconds later, he reached into his cloak and pulled out a wooden clipboard with a legal pad attached. He thumbed through the pad’s yellow pages.

  “Okay,” he said, “it looks like I’m going to be running late once again, pardon the pun. So, I’ll make a deal with you. And understand that this is the last deal you’ll get with me. As I’ve told you earlier, I’ve been trying to play a game of Black Jack for the last hundred years, but I’ve been very, very busy.”

  The Reaper put his clipboard away with one hand and pulled out a deck of cards with the other. The cards he held looked very old, but they seemed hardly used. The Reaper smiled as he shuffled them Vegas style.

  “I really wanted to finish that game because I had a great hand,” he continued. “We didn’t bet anything of course because the only things we own are cloaks, scythes, watches, clipboards, and cards, and betting is boring when there’s nothing to gain. That is unless of course one of us decides he wants two scythes. But, I think the other guy walking around without a scythe distorts the image we have adopted for ourselves, and then our whole business would change to monastery work or boxing. Therefore we don’t bet.”

  “So, why play at all?” asked Norman.

  “That’s not the point. The point I’m making is that I want to play five games of Black Jack because frankly I’d like to finish a game for once. Now, if you can beat me three times within the five game set, I’ll not only leave you alone now, I won’t show my face again until sometime after the New Year. Do we have a deal?”

  “What if I lose?”

  “Easy. You have to come with me right now without putting up another fuss, and I don’t have to push my scheduling back any further. Do we have a deal?”

  “If I say no?”

  “Saying no is the same as losing. Do we have a deal?”

  Norman thought about the question, but wasn’t sure what to say. The answer seemed pretty obvious, but he was never good at Black Jack. In fact, he wasn’t good at any card games he’d played. If he said yes, he knew he would lose. But, the Reaper hadn’t played in a hundred years, so maybe he was rusty, too.

  “Are you going to give me an answer?” asked the Reaper.

  Besides, it was the only way he could live to see the next century. It was the only way he’d have a shot at getting inside the beach house. It was the only way Dafodil would still have a chance to reach the pharmaceutical market. Saying no would’ve been stupid.

  “Yes,” said Norman.

  “Yes, you’ll give me an answer, or yes, you’ll play the game?”

  “Both.”

  The Reaper smiled.

  “Great,” he said, “then let’s shake on it.”

  The Reaper extended his hand. Norman scoffed at him.

  “Nice try,” said Norman. “Let’s just play the game.”

  “I wasn’t trying to trick you. It’s a legitimate handshake.”

  “Just deal the cards.”

  Without wasting any more time, the Reaper dealt the first card to Norman and the second card to himself. Norman still found it difficult to move, but there was enough strength in his fingers to grasp what the Reaper had handed him. When the Reaper repeated his dealings to Norman and to himself, Norman almost dropped the second card. However, he managed to hold them after willing his own success, and had enough endurance left over to actually look at his cards. He had a King and an Ace in hand.

  “Hit or stick?” asked the Reaper.

  “How do we play this again?” asked Norman.

  “You have to get twenty-one.”

  “How do I know if I have twenty-one?”

  “Count the numbers on the card. Face cards are worth ten. Do you want to hit or stick?”

  “The symbols in the middle also tell me how much something is worth, right?”

  “Yes, but it’s easier to count by the number in the corner.”

  “Mine’s pretty easy to count. Okay, I’ll hit.”

  The Reaper dealt Norman another card. This time Norman stuck. The Reaper held on with his first two cards. At the end of the round, they revealed their cards to one another. Norman had a three on top of his King and Ace, while the Reaper had two face cards.

  “Which card did I deal you last?” asked the Reaper.

  “The three,” said Norman. “Why?”

  “Well, an Ace paired with a face card is Black Jack. You hit on a Black Jack. You just lost a round on a hand that you would’ve automatically won had you stuck.”

  “Well, I’m sorry. I was never good at this game.”

  “Okay, well if you want to have your dream come true, now is the time to get good at it. Try again.”

  The Reaper carefully dealt out the hands for the second round. Once again Norman struggled to tighten his grip on the skinny pieces of cardstock, but his determination to win kept him triumphant in the game of strength. When he caught a glimpse of his hand, Norman thought it looked more promising this time—assuming that he understood the rules better.

  “Hit or stick?” asked the Reaper.

  Norman had nineteen points in his hand, so he decided to hold what he had. The Reaper stuck on his hand, as well. After a two-second stare-down, they both showed what they had. The Reaper had seventeen points.

  “Okay, good,” said the Reaper. “You won that round. I think you understand now. Let’s keep going. We’re one-to-one.”

  The Reaper dealt the hands for Round Three, this time setting the cards gently next to Norman’s liver-spotted hands. Norman scraped up a Jack and a five. It wasn’t the pair that he wanted, but he didn’t think it was possible to return them to the deck, so he kept them. He looked up to catch a glimpse of the Reaper smiling at his cards. The Reaper shrugged back at him.

  “What?” he said. “So, I never developed a Poker face. Hit or stick?”

  Norman felt fifteen points were much too low to win the hand, so he asked for another card. The Reaper granted his request and passed another one along. Norman looked at the new card and was satisfied.

  “Okay, show ‘em,” said the Reaper.

  Norman revealed his stunning hand of a Jack, a five, and a nine.

  “Read ‘em and weep,” he said.

  “That’s twenty-four.”

  “That’s right. My best hand yet. What do you have?”

  “Norman, anything over twenty-one is bust. That means you lose again.”

  Norman stared at his cards. He really thought he had a good hand this time.

  “What did you have?” asked Norman.

  The Reaper spread his cards to reveal a ten and an eight. Norman felt his neck tense up.

  “Think we could play Bingo instead?” he continued. “I’m much better at that.”

  “Norman, listen to me. If I win once more, it’s over and you come with me. If you really want to stay, you have to understand the rules and start beating me. Got it?”

  “Just deal the cards and get this over with.”

  The Reaper dealt the fourth hand. Norman managed to get a seven and a three. When the Reaper asked hit or stick, he told him to hit. The Reaper dealt him another card. Norman peeked at it to see that it was a two. He told the Reaper to hit again. The Reaper dealt him a seven. Norman stuck. Then the Reaper decided to hit. Norman wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but there was nothing he could do but wait. At the end of the round, they laid their cards down. The Reaper had eighteen points to Norman’s nineteen. Another victory for his corner.

  “Okay, Norman,” said the Reaper. “We’re tied at two points each. Remember, this next hand is the last one. Whoever wins this will win the game. So, I’d suggest you play like you’ve never played before because this is your last chance.”

  “Can I hit you with a bat?” asked Norman.

  “That’s not what I mean. Just do the best you
can.”

  The Reaper dealt the final hand. Norman felt the sweat reach the surface of his forehead as he took what could have been the final cards of his life. He looked at the first one and breathed. It was a five. He looked at the second one and gulped. It was a seven: the same exact hand he had lost with in the trenches during the Meuse-Argonne Offensive. He carefully did the math in his head. He realized he had twelve so far. He rolled his eyes at his ill luck. Then he heard the words come out of the Reaper’s mouth.

  “Hit or stick?” he asked.

  Norman checked his cards again, feeling completely unsatisfied with what he had. Twelve seemed like such an unstable number to him. On the upside, judging by the law of math and statistics, he would’ve had a pretty decent chance at getting a number that brought him close to twenty-one, and that certainly would’ve been preferable. However, on the downside, he knew that drawing a low number, like a two or a three, would’ve brought him too close to twenty-one to make drawing again comfortable, while remaining too low to actually win. That was a bad place to be. But, the laws of numbers also showed that he could never win if he’d kept his hand the way it was, so he figured it was wise to hit. So, he did.

  He picked up a ten.

  Just like he had in France.

  What were the odds?

  Norman stared at his hand for a couple of seconds before the Reaper interrupted his thoughts.

  “Are we good, or do you want to hit again?” he asked.

  “I’ll stick,” said Norman.

  He wasn’t sure what he was more disappointed with—failing to reach his beach home and forsaking humanity the discovery of Dafodil, or having to die in a hospital bed with all these wires and stuff connected to him, feeling trapped like a caged science rat. He figured he probably should have been willing to accept it, but then he would’ve made himself into a crusty old man for nothing.

  Maybe there was still time to bargain with the Reaper. He’d gotten this far on dodging the scythe. There was also the possibility that the Reaper would have a change of heart and let him stay until his mission was completed anyway. But, he had been overly lenient already. Perhaps the dreams of the new century weren’t really meant for him. It was possible that he just needed to give it all up.

  “Oh, not again,” said the Reaper, “My watch is going nuts. Emergency happening. I have to go.”

  “Go where?” asked Norman.

  “To my next walk-in appointment. I have to forfeit. You win. Congratulations.”

  “I what?”

  “Remember, the deal is that you come with me the next time I see you. Now, close your eyes, Norman. Hurry.”

  “But—”

  “Close your eyes.”

  Norman closed his eyes. When he reopened them, the Reaper was gone. The Reaper had left and he still remained. It didn’t make sense. Norman closed his eyes again to see if he had been dreaming, or tricked. He reopened them to see that he was in fact still there. His hand was a bust, yet he’d still won. After a moment of spinning the questions around in his head, Norman realized that the Reaper had left his deck of cards behind. Curious by this unexpected turn of events, Norman checked the Reaper’s hand to see how badly he lost.

  The Reaper had busted, too.