There was no smile on the old man’s face. “We will revisit this question tomorrow…” he said, not waiting for or expecting an answer.
A contradiction.
Father Griffith was at home with contradictions. It had all been part of his training. That was the essence of a Jesuit. It had been the vision of Ignatius – a man who had been a knight, and a man of the world, before he had found his calling as the spiritual and very real founder of the Society of Jesus.
They were men for others. Men who lived in the world, and were of the world, and yet were expected to maintain a very Jesuit detachment from the world.
It was like walking along the very thin, very sharp edge of a razor, light-footed enough to avoid a fall or a cut.
Death, thought Father Griffith. We talked a lot about death and killing.
He saw thin red lines tracing his palm. These red marks were imbedded in him; they were a part of him now. Like the petals of a deformed black rose.
They had not talked about Life. His Life.
Lord, help me now, for I am lost.
Holy Queen, Blessed advocate, it is to you I turn. Show me how…
In the words of Matthew: for ye are like unto whited sepulchers which indeed appear beautiful outward, but are within full of dead men’s bones, and of all uncleanness.
I have come willingly into the Devil’s playground …
Peter placed board 9 before them.
“Do remind me to ask you about that beautiful flower later, judge, dear?” Cat smiled at her partner.
The judge said nothing as she reached for her cards.
Blessed Virgin. Father Griffith closed his eyes, and his hand tightened around the rosary in his pocket. Take away these vile images.
“Ave Maria, Gratia plena, Dominus tecum…” he closed his eyes and, softly, he recited the comforting words of the familiar prayer under his breath.
They waited for him to finish.
“Are you ready, Father?” the judge asked, as he opened his eyes and took a slow, deep breath.
“Yes,” he replied. “Thank you, Judge.”
I did not think of the rose at all during the last round, Father Griffith thought. I had braced myself to playing against the judge this round…
Concentrate on the game, Father Griffith told himself. It is only the cards that matter. In his hands, the cards looked foreign, gibberish, and yet, an insistent memory told him he had just bid five diamonds in response to his partner, Sinclair’s bid of 3-diamonds, which had been doubled by Cat! He was dummy now and must lay his hand out on the table.
What’s worrying him? Cat wondered, puzzling over the priest’s obviously distracted state.
It had been easier during the second round when the judge wasn’t next to him, Father Griffith thought, and no one had mentioned … the flower. But the image was burned into his consciousness. It was the image of beauty disfigured. The underbelly of sin.
The face, not of Death, but of Life. Defiled.
Forever.
“… How will you play this game?” Father General asked.
Forever.
Lord, have mercy.
Father Griffith hoped his bidding on nearly autopilot had been sufficient to see them through the contract on board 9.
He laid his cards out neatly and swiftly as dummy.
Sinclair, Father Griffith’s partner, looked at the cards with a sour expression. Father Griffith stared ahead of him stoically.
In room 1, Bruce and Storm, in the same position as Father Griffith and Sinclair reached a contract of four diamonds, which although too high to make, went down by a trick less than Sinclair’s contract at table 2, thus giving them the advantage of a point.
“That was a good call, partner,” Bruce said approvingly. “I was thinking of taking us to 5-diamonds, which was obviously not the right contract. It’s a good thing you stopped when you did. Mr. Davis and Father Griffith were unable to stop themselves apparently– to our advantage.”
“Thanks,” Storm grinned.
“Have you given up racing for good?” Bruce continued casually as Tanner placed board 10 on the table.
Storm shrugged. “Don’t know,” he replied with a wry smile. “Definitely no more Formula One. I’m almost too old for it anyway.”
“What will you do instead?” Porter asked, curious.
“I don’t know that either,” Storm shook his head. “I guess I don’t have to do anything,” his lopsided smile was bittersweet. “Maybe I’ll get out of motor sports altogether,” he continued. “I’ve already done everything I wanted.”
“You’re lucky,” Porter said. “Not many people can say they’ve done everything they wanted to do by the age of 36.”
“I just meant in motor sports,” Storm explained. “There’s plenty I haven’t done in my life…”
“You still have time,” Porter said reassuringly, reaching for the cards on board 10.
As Father Griffith replaced the cards in board 9, he was intimately aware of his hand as an alien thing.
God is everywhere. God is in all things.
In the hand that reached for the cards. In the cards that touched the hand. With these cards and this hand am I connected to death.
Or Life. A kind of life.
Which will it be?
*
At the end of the third round, the scoreboard reflected the players’ points.
“There will be a 15-minute break at the end of this round,” Tanner announced at the start of the fourth round.
“Are you all right?” Cat asked quietly, as she and the priest changed seats for round 4, during which they would be partners, sitting East-West.
“Yes, thank you,” Father Griffith smiled politely. He refrained from asking what she meant.
“You seemed distracted this last round,” she explained anyway.
“I’ll try to behave better this time,” he laughed. I do not trust this woman, he thought. She is too intelligent and manipulative.
“Very well. Do your best,” she smiled playfully. “I don’t mind you being distracted when you’re playing against me, of course!”
“Naturally,” Father Griffith smiled briefly.
“It’s just that I can’t afford to lose even one game, you see.”
Looking puzzled, the priest watched Storm and Danny enter the room.
“What do you mean you can’t afford to lose a game?” Storm asked, having caught the last sentence at the doorway.
“Well, it’s obvious,” she explained slowly. “You young people have decades-worth more Life Points or whatever they’re called than me–”
“That’s right,” Storm assented.
“Well dear,” she nodded in Storm’s direction. “So I need a lot more Life Points to reach a 100 than you, don’t I?”
Storm, while agreeing to the truth of this analysis, wondered why she said she could not afford to lose a game. “What will happen if you lose a game?”
“My dear, how am I to become immortal?” Cat looked scandalized. “If I start losing a game here and a game there,” Her hand gestures matched her words, “the tournament will be over by the time I reach – what is it – 50 Life Points?”
“Yes,” Storm nodded. “You’re at 40 right now.”
“Good boy! You see how age shows?”
Father Griffith was looking at her intently. Noticing the attention, Cat turned on him.
“Don’t look at me with that disapproving look, Father. We’re all here for the same thing!”
“Remember also that each of them, in turn, will be trying to kill you.” Father Griffith recalled Father General’s words. He flinched almost imperceptibly at the recollection. “And some of them, at least, will not share your moral and ethical compass…”
Father Griffith smiled, inclining his head in a gesture of contrition. “I apologize,” he said. “It was not my intention to appear disapproving.”
“I am sure you wouldn’t want to appear disapproving–” Cat began but was interrupted as the door ope
ned again to reveal Peter’s distant smile.
“Here are your boards,” Peter said. “Any questions?” He looked around at the players expectantly. “You know there’s a break at the end of this round?”
They had no questions. It was time to start round 4.
*
“I am curious about Father Griffith,” Blanca said.
“Yes, so am I. It’s like that when we haven’t personally chosen the invitee. Nevertheless, I am sure we can trust that the Society of Jesus sent us their very best.”
“I have no doubt his qualities are exemplary and beyond reproach as far as they are concerned, but how would he fit into LiGa? We have no ties to any form of religion. We have purposefully disassociated ourselves from any particular ideology or theology.”
“That’s exactly what I am most interested in finding out…” Xavier said. “Are you not? Besides, you and I have often disagreed on this point: you persist in maintaining that LiGa has no ideology; that we are simply a finely-tuned meritocracy. But that too, is an ideology, Blanca. We look for the people who have, in some way – mostly, so far, academic or scientific – excelled in their fields and invite them to play LiGa so that some of them may join us as immortals. The immortals will change the world, if for no other reason than the fact that they will live far, far longer than the rest of the population–”
“You know what I mean, Xavier,” Blanca said with exasperation, “we don’t impose a particular ideology on the world, on society. We simply take the best of humanity and make them immortal.”
“You think so? You think we have not imposed an ideology? Then why does the whole world play bridge and chess now? Our very existence is an ideology. And as we grow… what then? It is with people such as those in the current game that we can hope to mature properly, otherwise, we would find ourselves banished to a small – important, but small – niche of highly-skilled technicians and armchair philosophers. We also need men and women who can live and succeed in the world, among the mortals.
“You are right: LiGa does not embrace a particular theology, but religion is important to the world. Therefore, we must accept its presence. The Society of Jesus was founded by a knight: a man who was intimately familiar with the many facets of humanity. St. Ignatius chose the best men he could find and created an order that would be able to be part of the world while at the same time maintaining a studied detachment that permitted the men to perform the tasks to the best of their considerable abilities.
“For LiGa, the Society of Jesus is the ideal religious complement. If he prevails, I will be very interested to see how LiGa and Father Griffith grow together.”
*
“The diamond lead was an interesting choice, judge,” Sinclair said at table 1, his voice awash in sarcasm, as he replaced his cards in board 13.
“I’m glad you thought so,” she replied icily, “in the future, might I suggest a switch to the suit I was indicating?”
“If I could figure out what it was, I would most certainly comply, judge,” he countered.
“Luckily you need only to start paying attention,” she sniffed. “Nevertheless, we did score higher than Mrs. Trahan and Father Griffith at the other table playing the same contract,” she conceded, looking away to disguise the heartwarming satisfaction of having scored higher than that woman. The fact that Storm and Danny would also receive a point each as a consequence did nothing to dampen her triumph. One must, after all, break a few eggs to make an omelet, she thought philosophically. It was the nature of this game.
*
On board 15, table 1 had reached a contract of 3-hearts, to be played by the judge. At table 2, the contract had advanced an extra level to 4-hearts, courtesy of Father Griffith.
“Good luck, partner,” Cat said to Father Griffith at table 2, laying out her hand as dummy. She eyed him keenly. A game contract had not been clearly indicated based on the general competition at the table. And yet the priest had deliberately raised her 3-hearts knowing that her bid had been no more than an attempt to stay in the competition after the opponent’s bid of 3-clubs. I hope he knows what he’s doing, she thought.
“Thank you,” Father Griffith replied regarding the cards. The judge is my counterpart at the other table, he thought. Is she playing this contract too? He wondered as a reasonable voice inside him expressed its belief that the judge would not have raised her partner’s bid to game in hearts on this hand.
And yet he had… And looking at the cards displayed before him dispassionately, the possibility of winning enough tricks certainly seemed remote. It had appeared to be a good idea at the time, he reassured himself. Had it not?
“Play the 4 of diamonds, please Mrs. Trahan,” Father Griffith said pleasantly, following the lead of the ace of diamonds by Danny to his left on the first trick.
Danny won the first trick with the ace of diamonds, and the second trick with the king of diamonds. On the third trick, Danny played a low spade which was won by his partner, Storm’s ace of spades.
Father Griffith knew he could not afford to lose another trick to make the contract…
On the fourth trick, Storm played a low diamond. Father Griffith, the next to play, placed the queen of diamonds on the table. It was Danny’s turn…
If Mr. Cross has another diamond, I still have a chance at making the contract, thought Father Griffith, since the queen of diamonds is the highest card in the suit at this point.
But Danny placed a low heart on the table.
“No diamonds, partner?” Storm asked to ensure that his partner was not playing a trump card out of turn.
Danny shook his head. “No.” He had played his two diamonds on the first two tricks.
“Play, partner,” Father Griffith said, directing Cat to play the last diamond in dummy.
Danny’s low heart, the trump suit, won the trick. Four tricks to the opponents. The contract was already down by one trick…
“Oh well, too bad,” Cat said lightly, collecting her cards at the end of the hand. “We get -100 for going down by one trick. What about table 1, Peter? How did they do?”
Peter announced that at table 1, the contract had been 3-hearts by East-West. “Bid and made,” Peter said. “For a score of 140 for East West.”
“We get a zero, then,” Cat said. “Let’s play the last board of the round shall we?” At least it’s good to see Storm playing well, she thought, trying to look on the bright side. He has been until now. Keep it up, darling! She smiled affectionately at Storm, who was lost to the outside world – which included, right at this moment, anything and anyone that was not directly and specifically related to the next board. He reached for the cards.
Physical strains, aches and pains did not affect Storm when he was in a race.
“I am sorry, partner,” Father Griffith said, looking away from her. “I should not have raised your 3-hearts.”
Cat said nothing. She regarded him steadily through slits of blue. You knew better than to bid that way, she thought.
That was the wrong contract, conceded Father Griffith. I admit it.
*
“So, it’s break time isn’t it?” the judge rose abruptly from table 1, brushing past Tanner on her way to the door.
“Oh, excuse me, Father!” They had almost collided as she left room 1.
“After you, judge,” He said, standing back to let her pass. Instead of following her to the break room, Father Griffith walked down the corridor to the glass door. Peter was there before him.
“Hello Father, may I help you?” His voice, the priest thought, was oily.
“No thank you, Peter,” the priest said firmly. “I’m going to take a walk.”
“Don’t be too long, Father. You only have 15 minutes.”
Father Griffith responded that he was aware of the time.
It was another beautiful day. As the month of June wore on, the sun’s rays were a rich gold, tinged with copper, surrounding the dark straightness of the priest’s form; his shadow was a shaft o
f darkness stretching away from him.
And before him lay the leafy glade, part of which contained the parking lot, where the cars, like so many giant, dazzling dragonflies, lay in waiting.
Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven …
Heaven.
Thy will – whatever it may be – shall be done.
With a slow, assured step, Father Griffith walked to the side of the building. To the roses.
16
“Beautiful isn’t she?”
The priest started, absorbed as he had been in the perusal of a delicate yellow rose.
“Yes,” he said acerbically, turning around to discover the cause of the disturbance. “Hello Mrs. Trahan,” the priest said, without a trace of politeness. “I didn’t hear you.”
“I hoped not,” she grinned. “I used the side entrance–” she pointed to the door to the right of the flowerbed.
Reptilian eyes, he thought with surprise through the anger at her intrusion. Clear blue eyes with the same unemotional calmness of a lizard. Slippery.
“What do you want of me, Mrs. Trahan?”
“I wanted to know why you were so upset,” she replied.
“You mean you were snooping.” It was not a question.
“Of course,” she replied, not in the least discomfited.
“You are surprisingly honest, Madam.”
“Why is it surprising?” she laughed.
“Most people are not–” he paused. “Even here,” he added.
“You say ‘even here’ as if here is different to–” she waved vaguely, “out there. We are the same everywhere, Father Roland,” she said matter-of-factly.
“We are the same,” Father Griffith nodded, “but circumstances matter. Here, within the confines of LifeGame, we are forced to face our mortality. It is not always the case–” he made a motion mimicking Cat’s indeterminate wave, “out there.”
“I see…” Cat appeared to consider. “So in your opinion we should be honest and forthright here because out there we are not often facing our mortality?”
Cat laughed. It was a light-hearted sound. “What an earnest and foolish young man you are, Roland darling. No more so than most people of your age, of course–” she added.
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