LiGa

by Sanem Ozdural

  “Now, look… do you see that lovely yellow rose to your left?” Cat pointed to a pale golden hybrid tea near the door.

  “Yes,” Father Griffith replied guardedly.

  Cat smiled genially. “She’s called Goddess’s Tears. Did you know that?”

  Father Griffith said he did not know the name of the rose she was indicating.

  “Yes, I am quite sure that is her,” Cat continued seriously. “She is rather lovely isn’t she? A golden rose. What was I going to tell you?” Cat paused, a bony finger tapping her chin. “Ah, yes! This rose here – Goddess’s Tears – shall I tell you how she came to be?” She gave him a mischievous smile.

  “Please do,” Father Griffith replied without enthusiasm.

  “Her creator was a friend of mine… A lovely man. A true gentleman. We grew up together as a matter of fact. In the same small town in Louisiana. Guy Boudreaux always loved roses.

  “He loved to read.

  “He loved all the Greek tragedies, and all the Roman gods and goddesses. When he grew up he became a professor of classics at the University of New Orleans. That was exactly the right setting for him…

  “And then he had a daughter – his only child – and of course he insisted she must be named after a goddess. Diana. After the Roman goddess, you know – the Hunter.”

  Father Griffith nodded.

  “Diana was a golden-haired little girl. A happy child. They all are when they’re young – even when they’re in pain. It turned out Diana was in a lot of pain. She had a genetic disorder of the nervous system – I couldn’t tell you the name – some awful Latin thing, of course.

  “Anyway, Diana was in a lot of pain and they had to shuttle her back and forth from one hospital to the next. While all this was going on, her father – my dear friend, Guy Boudreax – had an idea that he wanted to make his daughter’s life a little less miserable. He decided to make her the loveliest rose he could imagine. A golden rose–”

  “It seems he was successful,” Father Griffith said, reaching out to the yellow flower fluttering gently in the breeze. He pulled his hand back sharply as he caught sight of a thin vertical stripe in one petal. A colorless stripe.

  “He was successful,” Cat sighed, “but not until after his daughter had died of her very painful disease. That’s why he called it Goddess’s Tears, you see. The golden petals were the tears of the Goddess Diana for his daughter Diana. He had intended to just call it Diana…”

  “I’m very sorry for your friend,” Father Griffith said solemnly.

  “Yes, of course, you are,” Cat said. “We all were. Everyone. And look: here we have Goddess’s Tears in the same flowerbed as Silver Dawn. One was created for a dying child, and the other–” Cat gave a short, humorless laugh as she pointed towards the pale rose with the diamond halo, “what was she created for, do you know?”

  Father Griffith shook his head. “No.”

  “Well in any event, I doubt it was for the sake of a sick child… Never mind the judge for the meantime!” Cat shook her head. “You see, Guy Boudreaux was very much aware of mortality. Diana died two years ago, and what LiGa does was known at that point. I remember Guy saying to me one day while she was still alive – I remember it very well: we were sitting on my porch–” Cat paused. “Yes,” she continued, stroking a golden petal tenderly, “he said he wished he could play LiGa Bridge and give all the life he got to his daughter.”

  “Many people want that.”

  “Yes, many do. And many others don’t. That is not the point I am trying to make, darling–” she said briskly. “Death is very close to many people – sometimes for a great deal of their lives. Death is something we do, and it is no different here than outside the glass cube. Like Guy Boudreaux, we face death all the time. Don’t you think?” She looked up at him with a quizzical expression, her head held lightly to one side.

  “Of course,” Father Griffith said. “Death is always close at hand.”

  “Death is close, darling. Closer to some of us than others,” Cat laughed lightly, and then as suddenly as a passing cloud, she grew grave: “No one comes to the glass cube to die,” she said, “but most do find an early death. The truth is that people come to the glass cube to live,” she continued. “You see, that is no different from out there–” she made an exaggerated motion with her hands. “And so, why should we behave any differently here than we do out there?”

  “Did she ever see her father’s rose?” The priest asked quietly.

  “You mean Diana?” Cat shook her head. “Not in its final form. She saw a few earlier versions, I think. They were not quite golden. I saw one or two of Guy’s early attempts – they really weren’t anything much to look at.”

  Father Griffith looked towards the flowerbed where Silver Dawn nestled among her disturbed kin, including Goddess’s Tears. All in one garden.

  “We should go back, darling,” Cat said, glancing at a dainty watch on her wrist. “We can go in through the side entrance.”

  “Governor, I thought we’d lost you,” Bruce said playfully as they entered. “Father Griffith, you too, of course,” he added.

  “No fear, Mr. Saber,” the priest smiled.

  “If you’re ready, please take your seats for round 5,” Peter announced.

  *

  “They are more than half way through the game,” Blanca said, rising from her seat. She walked slowly towards the glass wall that offered the best view of the glass cube. “I wish we knew how they are proceeding.”

  “Soon,” Xavier told her.

  “I do hope he wins,” she said. “I don’t usually feel like that, you know, in chess tournaments. Normally, I do not have a preference. How about you?”

  “I know my preferences make no difference, therefore I have none. But I understand you. In this case, Bruce Saber is the one player you personally chose. The only one you have personally known.”

  “You’ve known him too.”

  “Yes, but as I said, my preferences make no difference, so I do not allow myself to feel hope on behalf of one or other of the players. If he or she fails, I would not want to know the disappointment of facing the un-preferred victor for all of time to come. That would be terrible for LiGa.”

  “For all your talk of humanity, you are much too reasonable to be one of them, my dear,” Blanca smiled at him through her reflection in the window. She reached out and touched the glass with the tips of her fingers. Her muted reflection gazed back at her.

  “The man wielding the two-sided mirror…” she mused to her reflection.

  “Jacob Porter.”

  In the glass, her reflection regarded her patiently.

  “He too, was one I would have wished for LiGa Chess,” she said. “I fear he may be too old to play LiGa Bridge.”

  “He is younger than Cat Trahan. In fact, he is about the same age as Judge Other. Besides, you decided he did not play chess well enough for LiGa Chess.”

  “I don’t mean physically old,” Blanca continued. “There was a time when Jacob Porter was … different. Do you remember when he first held that two-sided mirror up before his face? It wasn’t so long ago.”

  “He is a remarkable man.”

  “He asked: when we all look in the mirror from opposite sides, will our reflections meet in the middle? I think that man – the man he was – might have had a better chance …”

  “Why?”

  Blanca remained thoughtfully silent, her back to him. “I am not sure,” she said. “I think he was hungrier then. Not just for money, but in general. But I don’t know. I’m not sure. I don’t think we can predict the effect of LiGa Bridge on people. It brings out such strength at times… and such weakness, too.”

  “Yes, it’s all about character. One can’t tell its mettle until it’s been tested”

  *

  This is not good, thought Bruce. There is no longer any possibility that I can win this game. Not even if I manage to score a point on both of the remaining two hands… Why did this happen?
How did I let it happen?

  I made unnecessary mistakes on the last hand. Father Griffith thought as he evaluated his recent performance. All the way from the bidding to endgame, I made mistakes. I was distracted, I think. Nevertheless, I still have a chance for fourth place. The difference between fourth and losing…

  But my partner, Mr. Saber, has already lost. He knows it as well as I do, and yet we must continue to play the last two hands of the game. I wonder what he is thinking?

  The directors placed board 27 on the tables.

  The players reached for their cards in the last board of the game: board 28.

  Can I trust him? Wondered Father Griffith at table 2, thinking of his partner, Bruce. On this last hand rests a great deal. A win on this board may mean immortality for me, and the end of the game for him. A loss? And he gets to play again…

  So, can I trust him? Can I trust anything he bids; any card he plays?

  Father Griffith bid 1-notrump with a balanced hand and sixteen points.

  Bruce reviewed his hand, and bid 3-notrump without hesitation.

  Three passes ensured that Father Griffith would be playing the board in 3-notrump.

  At table 1, Porter, in the same seat as Bruce, contemplated his partner, Cat’s bid of 1-notrump. I wonder how the bidding is proceeding at the other table? It looks like the contract belongs to our side – North-South. That means Father Griffith and my partner could be playing the same contract. If my partner does better, I have the chance to play another game, but if Father Griffith prevails… he will become immortal, and the tournament will end. He wondered how Bruce, Father Griffith’s partner was likely to bid and play under the circumstances. If they score higher than us on this hand, the tournament is over and none of us will play again. What will Mr. Saber do under these circumstances? Would he deliberately misbid to assure his side’s loss?

  But with this hand of ten points and a balanced distribution, the only reasonable bid is to raise my partner’s 1-notrump bid to game. Porter bid 3-notrump. Any other bid would indicate a deliberate attempt to sabotage the hand. I do so wonder how Mr. Saber has, or will, bid…

  “Thank you, Mr. Saber,” Father Griffith said at table 2, reviewing Bruce’s dummy.

  “Good luck,” said Bruce.

  “No. I meant it,” Father Griffith said with emphasis. “Thank you, Mr. Saber.”

  Mr. Saber, you are an honorable man, Father Griffith thought. I was watching you: you did not even hesitate before you bid 3-notrump. It was the correct bid with your hand, and yet, in this game, on this last hand of the tournament, that one, simple, fluid, and unhesitating movement of your hand which placed that particular bidding card on the table has exposed to me more of your character than could months or years of mere conversation. I might never have known the rightness of your character – I did not know it, until this moment. For that, I am grateful.

  But I am here to play bridge. Father Griffith turned his attention to the hand. The contract seems simple enough to make, he reasoned after reviewing the cards between his hands and those in dummy, but should I try for an extra trick? I could try for a diamond finesse which may lead to an additional trick in that suit…

  “Play the jack,” Cat said crisply to Porter at table 1, who played the jack of hearts from the board.

  Very well, she thought, winning the first trick on the board, now how should I play the rest of this hand?

  This is the last board and I must squeeze every last trick I possibly can. I must win every possible trick. The contract is already made on a straight play of the cards, but there may be an extra trick in one of the suits… In diamonds. There may be an extra trick if the diamond finesse works. Or…

  Father Griffith decided to try to win an extra trick by means of a finesse on the third trick. The finesse failed when Father Griffith’s jack of diamonds was overtaken by Danny’s queen. There will be no extra trick, but the contract will be made, thought Father Griffith with resignation and continued to play the remaining ten tricks.

  At table 1, Cat also decided to try for an extra trick with a diamond finesse, but instead of launching into it at the beginning of the hand as Father Griffith had done, she chose to play the other suits first in an effort to obtain more information regarding the whereabouts of the missing queen of diamonds. There would be no extra trick from the finesse if the queen were in the wrong hand…

  At the top of the ninth trick, she was to lead from the board. There are five more tricks, and I have strong hints that Storm, to my left, has the queen of diamonds, she thought. This is not good, for it means the finesse will not work. But, there may be another way to win that trick, she thought brightening up.

  Now, Storm darling, let me play another club, and see your discard. I know he doesn’t have any clubs left, which means he must discard one of the other suits. I will squeeze you darling. I will play so you must discard that lovely spade you’ve been saving, or one of your precious three diamonds. If you discard the spade, the last spade in my hand will be a winner, and if you discard one of your diamonds, your precious queen will fall to my ace or king.

  You don’t have a chance in the endgame, darling. Let’s play…

  “Well done, partner,” Porter congratulated Cat at table 1, writing down the score for North-South. “Bid 3-notrump, made four: 630.”

  At table 2, Bruce wrote down the score for 3-notrump, making three, scoring 600 for North-South.

  Peter announced the result of the board from table 1, to the players at table 2.

  You have lost, partner, Bruce thought, not looking at the priest, feeling relieved. I will play again…

  It is Your will, Lord, that I have lost. Father Griffith bowed his head.

  “The game is ended,” Tanner said at table 1. “Please go to the break room as soon as possible, where your scores will be announced.

  “The following four players will receive Life Points,” Tanner said matter-of-factly, scanning the silent room.

  “Daniel Cross.”

  Danny, slouching in an attitude of extreme disinterest, leaned forward eagerly.

  “Martha Other.”

  She nodded slightly, and looked away.

  “Storm Drake

  “And Catherine Trahan.”

  Storm, standing with his arms crossed, by the window, felt the tension leave his body as Cat laughed happily.

  “The players I’ve named: please go to the transfer room, to receive your Life Points.” He looked around at the losing four players. “The rest of you must leave now.”

  Sinclair shook his head in disbelief, wearing an expression of weariness. Bruce’s was one of considered disappointment. Porter looked subdued.

  It is God’s will, Father Griffith thought. He does not wish me to win. It was a comforting thought.

  17

  “My dear judge, are you in a hurry?”

  They were in the parking lot, by the judge’s dark blue Mercedes.

  “Well, yes, Mrs. Trahan, I am as a matter of fact,” she replied, exuding a deep reluctance to be drawn into conversation. This was no deterrent to Cat.

  “Of course, of course…” Cat nodded her gauzy white head vigorously, keeping her voice soft and pliant. “I just have a tiny favor to ask of you, judge. It’s about roses. You’re such an expert and I’m just an amateur. I really wish I could ask your opinion on something–”

  “Very well. What is it?” The judge sighed.

  “I noticed something in one of the rose beds– would you mind indulging me for a minute? It’s very puzzling…”

  The judge looked at her watch impatiently, “Really Mrs. Trahan, must we?”

  “Please, judge. It’s important–”

  Shaking her head, the judge followed Cat to the flowerbed near the building where the latter was staying.

  Cat stepped aside to allow the judge full visual access to the roses, and watched her opponent carefully. It would not take long, she suspected…

  No! The judge felt her muscles tighten, as her b
ody grew rigid with the shock of the discovery.

  Cat smiled to herself. A mere glance at her opponent’s face had revealed the answer to that burning question: LiGa had grown Silver Dawn without its creator’s knowledge.

  The judge turned brusquely and walked away from the flowerbed. Cat Trahan did not exist for her at that moment.

  Cat regarded the roses, including Silver Dawn, now in lush bloom, and wondered if, perhaps, she had done the right thing after all… She needed to know, Cat assured herself. I would have wanted to know in her place… Wouldn’t I?

  I wonder if it will affect her game at all?

  “I demand an explanation!” the judge had gone directly to the glass cube and had found Peter busy in the room with the LifeBank.

  “An explanation? Of what, your Honor?” Peter asked calmly.

  “You have– you have my rose!” She sputtered.

  Peter nodded. “You mean Silver Dawn? Yes, we do,” he acknowledged.

  “Without my permission–” she said menacingly.

  “Yes,” Peter said. “Please, if you will follow me, I would like to introduce you to one of our members, Blanca Chevalier. She will explain how and why we obtained Silver Dawn.”

  “You stole it.”

  Peter inclined his head, “Please, your Honor, follow me.”

  For the second time since the end of the game, the judge found herself led away towards the unknown. She did not pay attention to the two gray men who exited the glass cube with them, following at a discreet distance.

  Peter led her to the building to the right of the cube. The door was opened by one of the gray men.

  “After you,” Peter stood aside.

  Had she not felt too preoccupied, she might have noticed that the interior was tastefully and sparely decorated. There were no photographs on the walls, but a number of abstract paintings and sculptures adorned the bare spaces between glass, wood and white walls.

  Peter knocked on a door of blond wood.

  “Yes?” came a woman’s voice from within.

  “It’s me, Peter. I have Judge Other with me.” They waited as the door opened to reveal the slim, graceful form of Blanca Chevalier, dressed in an elegant, mercury-gray linen dress. Her dark hair was coiled severely on top of her head.