LiGa

by Sanem Ozdural

  The judge’s finger stopped its little dance, and the memory vanished.

  In the room with its walls of clouded glass, Father Griffith turned his attention to the cards.

  *

  … I write to you, accordingly, of life and, also, a little of death. Of life I know something, for I have lived – yes, we have both lived – in excess of six decades. More than sixty long years, which have disappeared in the blink of an eye. At the end of these very human years, I am an old man. An old man by anyone’s definition. I am as old a man in China as I am here. The physical laws of Time have decreed that I am old, which means I am nearer the end of my temporal life than its beginning. This is the will of our Lord, and it is right, and I do not resent the hand of Death.

  But we have entered a new dawn. A new Time. This new age is not for me. I will live out my life in the ordered way, and it will be ended with my death – possibly struck down by disease, but in any event, Death in the natural way – but for others, this is no longer so.

  There are now those in our world who live, in a sense, outside Time. They are few now, but they will likely be many in the years to come. They may live many, many years – far longer, indeed, than we could imagine. These persons, who live outside Time, will perforce, shape this new age…

  Father Norwood rose slowly from his seat, reached for the rosary, and started to pace meditatively about the library.

  *

  This is rather embarrassing but I can’t remember what was played a few tricks ago, Porter realized at table 1, pondering what to play on the eighth trick. Think, Jacob think! What did Storm Drake play on the third trick? Was it the 5 of hearts, or did he play that under my ace on the second trick?

  My memory is like a sieve. Have I not been paying attention or was my memory like this before? Before the last game? Is it the transfer that’s doing this to me? It can’t be. I am within one life point of where I started. Surely I can’t be losing my memory within a week, can I?

  The hearts … have me in a bind. I need to keep enough diamonds in dummy to trump my heart losers, but the thing is: how many heart losers do I have left? Porter stared intently at the cards from previous tricks turned over by his elbow, willing them to yield information he could not retrieve. The question is: is my jack a winner? He rubbed his forehead and removed his glasses.

  Cat regarded her partner critically. What’s the matter, Jacob? Not sure how to play? You don’t look all that comfortable. You and the young banker to my left aren’t looking all that happy today. Sinclair looks like something the ’gator dragged in. Well, that’s what you get when you play in the ’gator pond. Didn’t their mothers tell them to beware of ’gators? Not that he would listen to anything his mother said. Not at all like that surprisingly reasonable young man – Fred Heath. Knew he was in over his head, and had the good sense to get out, and didn’t cost me a cent either! Reasonable, good-tempered young man. I really do approve of him. You might well look tired and cross, Sinclair Davis, and I believe you’re only going to get more tired… Have you ever risked anything, Sinclair Davis, in your life, anything that was important to you? Money? Was it ever yours? Probably not.

  First time in your life, isn’t it, son? Did you think a bridge game was going to be easier than real life? Didn’t you say you found that your skills at bridge helped you in your work? With a satisfied grin, Cat recalled Sinclair as he had stood by the glass wall, facing her, legs spread wide, telling her with a patronizing smile that he had been playing bridge since his college days. Just before the start of the second game. ‘I’ve always found,’ he had said, with a charming smile that had grated along her spine, ‘that I apply the skills I use at bridge to my work in finance…’

  Good for you, Sinclair. Her eyes narrowed to slits of blue. Welcome to the ’gator pond, young man. You won’t make it out intact, if at all.

  Porter smiled, happy to have made the contract.

  Cat wrote down the score. “Bid two diamonds, made two. The score is +90 for North-South. Everyone agree?” She turned to Storm and Sinclair for their approval.

  Storm nodded. How did they do at the other table?

  *

  Father Norwood lowered his body into the seat once more and took up his pen.

  …We considered whether it was right to send a member of our Society to play this game, to be, perhaps, part of this new Time, that will be outside time.

  And the answer was yes. In the words of none other than Father Roland Griffith: there are times when what is best is what is right, because of the potential consequences of doing otherwise.

  If there is to be this new Time, this new timeless age, you – we – felt it best to experience it through one of our own, for it will be powerful and it will change the world.

  That was the right decision.

  Then the consideration turned to the person who would take on such a mission.

  We did not make the decision lightly, and we considered what we thought at the time to constitute all the eventualities, all the consequences of such a decision. We deliberated long and hard, did we not? I know I prayed for many hours.

  But it seems we did not consider every possible eventuality. At least, I appear not to have done so.

  Father Roland Griffith does not fear death. His own death. We were sure of this when he was chosen, and my certainty has never wavered.

  *

  “We would have been better off in hearts!” Danny said angrily to the judge, his partner, at table 2. “You should have bid them instead of passing.”

  The judge arched a bow-like eyebrow. “I was supposed to bid after your 2-notrump?” she tossed her head dismissively. “We were already too high, Mr. Cross. It would have been suicide to bid 3-hearts. As it is, you did it all by yourself!”

  “2-notrump by West, down one,” Bruce said, as he wrote down the score. “Well, we – North-South – get +100 for our efforts, partner,” Bruce smiled at Father Griffith, who remained suitably impassive excepting a small furtive smile, half-hidden by his bowed head that told his partner all the satisfaction he felt.

  “The contract at table 1 was 2-diamonds by South, making two, for a score of +90 for North-South. As a result, Mr. Saber and Father Griffith at this table, and Mr. Drake and Mr. Davis at table 1 score 1 point each.” Peter announced.

  “Shall we play the next board?” Cat asked, reaching for the cards in the last board of the round at table 1.

  As Father Griffith gazed into the cards in his hand – his left hand – the memories came. He was walking next to Father Norwood along the corridors, past the kitchen where two Jesuits were drinking coffee and discussing the events of the day in the making, past the room of spiritual healing, where he had spent treasured hours alone or in the company of his spiritual mentor…

  Let us pray together, Father Norwood had said. They would pray, not in the small, intimate chapel inside the Jesuit residence, but next door in the church of St. Francis Xavier.

  “How about the Mary Chapel?” Father Norwood asked. “I feel that is the right place for us this morning.”

  “Are you all right, Father?” the judge cleared her throat uncomfortably.

  Father Griffith looked up and smiled. “Yes, your Honor–”

  “Please, no talking,” Peter said.

  Father Griffith returned to his cards to continue the bidding.

  *

  …I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live…

  Father Norwood wrote the words on a separate sheet of paper. It is always a matter of Life and Death. It has been so since the dawn of time.

  …And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die…

  Father Norwood removed his half-moon reading glasses and bowed his head, closing his eyes. Father, I pray today for my dear friend Roland Griffith. He has many trials to overcome. He has a great burden to bear. I fear he is unable to bear this burden alone, and there is no one who can help him except You. Amen.


  Father Norwood made the sign of the cross, and returned to the composition of his letter…

  *

  “Thank you, partner.” Bruce paused, studying the board to start playing the 3-notrump contract at table 2. “Play the king.”

  The king of spades.

  In the Mary Chapel the early morning sun played on the golden-brown wood panels. The form of the Virgin, in colored glass, sparkled in the sun. They sat side by side, facing her.

  “Pick a card, Roland. Any card.” Father Norwood offered a deck of playing cards.

  “Father, I had no idea you indulged …” Father Griffith smiled.

  “Indulge me, Roland. Pick a card.”

  “Play the two of hearts, Father,” Bruce said. Father Griffith selected the card.

  When his turn came, Bruce played the queen. The queen of hearts.

  “The Queen of the Sacred Heart,” Father Griffith murmured inaudibly.

  Lord, have mercy.

  “Carry her with you, Roland, in your heart,” Father Norwood said. They sat before the jewel-like stained-glass rendition of the Virgin in the light of the early morning sun.

  “I already do, Father. She is ever in my heart.”

  “I do not think so. You haven’t eaten in two days. You have kept to your room since you returned from the second game.”

  It is God’s will. “I was resting, Father.”

  “Low diamond, please,” Bruce said.

  “You lost a game. That is all.”

  No. “I know, Father.”

  “Roland … you know that I cannot help you in this game. No one can.”

  “I know, Father. It is my burden alone to bear.”

  “Well, my son, we all have our burdens to bear. But that is not why you were chosen to play this game. You were not chosen for your extreme stoicism, although you are, without doubt, by nature resilient and stoic.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “You are welcome, but I did not come here to comfort you with empty platitudes and meaningless boosts to your confidence. You do not need such comforts.”

  “Low heart, partner,” Bruce called out bringing Father Griffith out of his reverie. The priest played the heart 4.

  “I will do better in the next game, Father.” Father Griffith recalled his words to his superior. If it is God’s will, so be it.

  “We tried to prepare you, but you know we could not anticipate everything you would experience.” Father Norwood sighed.

  “Father, I do not expect anything from you. You have been more than generous.”

  “That is not the point, my son. We would all do whatever we could to help you, but we may not know what you need. And if we knew, we probably wouldn’t have the resources.

  “Play the ace, partner.” Father Griffith played the ace of hearts.

  “Roland, I know in my heart that whatever you need in this life, and for this game, you will find within yourself,” Father Norwood continued. “Yours is an infinitely resourceful nature. But sometimes, perhaps, you cannot hear yourself. Perhaps this is one of those times. I cannot help you, but it is possible that I can help you help yourself. You see, sometimes all you need is to be able to hear yourself. Sometimes, all we need to solve a problem is to speak its terms–”

  “Play the jack of diamonds, partner.”

  Father Griffith obeyed automatically. His thoughts were not in this room…

  The roses. “It’s about the roses, Father.”

  “Tell me about the roses…”

  “I give you the rest of the tricks. Making 3-notrump,” Bruce announced.

  “Well played, partner,” Father Griffith smiled.

  “My apologies, Father,” Bruce continued, after a pause. “We would have made four hearts, which scores higher than 3-notrump. I should have chosen hearts instead of notrump,” he said, shaking his head somberly as he wrote down 600 for North-South.

  “You made the bid you thought was right, Mr. Saber,” Father Griffith replied. “There’s no point in second-guessing yourself after you’ve had a chance to see all the cards.”

  “Thank you, Father,” Bruce looked up. The angular face of the lawyer, with its confident hazel eyes dissolved into the face of an old man.

  “I see what you mean, Roland,” Father Norwood removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Perhaps we spent too much time thinking about the obvious difficulties of the game. I mean what we thought would be the difficulties you would face.”

  “You were correct to do so, Father. I too, thought we had addressed all the salient issues,” Father Griffith responded…

  Beyond the salient issues of killing and dying, there was that one about living. With the knowledge of those defiled roses.

  With the knowledge of the nature of LifeGame.

  With the knowledge that at the end of that game was a garden of roses, in which someone had haphazardly, callously, planted the most beautiful flower as an experiment.

  With the knowledge … what was the knowledge?

  What do I fear? Father Griffith wondered. What exactly do I fear?

  At table 1, Cat wrote down 620 for her side, the score for making 4-hearts.

  “And the other table?” She looked up at Tanner quizzically.

  “At table 1, the board was played in 4-hearts, for a score of 620,” Peter announced.

  “We were doing well until that hand,” Bruce said regretfully.

  Father Griffith nodded.

  “Roland–” Father Norwood rose and faced him, and made the sign of the cross. “Open your heart to the Lord, my son. Let Him guide you.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “And now it’s time for breakfast, don’t you think?”

  21

  “Alas, I must leave you, partner,” Porter said, rising.

  “Don’t worry, darling, you’ll be back to play against me in–” Cat paused to review the sheet setting out the players’ assignments for all seven rounds, “Oh, on the third round! How exciting. Do try to enjoy yourself with Mr. Davis.”

  “I’m leaving too,” Sinclair said, rising from his seat.

  “Of course you are, dear. I just said you’d be playing with Jacob in round 2 didn’t I?” Cat flashed him a fleeting smile.

  Sinclair walked towards the door without acknowledging Cat. The glass slid aside to let him out.

  For a brief moment the leafy world outside happened. It’s like catching a glimpse of the countryside from the cockpit at Spa, thought Storm recalling the beautiful, exquisitely dangerous, forested course in the meteorologically-temperamental Ardennes region of Belgium. A driver’s favorite for its multiple challenges that put the car through its paces. No room for mistakes at Spa. Taking the Eau Rouge corner flat out. It didn’t get any better than that.

  And just as you approached the top of the hill, at full throttle, at close to 200 miles an hour, not knowing what was on the other side, not seeing the road stretching out before you. Only trees and the sky. Blue, gray, white, sky…

  “What a rude young man,” Cat said as the glass closed, shutting out the world.

  “Cat, we’re partners for round 2,” Storm smiled, taking the seat vacated by Porter.

  “How delightful,” Cat clapped lightly. “Who’s playing East-West?”

  “Father Griffith and Judge Other,” Tanner replied from his seat.

  “We’re playing against Mr. Saber and Mr. Cross,” Porter said conversationally as he and Sinclair walked to room 2.

  “Hmm.”

  “Excuse me, Judge,” Porter brushed past the woman standing outside room 2 gazing towards the two residential buildings to the south.

  The door to room 1 slid for Father Griffith, revealing Cat and Storm seated in the North-South seats.

  “What’s the judge doing?” Storm asked.

  “She’ll be in shortly,” the priest replied.

  “I’m sure she will,” Cat beamed. “How are you, Father Roland? You’re looking a bit more cheerful this game. Losing seems to agree with you!” She lau
ghed unselfconsciously.

  The priest inclined his head. “Thank you, Madam. Happily, winning hasn’t diminished any of your vim and vinegar.”

  “Very nice, Roland,” Cat laughed. “Vim and vinegar, indeed. That was a very good comeback, particularly considering you’re probably not as sharp as you could be, after losing about a third of your life a week ago.” She shook her head solicitously.

  “Not really, Madam. After all, before you showed up, I had won about twenty-five Life Points. My current state is only a few points off where I started.” He smiled without any evidence of ill will. “Please don’t worry about me. I’m about as sharp as I’ll ever be.”

  “Well, I’m just an old woman, of course, and my eyesight isn’t anything to write home about, but I really thought you were looking more relaxed at the beginning of this game.”

  “Oh really, Mrs. Trahan, please don’t sell yourself short. I am confident you will find some way to induce tension as necessary. I notice, by the way, that you’re not wearing your reading glasses now–”

  “Why, no, dear. I am not! Isn’t that fun?”

  “Yes, I can see you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself, which is to be admired. I admit I have found the experience trying at times. I believe it is a common failing, at least among people who do not share your unique and carefree spirit.”

  “Darling, it’s all about perspective. Now, I know you’ve been awfully well trained and educated and everything. The Jesuits are quite determined to churn out intelligent, well-read, well-meaning young men and spew them off all round the world.” Airily, she waved a hand that was decidedly less bony than a week ago. As a matter of fact, I am rather hoping you don’t die off dear, even at the risk of spending all of eternity in the company of a priest. One has no idea how such things might turn out, you know, having never been immortal– but I suspect achieving immortality is like anything else in life: you’re much more likely to succeed if you enjoy the journey–” Cat paused and looked at the empty seat to her right, “– Really, where is that woman?” she cried impatiently. “What is she doing? Mooning around about her rose I’m sure!”

  She is dangerous, Father Griffith thought, unable to control the involuntary flinch at the mention of the roses. So, does that mean that the judge knows about Silver Dawn, was the second thought snuck into his mind. How? He wondered. Did Mrs. Trahan have a hand in it? I wish I knew….