In the meantime, do not think about the roses.
Mrs. Trahan has more Life Points than me right now. Only a few more but it shows how much difference one game can make. In the last game, I had 93. I was in basically the same position as the judge. And now, I have fewer Life Points than a seventy-year-old woman.
Old woman. He glanced at Cat, sitting to his right. Not anymore. Not exactly old. Not young, either. Skin firmer but old-looking. The hair, white still, but new roots take time to grow out. She is younging, he thought. A journey. A process.
I am aging, right now. If I do not win this game, I will have forty-four Life Points left. I do not feel old now, but that’s because between my win in the first game and the loss in the second, I lost only seven Life Points.
Remember how I felt for the first few days after the second game? It will only get worse if I lose this game. I would be in the same position as Sinclair Davis – Lord, have mercy. Give him strength, Lord. He is dying. I don’t know how many more games he could last. This one, and if he loses, maybe one more…
Lord, have mercy on his soul.
It is possible that he can win this game, though. Even if he does not play well, he may be lucky enough to come in fourth. He cannot be discounted.
“Here she is,” Storm said as the door slid to reveal the regal form of the judge, swathed in soft gray. She took her seat wordlessly, as though unaware of the presence of the other players.
“Hello Judge,” Cat waved. “I thought you’d forgotten us.”
A thin smile swept nimbly across the angular face. “Let’s play,” the judge said.
*
…In fact, there was never any doubt that any of the priests considered for this task would be hindered in their mission by placing undue emphasis on their personal safety – their possible death, in other words.
It was considered that the greatest impediment to the priests under consideration would be the distinct probability of harm – and most likely death – to one or more of the other players. It was this theme that was dwelt upon principally. On the one hand it was vital to find a man who would not seek to rationalize causing the demise of another, for this is central to LifeGame. It would have been unconscionable to send a man who would permit himself to reason that another player’s death was acceptable for any one of a number of reasons: that the person was not worthy of immortality, or possibly life, that the person had taken the risk – caveat emptor, if you will.
On the other hand, it would have been equally irresponsible to send a man whose compassion for the suffering of others had risen to the level of a handicap. It would have been impossible for such a man to play with sufficient clarity of purpose and mind to succeed.
Between those two extremes, lay the ideal candidate. A man who would play to the best of his ability with the full and unconstrained knowledge and acceptance of its consequences.
A man, in other words, with convictions as hard and as transparent as a diamond.
Such a man is rare. Rarer and far more precious than the clearest, most flawless of diamonds.
Such a man is Roland Griffith.
*
As he sought to concentrate on defending a contract of 1-notrump at table 1, on board 6 of the second round, Father Griffith, partnered with the judge, chose not to block the memory of breakfast with Father Norwood sitting at a simple wooden table in the kitchen of the Jesuit residence – airy, light and serviceable.
“You need to get your strength up,” said the old man, gathering three eggs from the capacious refrigerator. “How do you like your eggs Roland?” he asked, searching and finding a large, black weathered iron skillet. “I think we have some mushrooms too,” he beamed.
“Father, please– let me do it–” Roland Griffith reached to take the skillet.
“No, no,” Father Norwood shook his head. “You must sit down and let me make you breakfast. Now, tell me, how do you like your eggs? I can even manage an omelet!”
“Just scrambled, please–” Father Griffith replied uncomfortably, standing by the stove.
“Hello Roland, hello Father,” Tom Morton waved from the doorway. “Early breakfast? Smells great!”
“Join us, Tom.”
Tom Morton declined, explaining that he had to go to Queens to visit a hospital.
“He is a valuable man,” Father Norwood said slowly after Father Tom left. They were alone in the kitchen.
“Yes,” Father Griffith nodded. “Tom’s a great friend and a great priest.”
“There are many like him in our Order…” Father Norwood continued, stirring the eggs. “Many valuable men. Hand-picked for their intelligence, their selfless compassion, their inner strength and resolve, their unwavering service to our Lord, Jesus Christ…”
Father Griffith felt that he was not expected to provide a response, and refrained from speaking.
“Each of these exceptional men are, at various times, asked to perform duties, to accomplish tasks that may seem daunting to others – to those who are not possessed of the same qualities. Is this not true, Roland?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Our brother, Oleg – may God rest his soul – was such a man…”
Father Griffith waited.
“After his martyrdom in Colombia – after you were asked to return to this country – another of our brothers was missioned to Colombia…”
“Yes,” Father Griffith nodded. “I know.”
“You see, Roland, although Oleg was an exceptional man, it was possible, with sufficient care and research, to find another to replace him in his work.”
“We are all expendable, Father. I know.”
Father Norwood shook his head gently. “No, Roland. Not expendable. No child of God is expendable. But we are all replaceable.”
“Nicely played, darling!” Cat beamed at her partner, Storm, at table 2 calling out the score triumphantly, “1-notrump by Storm, making an extra trick, scoring +120 for North-South. What happened at table 1?”
Tanner glanced at his tablet. “Table 1 played board 6 in 2-diamonds by North, making two. Score: +90 for North-South.”
“We get a point, darling!” Cat reached across the table and squeezed Storm’s hand.
The judge maintained a disapproving silence.
“Mrs. Trahan and Mr. Drake get one point each at this table,” Tanner continued, “and at table 1, Mr. Saber and Mr. Cross score a point. The remaining players are not awarded any points for this hand.”
There was nothing we could do, thought Father Griffith at table 1. “Well defended, your Honor,” he offered, but was met with an icy glare.
*
…It appears we did not think of every eventuality. Within the limits of our humanity, we were unable to foresee all the consequences of LifeGame. We were so concerned with death and killing that we neglected what I have come to believe, upon further reflection, is the true center of this thing called LifeGame.
It is, after all, a game of life…
Father Norwood sighed and read the letter he had written. What I write now is critical, he thought. I think I need a cup of tea to energize my brain. I do not want to make a mistake. He folded the letter and placed it between the pages of a book from a nearby shelf, and made his way to the kitchen – a few short steps away.
“Hello Paul,” Father Norwood smiled at the younger man engaged in ruminating through the contents of the fridge. The fridge door was closed hurriedly and Paul’s startled face appeared.
“You startled me, Father,” Paul said hurriedly. “I was just – I got peckish–” he signaled towards the fridge.
“Would you like some tea? I’ve a hankering for a nice cup of English Earl Grey.”
“No thank you, Father. Oh what are you reading?” Peter pointed at the book in Father Norwood’s hand.
“This?” Father Norwood held the book containing the letter at arm’s length, and peered through his glasses to make out the title. “Oh, it appears to be a copy of To Kill a Mockingbird. What
a delightful book! I have not read it in many years. I expect to enjoy it immensely,” he beamed happily. “How about you? How is your mother? I hope she is recovering well after her surgery?”
“Oh! Yes, yes she is. Thank you for asking, Father.”
“Good. She is in our prayers, of course…” Father Norwood placed the kettle on the stove, and started rummaging in an overhead cupboard. “Now where is the tea? I know I had some the other day–” he muttered. “Eureka!” he cried, flapping a tea bag. “I have discovered the stash, it seems. Are you sure you don’t want a cup?”
“No thank you,” Father Paul shook his head. “Well, it’s nice chatting with you, Father,” he continued, eager to make a getaway. “I hope you enjoy the book.”
“I’m sure I will!” Father Norwood replied.
*
The players had completed the last board of the round, which had provided Storm, Cat, Bruce and Danny with a point each. The contract – 3-notrump at both tables played by Cat and Sinclair’s North – had failed to make by one trick at table 2.
“Good try, partner.” Porter’s solicitous comment did nothing to assuage Sinclair’s despondency over his inability to count the club suits properly, resulting in an extra trick to the defenders.
The results were in and the players readied to change for round 3.
*
Cup of tea in hand, Father Norwood repaired once more to the warmth and sunshine of the library. Pulling an armchair before the bowed windows looking out onto 16th Street, Father Norwood sat and sipped his tea meditatively.
Procrastination is the Devil’s playground, he thought with a sigh. The letter was not going to write itself, after all. Father General was depending on him. You are my eyes and ears, Adam, he had said, on that last day. After the decision had been made and communicated to everyone, including Roland…
During that last meeting with Father General. Just the two of them looking out of the window at a crystalline blue sky in May.
“I enjoy these early days of summer, do you not, Adam?”
“Yes. Beautiful–”
“Full of beauty. Full of hope. A rebirth…” Father General continued gravely. “Every year, there is a renewal. The earth is alive. Abundantly… alive. Nourished by the sun–” Father General gestured towards the sky. “Life as God created it. Where there is Life, we see the hand of God.
“God is present in all things: from the azure sky–” Father General smiled serenely, looking up and out of the window, “to the smallest speck of dust.” He brushed a finger along the windowsill.
“We-ell, that could just be the poor housekeeping!” Father Norwood quipped, earning him an affectionate pat on the shoulder and a chuckle from the superior general.
They stood side by side, in silence.
“Do you have any doubts?” Father General asked.
“Of course,” Father Norwood replied. “Nevertheless, it is the right thing to do, because it is the best thing to do– as Father Roland told us.”
Father General nodded once, very slowly.
“After all, LiGa might have easily invited the head of another religious order – imagine, Father–”
“They still might…”
“And may God grant all the players strength and a clear mind,” Father Norwood said levelly. “Regardless of their religious affiliation. They are all children of God.”
“We are all God’s little creatures, striving – imperfectly as we must – to help our fellow creatures–” Father General paused.
“Imagine a spring that never ends…” he continued, “Imagine that abundance of life never dying… to make room for the new.”
“It does not appear to be God’s will that Life should arrange itself so.”
“No. And neither, it seems, is it LiGa’s.”
“No.”
Once again they remained locked in silence. A silence borne of mutual understanding.
“It is best for one of ours to be present in this … new… spring. And therefore, it is right,” continued the superior general. “I feel comforted knowing you will be there to offer him guidance.” He smiled, turning to face Father Norwood.
I hope I will not disappoint you, Father.
*
By the end of round 3:
Tired. Already too tired. Four more rounds to go…Sinclair rose from his seat as west at table 2, and moved across the table, bumping into the unoccupied south chair on his way. Storm, who had been playing south during the third round had already left for table 1. There was only one other person in the room. Shit! The priest saw me trip over the chair.
Father Griffith took the seat vacated by Sinclair. They were partners this round. Lord, give him strength.
“Mr. Davis–”
“What?” Sinclair snarled.
“I just wanted to say that you played the last hand of the round very well,” the priest said gently.
“Really?” Sinclair was taken aback by the compliment.
“Yes.” What else can I say to you, Sinclair Davis? Father Griffith thought. You are dying. Perhaps a little encouragement will help you. In any event, it cannot hurt you – not the way this game is hurting you.
“Thanks.” Sinclair squinted away.
“May Christ’s Peace be with you. Trust in Him. He will give you the strength you need,” Father Griffith said quietly.
Sinclair swallowed, looked down and said nothing.
The glass cleared as the judge and Porter entered.
“You can start when you’re ready,” Peter told them. “Remember, there will be a break at the end of this round.”
Good. I’ll feel better if I eat and drink something, Sinclair thought, leaning close to the table.
“Here is board 13.”
“No more reading glasses, governor? That’s splendid!” Bruce laughed, sitting West at table 1. It was the first time in the game that they were playing at the same table.
Cat, as North for the round, gave him a sideways glance. “Not really, darling. I still need them a bit, but my eyesight is getting better, so I thought I’d practice reading the cards without them.”
“Please wear your glasses so you can see the cards!” Danny snapped. He was Cat’s partner for the round.
“Really, darling! Do you think I would jeopardize my life for – glasses?” Cat gave him an injured look.
“You said you still need glasses. Put them on if you need them,” Danny continued doggedly.
“I will wear them if I feel the need,” Cat replied.
Danny’s left hand on the table began to twitch. “Director!”
“Yes, Mr. Cross. What is it?” Tanner asked, not rising from his seat.
“Make my partner wear her glasses. She said she can’t see her cards but she won’t wear her glasses. She must wear them!” Danny thumped his fist on the table.
“Don’t bang on the table,” Tanner warned. “Mrs. Trahan, do you need to wear glasses to see your cards?”
“Hardly, dear. The numbers are quite large enough.”
“Start the first board of the round,” Tanner said.
“No!” Danny continued, his left hand thumb twitching rapidly.
“Relax, Danny,” Bruce said in a soothing tone. “She’s one of the best players here. She’s not going to risk her life for vanity.”
Danny rose from his seat, and started to pace.
“Mr. Cross,” Tanner began venomously, “I will subtract one point from your score for every five seconds you delay the start of this round.”
“You can’t do that!” Danny stopped abruptly.
Tanner stared at him, and started to count slowly: “One … Two …”
Danny returned to his seat, and slid the cards out of the southern sleeve, casting a look of hatred at Cat.
Cat placed the 1-diamond bidding card before her quietly, and with a small, not entirely pleasant smile.
*
Now where was I? Father Norwood wondered, re-reading the letter he had laid out before him.
He had taken his seat again at the small writing table.
…It is, after all, a game of life, he read. It was the last thing he had written. Oh yes, I recall my train of thought.
And life, as is God’s will, takes as many forms as His imagination permits, which is limitless. God’s love for his myriad creations is likewise limitless, infinite. His love is equal, and it is unconditional. His love is compassionate and forgiving. He loves us with all of our infirmities of body and soul.
He loves the simple daisy in the field, and the small fly that we would swat away in frustration. He loves the hand that created the Mona Lisa, and He also loves the Mona Lisa, for it is, in truth, also His creation.
In short, He loves all the roses in the garden, regardless of whether they are withered or in full bloom. He loves the red rose as well as the white.
We are all roses in His garden.
This I know with my reason.
But to know this with my heart? For any of us to know, in our hearts, that we will be loved, no matter what? No matter when? That is another matter.
Father Norwood paused. His thoughts had strayed to a memory. There rose, in his mind, the face of Roland Griffith, a few days ago: tired, but it had not been a case of simply physical fatigue. His face looked drawn: dark circles under his eyes, and the fine bones grown even more prominent.
“May God be with you, Roland,” he said quietly.
*
The final contracts for board 13 were: 2-spades by Danny at table 1, making an extra trick for a score of 140 for North-South (-140 for East-West), and 2-hearts at table 2 by the West player, Father Griffith, to go down by one trick, thereby scoring 50 for North-South (-50 for East-West). The result was an extra point for Danny and Cat at table 1, and Sinclair and Father Griffith at table 2.
“There you go, Mr. Cross, you see, I knew you would be able to make it. You went and made an overtrick!” Cat said brightly at table 1.
“Yes, but you still shouldn’t have bid 2-spades when you only had two spades in your hand. I thought you had three,” Danny said accusingly. “Was that because you couldn’t see that you only had two cards?” he added maliciously.
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