“No darling,” Cat shook her white head sweetly. “I just know you to be such a talented player that I was absolutely sure you would conquer the contract!” she beamed enthusiastically.
Danny scowled with pleasure.
22
Guessing by the time… Father Norwood checked his wristwatch: 3:20 in the afternoon, I imagine they are about in the middle portion of the game.
…We found exactly the kind of man we were seeking, he continued writing. The whole of him. When we insisted upon finding a man who would not rationalize his actions and decisions, we, of course, found a person of a deeply fastidious nature to whom self-deception was odious. Where we sought deep convictions, we also, of course, found a man who saw himself as an inextricable extension of those convictions.
Imagine, now, placing that same man in LiGa. This is what we did. We tried to think of the possible consequences of sending this man into that game. And we – or rather, I – failed. For I am merely human and therefore fallible.
We could not have foreseen that LiGa would bring Judge Other’s beautiful rose, Silver Dawn, into its gardens. We had no way of knowing that they would place that flower in the middle of a bed of roses that were part of an experiment, or so it would appear.
For some men, such a finding would mean little. But we did not send such men to play LiGa, for they did not have the attributes we sought.
We sent Roland Griffith after careful thought…
*
Following half a point awarded to all players on board 14 on a contract of 3-notrump at both tables (bid and made), the players played board 15.
The result was a victory for Cat and Danny at table 1, due to Porter’s hesitation in taking the plunge to game in hearts.
“Bid 3-hearts, made four,” The judge said at the conclusion of the board. “Why didn’t you bid 4-hearts, Mr. Porter?”
“I thought it was too risky,” Porter replied.
The judge cast a withering look. “I see. And you were wrong, Mr. Porter. I don’t imagine Mrs. Trahan is likely to make the same mistake. Haven’t you realized by now that that woman is likely to pounce at a risky option?” She turned away.
“I am bidding my hand, judge,” Porter replied mildly. “I can only bid my hand to the best of my ability.”
“Well played, partner.” Storm said at table 1 at the conclusion of board 16. “We took them down two tricks.”
“Excellent switch to clubs on the third trick,” Storm said to Bruce. “It wasn’t an obvious choice, but the only way to defeat the contract.”
“Yes, wasn’t it?” Bruce leaned back with a satisfied grin.
“Break for fifteen minutes,” Tanner told the table as he collected board 16.
The doors opened and the players emerged.
“Darlings, how are you enjoying the game?” Cat asked Bruce and Storm standing by the buffet table. She delicately picked out a small sandwich.
“Very well,” Bruce replied. “And you?”
“I can’t really complain, can I?” Cat gave a light laugh.
“Father Griffith likes fresh air, I take it.” Bruce pointed to the black figure walking purposefully outside. “Where is he going? Isn’t that the building where you are both staying?” he nodded towards Storm sipping from a can of Coke.
Cat’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” she replied.
“Why?”
“How would I know?” she asked innocently.
“I think you do,” Bruce replied evenly.
“Oh, he probably just wants to smell the roses!” She laughed.
“Really? In the middle of this game? I’d love to see those roses! Where are they?” Bruce returned jovially. By the glass, the judge was standing stiff and tall. She turned sharply.
“Perhaps I’ll take a look around after the game,” Bruce stretched lazily, taking note of the judge’s reaction.
*
…We sent Roland Griffith after careful thought.
We did not foresee, and arguably we should have, for his character was well known to us, that he would consider the possibility of living forever – in the LiGa way, which, he would feel is not God’s way – to be an abomination. I express myself poorly on this point for I am trying to paraphrase Roland’s words.
I will paraphrase what he said to me: Roland has an abhorrence for being a rose in LiGa’s garden, which seeks no more than to emulate – poorly and without regard to the beauty of the original flower – the perfection of Silver Dawn.
Many men we could have chosen would not have displayed this sensitivity. And those men, we thought – and I still believe – would have been unworthy of the task…
*
“It’s almost time for round 5,” Tanner announced.
“Should someone go and get Father Griffith?” Bruce asked.
“I’ll go,” the judge volunteered.
“No,” Tanner held up a hand to stop her. “Peter, go get Father Griffith. Everyone else, find your assigned seats.”
Tanner placed board 17 on table 1.
“Governor, may I ask a favor?” Bruce was sitting South, opposite Cat.
“Of course you may ask. I can’t stop you, can I?”
“Very amusing,” Bruce said without laughing. “I’m very interested in seeing this rose bed that you believe Father Griffith went to during the break. Perhaps you would show me after the game?”
“You already said you wanted to see it,” Cat said. “During the break.”
“Would you show me, governor?”
“Perhaps,” Cat said coyly. “If we win, maybe I’ll show you…”
“Why do you want to see the roses?” the judge asked sharply. She was sitting East.
“Who wouldn’t want to look at beautiful roses, your Honor? Perhaps we can go there together,” Bruce replied.
The judge shifted in her chair. “Perhaps, Mr. Saber,” she said evasively.
“Never mind about the roses. Let’s play.” Sinclair, the judge’s partner, reached for board 17.
At table 2, Father Griffith took his seat opposite Porter as East.
“You may begin,” Peter announced.
They reached for their cards in silence.
*
In short, Father, the choice was made for good reason, and after much deliberation. Let us abide by it. Let us see how he fares. May God grant him the strength and clarity of mind to see his way through the maze of contracts this afternoon!
There may come a time when another will need to be sent, but for now, let our prayers be for Roland Griffith alone…
Father Norwood signed the sheet and laid down the pen. He read through what he had written. I have nothing to add, he thought, folding the sheets. The letter would be dispatched to Father General forthwith.
It can wait until tomorrow, he thought.
*
23
Natalya picked out a shade of nail polish in pale, luminescent peach, holding it out against the honey-gold of her skin. Nothing too red, she thought. I need something subdued. Satisfied with the color, she indicated as such to the girl who would be taking care of her hands and feet for the next hour and a half. “Same color on hands and feet,” she said loudly to the smiling girl, who nodded. I’m sure she knows English, Natalya sighed, flopping down into the seat, and handing over control of her extremities to the slight girl with the big smile that never left her face, and the dexterous hands that massaged and brushed nimbly.
This past week has not been a good one, she thought ruefully.
For a start, her power had gone out for a whole day at the beginning of the week – Monday. Twenty-four hours without electricity – without air conditioning! She had had to stay with Sinclair of course…
I hope this game is over soon, she thought, exasperated. In tandem with her thoughts, she tapped rapidly on the table with her free hand. It wasn’t what she had expected at all. In the first instance, it had turned Sinclair into an absolute beast. I know he can be nasty when he wants but he was never like that wit
h me… Not until this game. All those arguments. Always shouting about something. Always angry. Nothing good enough. The fish is too salty or the meat is too rare – even though he had always liked his steak so bloody it was practically running round the pasture.
It was exhausting. She had had to get away to her own apartment – rather lucky she had not given it up. Be patient, she had told herself countless times.
And still no ring! After all she had done for him in the past few weeks. What more could he want?
“Other hand,” the girl said with a smile.
“Ouch!” Natalya flinched.
“Oh Sorry! I hurt you?” The girl’s smile vanished, to be replaced with a look of panic.
Natalya smiled lazily. So, she doesn’t smile all the time. “It’s ok,” she said, mollified.
*
The last board of the round was played.
The players changed for the seventh and last round.
“They kept the best for last,” Cat quipped as Father Griffith took the seat opposite her.
“I hope I won’t disappoint, partner,” Father Griffith replied.
“Never! Oh what fun, Bruce is here too!” Cat cried as the lawyer took his seat as East.
“The pleasure is all mine, governor. Hello, Father. So, last round everyone. Good luck.”
I can’t believe Davis is my partner for the last round, Danny thought, taking his seat as North as table 2. He’s probably really tired by now and will play even worse than usual. I’d better make sure that I play all of the contracts for our side.
This will be over soon, Sinclair thought. Soon I can go home. He lifted the cards out of the sleeve with a heavy hand.
*
I cannot play properly, the judge thought at table 2. I cannot stop thinking about Silver Dawn and it is affecting me. It has affected me too much. I have lost this game…
On board 27:
Father Griffith regarded Cat’s bid of 3-spades at table 1. I accept your invitation, partner, and raise you to game. Father Griffith bid 4-spades.
At table 2:
Game or not? Sinclair wondered. I don’t know. I’m declarer, and I don’t want to bid game in a contract I may not make. Sinclair passed, leaving the contract in 3-spades.
*
“Bid 4-spades and made four. 420 for North-South,” Cat wrote down.
“Should play the same way at table 2,” Porter said. “Standard bidding, I should think.”
“One never knows,” Cat shook her head slowly. “People do the oddest things …”
“Bid three, made four. 170,” Danny shook his head at table 2. “Why didn’t you bid game, partner?” His voice rose in pitch as he confronted Sinclair.
“Game wasn’t certain,” Sinclair rallied.
“I should have bid it if I were you,” said the judge primly from her seat next to Sinclair. I get a point for Mr. Davis’s poor bidding, but it will not be sufficient, she thought.
Board 28.
I feel nauseous. Sinclair was reviewing his hand at table 2. Everyone else had passed, and he was facing the daunting option of opening the bidding with 1-notrump, which meant he had the lion’s share of the points on the board and was likely to end up playing the final contract. If I end up playing the contract, I’m in trouble, he thought, knowing that he would have to keep track of all the cards in all the suits, and he could barely remember the cards played on the last trick…
With a feeling of doom, Sinclair reluctantly bid 1-notrump.
At table 1, Father Griffith, in the same seat as Sinclair, made the same bid.
Porter and Cat at table 1 passed… It was Bruce’s turn. He was the last player to bid and he knew that if he passed the contract would be set at 1-notrump to be played by Father Griffith, the opponent seated to his left. That’s just seven tricks out of 13, thought Bruce. It’s too easy. I know my side doesn’t have a lot of points but our opponents don’t either. I think we are almost evenly matched. In that case, the contract could be just as much ours as theirs. Instead of 1-notrump, we could try our suit.
Bruce bid 2-spades, his strongest suit.
At table 2, in the same seat as Bruce, Storm considered the identical auction. I could bid 2-spades or pass… If I pass, Davis will play the contract in 1-notrump and he’s liable to make a mess of it. It’s obvious that he can’t concentrate…
*
“Please hand me your score sheet,” Peter said to table 2. “The game has ended.”
At table 1, Bruce’s contract of 2-spades had been defeated by one trick. Too bad, Bruce thought.
“Nicely played everyone,” Cat said. “2-spades by East, down one trick. North-South scores 100. Now, Diarmid, how about the scores for table 1? We’re at our wits’ end with suspense…”
Tanner waited a few seconds until the scores appeared on the table in his hand. “At table 2, the contract was 1-notrump by South. Bid and made, for a score of +90 for North-South. Since the North-South score was higher at this table, Father Griffith and Mrs. Trahan receive a point each, as do Judge Other and Mr. Drake at table 2.”
The scores were reflected on the scoreboard:
The game is over.
The judge rose from her seat slowly.
“Judge, you cannot leave until the scores have been tallied.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m not leaving, but I can’t sit anymore.”
*
“The winners of game three are as follows–”
Tanner scanned the room.
The judge looked out into a world of trees, their leaves still. Leaves of green. Leaves on the trees, and leaves that had fallen. Beyond the leaves were patches of blue. Empty blue around the leaves.
“Catherine Trahan–”
A light breeze only.
“Father Griffith–”
The roses were still in bloom.
“Bruce Saber…”
There would be another season. There would another summer of roses. She still had time.
“Storm Drake.”
I still have time. She raised a hand to the glass.
“The losers are free to leave at this time. The winners are to proceed to the LifeBank to receive their Life Points.”
No, it can’t be! I can’t lose again. Too many Life Points lost. Too little time. Sinclair looked about him in panic.
“Well done, governor,” Bruce approached Cat.
“Thank you, darling. Well played,” she patted his arm. “How many Life Points do we all have now?”
“I don’t know off hand. I’m sure Mr. Tanner has it calculated down to a decimal point. He’ll let us know in the ’Bank.’”
Sinclair looked around the room at the various players…
“Nicely done, Father,” Bruce extended his hand.
“Thank you, Mr. Saber, and while I applaud your accomplishment – as well as that of Mrs. Trahan and Mr. Drake – it is not, for me, a time of celebration.”
“As you wish, Father. But you did play well. Again, well done.”
Father Griffith inclined his head.
Sinclair looked at him. “Father–” he began.
“Yes, Mr. Davis?”
“May I have a word with you?”
“Of course. What is it?”
“Would you mind if we went outside?”
No! Thought Cat.
“Of course not,” Father Griffith replied.
She watched them leave. Sinclair walked next to the priest, leaning towards him. He is a parasite, she thought.
“What is it you wanted to tell me, Mr. Davis?”
“Can we sit down somewhere, Father? I – I get so tired these days… The games are very tiring.”
“Walk with me, Mr. Davis,” Father Griffith said. “We’ll go slowly. It’s not far.”
“Very well,” Sinclair sighed. “It’s just that I get … tired. I’m not feeling all that well, Father…”
“Just a little way, Mr. Davis. Never fear.”
Cat watched them walk away. Towards the
roses.
“Where are they going?” Bruce asked, joining her by the glass.
“To the roses, I think,” she replied softly.
“These amazing roses. Everyone’s seems to have seen them apart from me. You promised you would show them to me.”
“I will. Very soon. Why don’t you get your Life Points, and then we’ll go?” she suggested brightly.
“Father–” Sinclair began.
“Do you like roses, Mr. Davis?” Father Griffith interrupted. He stopped before the flowerbed.
“Uh, yes, yes, I guess,” Sinclair replied. “Can we talk, please?”
“Do you see that rose?” Father Griffith pointed towards the remnants of Silver Dawn.
“Yeah,” Sinclair shrugged. “It’s a rose,” he said irritably.
“Last week it was the most beautiful rose in the world.”
“Great.” Sinclair rolled his eyes.
“Today – you wouldn’t even notice it.”
“That’s right. Father, I just can’t take it anymore. I’m just tired. Do you mind if I sit?”
Father Griffith remained impassive.
“I have something to ask you, Father. Please, will you listen to me?” Sinclair said, his voice was imploring.
“I know what you are going to ask me, Sinclair Davis. It will make no difference whether you are standing or sitting when you do so. You may lie down if it makes you feel better. My answer will be the same.”
Sinclair hesitated. “I’m sure you don’t know – but well, I don’t know how to begin. Father, could you at least look at me? Why do you keep looking at those dead roses?”
Father Griffith said nothing.
“You’re not making it easy for me, you know!”
Father Griffith closed his eyes. Forgive him, Father. He knows not what he does. “I have no intention of making it easy for you, Sinclair Davis. What you’re about to ask should not be easy …”
“You’re a priest, aren’t you?”
“It is true.”
“You’re a man of God. Why are you doing this?”
“Looking at roses?”
“No!” Sinclair shouted. “Why are you playing this game, dammit?”
“Why are you?” Father Griffith asked, looking at the roses.
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