She stood before the walk-in closet. “Someone’s got to clean this place up, and I wish it wasn’t me, but … we can’t have some cleaning woman seeing the mess you’ve made of what’s left of your life, honey, can we?” She walked into the closet. Besides, you called me, she thought, recalling the short conversation from the morning.
“Here we go,” she cried in triumph, pulling out an old, battered t-shirt and sweat-pants. She kicked off the lovely Louboutin heels, and unceremoniously peeled off the creamy shift. She pulled on the sweat pants, rolled up the cuffs to her ankles and put on the t-shirt. “I am not working bare-footed!” she cried, looking around for suitable footwear.
“Ah!” she cried exultantly, spotting a glittering pair of slippers stashed away amid Sinclair’s dress-shoes. “I’ve been looking for you for ever!” She would have preferred steel-toed work boots but at least the slippers covered her feet and were less than three inches high.
27
I don’t know how I feel about Storm becoming immortal. Is that wrong? I told him I want the best for him. But really, I tried to persuade him not to play this game. I admit I did, Helen nodded slowly. The truth is … well, the truth is, Lord, that the truth is very complex.
I love him. That is a truth I am sure of. But then it starts to get terribly complicated, you see. You see… what does it mean to say that I love him? I know I want to be with him. I love to be with him. He makes me happy. Not just happy. He is my best friend. I can’t imagine my life without him.
Until now, I’ve always supported him. I really have! Lord, you must know how hard it’s been sometimes. You know what it’s like when he’s racing… I kept telling myself how safe they build the cars now, and all the other safety precautions, but You and I know that people die out there sometimes. I wasn’t there when he had his accident at Monza, and I’m glad about that, because I don’t know if I could have stomached him racing after that … But I supported him. Always. Because he loved it. It was his passion.
And now this …
If this is the last game, the most he could lose is a third of the rest of his life. He’s not going to die. He’ll have a lot of life left, in fact. Close to where he was at the beginning of the game. I don’t want him to lose!
Do I?
*
At the end of round 2:
*
“Ahh…” Natalya sighed, sinking into the comfort of the couch. “God, you owe me, Sinclair!” She stretched out her legs, slipping off the heavy rubber gloves. “What time is it?” A grandfather clock – anachronistically baroque – proclaimed the hour at ten minutes after four in the afternoon.
“The game won’t end for another half an hour, I think, and then it will take him at least an hour and a half to get back home… I have time for a shower–” she paused, regarding her nails critically. “I can’t believe I almost ruined a perfectly good manicure.”
She rose from the couch and walked wearily towards the bathroom.
“I wish you hadn’t broken all the mirrors,” she muttered disconsolately. “Now all I have is the little mirror in my pocketbook…” She stepped carefully into the shower, inspecting the surfaces for trace fragments of glass she may have missed.
*
At the end of the sixth round:
The players readied to change for the last round of the game.
As Sinclair rose from his seat, he stumbled towards the table. Father Griffith’s hand caught his arm. “Are you all right, Mr. Davis?”
Sinclair shook his head slowly, massaging his forehead with his free hand, making no effort to dislodge the priest. “Yes,” he muttered.
“Sit down,” Father Griffith urged. “We have time.” He turned to Tanner, who had limped over. “Can we take a short break? Mr. Davis is unwell.”
Sinclair was sitting with his head and arms slumped over the table. Tanner leaned close. “Mr. Davis, how do you feel?”
Sinclair raised his head with effort. “Dizzy,” he said in an indistinct voice. One of his hands crawled to a pocket.
Tanner opened the small window between the rooms and beckoned to Peter. “Tell them to stay put,” he ordered.
“I’ll be all right,” Sinclair said, his head rolling backwards. The priest put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Can you get me water … Father?” he pleaded, rolling his head towards the priest.
“May I?” Father Griffith asked Tanner.
“No,” Tanner replied, limping towards the door. As the door slid, the transparent glass revealed the presence of two of the gray men stationed outside the door. Tanner beckoned to one of the men, and directed him to bring a glass of water.
“What are you taking, darling?” Cat asked.
“None of your business,” Sinclair slurred.
Cat bit back the sentence she was about to utter: it won’t work, you know. Nothing works under the imprint…
“What’s going on?” Danny asked, restless.
“I don’t know,” Peter replied. “Please, be patient. The game will resume shortly.”
“I’d like to know what’s happening too,” the judge stood up.
“I’m sure you would, Judge,” Peter said mildly, “but unfortunately, we are all in the dark at this moment. The last round will start momentarily.”
“That’s not good enough!” Danny jerked out of his seat and moved towards the door. Peter made no effort to stop him. As Danny neared the entrance, the glass slid open.
“Is there a problem?” The gray man stationed outside asked.
Danny backed away towards the table.
“No,” Peter assured the man. “We are waiting for Mr. Tanner to give us the go-ahead.”
The man moved away from the entrance, and they were once again enclosed in clouds of glass.
In room 1, Sinclair shook out three pills into his palm and chewed them. His face contorted as he gulped at the glass of water. “I’ll be ok in a couple of minutes,” he breathed heavily.
No one spoke.
“It’s ok to change,” Tanner told Peter through the small window.
“You heard Mr. Tanner,” Peter turned to the players in room 2. “You can change for the last round.”
Danny and the judge entered room 1 and seated themselves in the East and West seats respectively. They were playing against Father Griffith and Cat, sitting North and South respectively. In room 2, Sinclair was partnered with Storm as North-South, facing Bruce and Porter.
The directors brought board 25 to the tables.
“Start when you’re ready,” Peter said to room 2.
Board 25:
At table 1, Cat darted a glance at her partner, Father Griffith, studiously analyzing his hand. Our fortunes are tied together until the end of the game, Roland darling. We are tied for fourth place right now, and we must play our best. We must communicate. Do I trust you? She looked down at her cards, which amounted to just below the minimum points required to open the bidding, but showed a nice five-card heart suit.
You know… I do. I do trust you, darling, but then there are the cards. These cards that can wreck the best-laid plans, the best partnerships… This is not the prettiest hand I’ve ever seen, but I must be clever. I must make the best bid possible. With barely enough points, I could pass… but what will Storm do? In this game, that is the most important thing: to do better than your opponent at the other table. Dear Storm is in my seat at table 2 and he is playing with Sinclair Davis on the last round of the game. No, possibly the last round of the tournament. What will he do? Will he pass or bid 1-heart? She sighed softly and placed the 1-heart bidding card on the table delicately.
Father Griffith was also thinking about his partner and the potential outcome of the game. You and I are tied Mrs. Trahan. If we win, we win together, and if we lose, we both lose. But if we win, you win the game… You win the tournament. And me? Perhaps. But my immortality depends, not only on my winning the tournament, but also on certain people losing… In order for me to attain 100 Life Points, someone with enou
gh Life Points must lose. Mr. Davis, Mr. Cross, and even Bruce Saber do not have enough points to give me.
With 96 Life Points it is Storm Drake at the other table who must lose for me to win, he thought dispassionately. And Storm Drake is playing with Sinclair Davis during this last round…
At table 2, Sinclair stacked his cards facedown on the table and began to rub his temples. Why is it so hard to think? Think, Sinclair! Think! Look at the cards. What is in my hand?
Sinclair closed his eyes and took a deep breath to quiet the rising panic.
At table 1, Father Griffith raised his partner’s bid to 3-hearts.
After three passes, the contract at table 1 was set at 3-hearts to be played by Cat for North-South.
At table 2, the contract was set at 2-spades, to be played by Porter for East-West. The North-South pair missed the heart contract because Storm, in the same seat as Cat and wary of his partner, Sinclair’s state, chose to proceed cautiously and did not open the bidding.
“Well played, partner,” Bruce congratulated Porter at table 2 as the cards were placed in the board. Sinclair wrote down: “West bid 2-spades, made 4. That’s -170 points for North-South.”
“Table 1 played in 3-hearts by North-South,” Peter announced. “They were down two tricks, for -100 points to North-South. That means Mr. Porter and Mr. Saber receive one point each at this table, and Cat Trahan and Father Griffith at table 1.”
“Nicely bid, Mrs. Trahan,” Father Griffith said to his partner at table 1. “Had it not been for your hearts, we should have been defending a spade contract.”
“Even when we lose our own contract, we win on the board. How interesting life is…” Cat cocked her head meditatively to one side.
Board 26 played out as a small slam in diamonds by East-West. The contract came unstuck by one trick.
“Six diamonds, down one trick, doubled for penalty. That’s 100 for North-South,” Father Griffith said as he wrote down the score.
You are pleased with yourself, partner. Father Griffith looked at Cat across the table, smiling faintly with quiet self-satisfaction. And you should be: that was a smart penalty double. A smart risk to take. Can Mr. Drake take the same risk at the other table? If I were in his position – with Mr. Davis as my partner – I would think twice before committing to take down a near-perfect slam. He may be braver …
At table 2, Porter claimed after trick five, spreading his remaining cards on the table. “Oh well, down one,” he sighed.
“Good try, partner,” Bruce said supportively. “There was nothing you could have done on the lay of the cards.”
“On the bright side, at least we weren’t doubled!” Porter exclaimed as Sinclair wrote down the score for North-South: 50
“How did the others play?” Bruce asked the director, and was informed that the other table had likewise played the board as a slam in diamonds, doubled, going down by one trick.
“Nicely done, partner,” Bruce grinned, “no double, no trouble!”
Board 27 yielded a point each to Bruce, Porter, Cat and Father Griffith.
“Well, here goes: last hand of the game,” Bruce said, sliding the cards out of the sleeve of board 28. “Good luck everyone.”
*
What is the right thing? What’s for the best?
“Are you all right, my dear?”
A light touch on her shoulder … Helen jumped in her seat. “Ah!”
“I’m terribly sorry.” A man with a gentle face, standing away from her. A small man draped in black with white hair, and a gentle face. A man with clear, steady, intelligent eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Father,” she murmured, embarrassed. “I was lost in thought,” she tried to wipe away tears surreptitiously.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear. I was only concerned because you’ve been here all afternoon … and you appeared rather sad.”
“It’s just … it’s personal, Father,” she replied. “I didn’t mean to be rude–” she added quickly. “It’s just…”
The priest nodded. “I know about private things,” he said gently. He placed a hand on her shoulder. A comforting, steady hand. “But if you need to talk–” he paused. “To someone more human,” he added with a self-deprecating smile, “I will be messing about here and there in the church. Feel free to come and find me.”
“Thank you, Father–” Helen hesitated as a name rose in her mind. She swallowed. “Father, I haven’t been to church in many years. Is this … this is a Jesuit church, isn’t it?” she ventured timidly.
“Yes,” The priest smiled.
“Oh good. I was actually looking for a priest I met a long time ago … I am sure he said he was a Jesuit–”
The priest laughed. “There are several thousand of us. I’m afraid I probably don’t know him,” he said good-naturedly.
“Oh that’s all right. I don’t expect you would … His name is–” Helen’s furrowed brow suggested an internal memory-recall process. “Oh, I remember! Father Roland Griffith. I’m sure that was the name!” she cried triumphantly.
The gentle face remained so. The eyes remained clear and intelligent. The man said: “Father Griffith?” He appeared to think. “I’m not sure,” he shook his head. “It’s a fairly common name unfortunately, and I’m afraid we haven’t had anyone by that name in this parish in my time. I’m sorry,” he patted her shoulder.
You won’t even admit you know him! He’s assigned to this parish, for goodness’ sake. “That’s all right,” she shrugged. “It wasn’t important…” Will he ask me how I know him?
“My dear, I hate to disappoint you,” the priest sounded concerned. “Perhaps I can find out if he’s in any of the nearby parishes if you can give me some more details about when and where you met him?”
“Thank you very much, Father,” Helen shook her head with gratitude. “I don’t mean to put you to any trouble. It really isn’t important,” she sighed. “I think I’m ready to go now, actually. Really, thank you, Father,” she rose and shook his hand earnestly.
“Not at all,” the priest replied, eagerly. “Please come back any time…”
It’s almost five o’clock, Helen thought with trepidation. Will he call me? Outside the church was a typical summer’s day. How incongruously normal, she thought. What am I to do now? I hate waiting!
I love you, Storm! Whatever happens in this game, I will deal with it, Helen thought as she walked out of the Church of St. Francis Xavier, with her head held high and her tears dried.
28
The directors collected the last board and announced the end of the game.
Now, there is nothing I can do, they each thought. It is over.
Lord, as you will it, so be it, Father Griffith thought. Amen.
The glass cleared as they left the game rooms. No one spoke.
“The winners of game four are–” Tanner paused, looking around the room.
“Bruce Saber …”
Bruce said nothing; outwardly he was calm, standing by the glass. Inside, he felt the satisfying triumph of a clean win.
“Oh, I see Peter!” Blanca exclaimed, pointing out of the window. She watched him walk towards them with a deliberate, quick step.
“Xavier–” Peter’s eyes shone as he strode towards the man sitting in an easy armchair. “Blanca–” Peter nodded absentmindedly in her direction. “There’s a tie!”
Xavier rose.
“Also winning: Catherine Trahan …”
Pleasure radiated her whole being.
“Father Roland Griffith …”
Deo gratias …
“Who is it?” Xavier asked. “Who is tied?”
“The racecar driver and the judge,” Peter replied. “Storm Drake and Martha Other.”
“Has anyone reached 100 Life Points?”
Peter nodded. “So far, Cat Trahan, definitely – or rather, she will at the end of the tiebreaker, regardless of the outcome. After her, depending on the outcome of the tiebreaker, either Storm Drake or both
Father Griffith and Bruce Saber.”
“Interesting …”
The boards reflected the players’ final scores:
The judge and Storm looked at each other.
“Now what happens?” the judge asked with a wooden expression.
“The tournament is almost over,” Tanner explained. “There will be a tiebreaker game for fourth place. A type of Chicago. Judge Other and Storm Drake will play until there is a winner.”
“Who will play against us?” Storm asked. “Will it be you and Peter?”
“Mr. Drake, you and Judge Other will play with me and Xavier Redd. Regardless of the outcome of the tiebreaker, we have a player who has – or rather, will at the end of the tiebreaker – exceed 100 Life Points. Catherine Trahan–” Tanner nodded curtly to Cat. “Therefore, this is the end of the tournament.”
“Where is Mr. Redd?” The judge asked impatiently.
Tanner pointed beyond the glass to the figures approaching from the left. “There,” he said. “He is coming with Peter.”
Now that, thought Cat with admiration, is a real man…
“What about us?” Porter asked. “Those who didn’t win. What happens to us now? Do we have to wait for the end of this tiebreaker?”
“No, you must leave,” Tanner replied. “The amount of time you will lose will not change with the outcome of the tiebreaker.”
“That’s it? That’s all?” Sinclair’s voice rose. “You just let us go?”
“The tournament is over,” Tanner repeated.
They heard the familiar sound of glass sliding.
“Good afternoon,” Xavier said.
He looks like a rapt schoolboy, Cat thought looking at Peter standing a step behind Xavier, flanked by three of the gray men.
“When can I play again?” Danny demanded.
“You cannot,” Tanner said. “The tournament is over.”
“But … there are other tournaments. You hold other tournaments. I paid the entrance fee. I was invited. I want to play again!”
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