LiGa

by Sanem Ozdural

  “You cannot.”

  “Why not!” It was not a question.

  “Because you lost,” Xavier replied.

  “That’s not fair!” Danny flailed.

  “Come on, Daniel,” Porter reached out to the younger man. “Come on, let’s go. It’s over. We played and we lost. And now … we must leave.”

  “I have to leave!” Sinclair rose unsteadily to his feet and stood wavering. With slow, uncertain steps, he made his way to the entrance, followed closely by one of the gray men. Porter caught up with him, offering his arm in assistance. He glanced back at Danny. “Come on,” he said softly. “We have to go.”

  “This is not the last time!” Danny jerked forward.

  What is a game? Father Griffith wondered anew, watching the three losing players leave. Is this a game that sends out once-young men, hobbled and crippled? Men dying of old age in their youth …

  A woman in her seventies living her youth forever …

  Two men’s lives at the mercy of another’s card-play…

  Games.

  “Judge, Mr. Drake–” Xavier addressed the two players, “If you are ready, please follow us to the game room.” He turned to the remaining three players. “Please make yourself comfortable during this last portion of the tournament. Naturally I cannot predict how many hands will be played, but if you need anything, feel free to ask any of our staff members–” Xavier paused expectantly. “If you have no questions, we will proceed.”

  “It’s all pretty clear,” Bruce shrugged.

  “Good.” Xavier motioned to Peter. “Come, Peter. You will direct.”

  “Coffee, anyone?” Bruce asked, at the urn.

  “No thank you,” Father Griffith shook his head.

  “Yes, I should love a cup, darling! With cream. No sugar, please.”

  “If you will excuse me …” Father Griffith bowed out.

  “That poor man is much too fixated on those roses,” Cat said, watching the dark retreating figure.

  “How do you know he’s going to the roses?” Bruce asked.

  “He always does,” Cat replied, shaking her head. “He’s got an unhealthy obsession with them, in my opinion.”

  Xavier sat in the North seat, across from his partner, the judge. Storm, as West, faced Tanner.

  “We will play a round of four hands until there is a winner,” Xavier announced, deftly shuffling a deck of cards. He placed the deck to his left. “Cut, please,” he addressed Storm. Retrieving the deck, he dealt the cards dexterously.

  *

  Showered and dressed, Natalya looked about the house and admired her handiwork. She nodded appreciatively at the clean, bright bedroom and made her way daintily to the large leather couch in the living room. She lay down and sighed. I am tired, she thought, letting her left arm dangle from the side of the couch. She stroked the soft, kid leather absently until her fingers touched the wood of the floor. She drummed the tips of her fingers lightly on the floor and closed her eyes. I have time to rest, she thought. He won’t be back for at least another hour or more. In her mind, she began to go over the conversation they would have. He’s going to be in terrible shape, she knew, but he has to listen to me! We will make an appointment with Acyuta immediately, and then find the doctor in the newspaper article to get the new treatment…

  She felt the edge, or corner, of an unknown object under her questing fingers. Natalya rolled over and saw that something was sticking out from under the couch. Curious, she pulled it out…

  *

  “In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spriritus Sancti. Amen,” Father Griffith intoned quietly before the roses. In his left hand, he held a rosary of gleaming black beads. With his right hand, he reverently made the sign of the cross.

  “Credo in Deum Patrem omnipotentem …” The Apostles’ Creed. I recite our beliefs. Our core beliefs. The beliefs of my Church.

  What are my beliefs?

  “… Credo in Spiritum Sanctum, sanctam Ecclesiam catholicam, sanctorum communionem, remissionem peccatorum, carnis resurrectionem …” I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body … Father Griffith paused before speaking the last words of the Creed. “Vitam aeternam,” he said slowly, quietly. Life everlasting…

  Lord Jesus, what is this life everlasting? These words we speak; we have spoken them for centuries – what do they mean now?

  These words are immortal; they are everlasting. As we speak them, we believe … We believe the words. They are Truth.

  But do they tell the truth?

  Who tells the Truth? What is Truth?

  “Pater Noster, qui es in caelis …” Our Father, who art in Heaven … “sanctificetur nomen tuum…”

  …lead us not into temptation, and deliver us from evil. “Amen.”

  “Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum…” Mary… Father Griffith reached out to a rose. Not the rose. Another rose. A rose with a dark red heart. He stroked the petals gently. “… Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae …” pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death…

  Now, at the hour of our death.

  He cupped the flower in his hand, and looked into its deep red centre of labyrinthine whorls.

  The first hand was over.

  “On the first hand, 170 points to Storm Drake. Bid three hearts and made four.” Xavier wrote the score on a sheet of paper.

  Tanner, sitting East, picked up a recently shuffled deck and passed it to the judge to cut. Silently, he dealt the cards.

  “3 spades by South,” Xavier announced, at the end of the auction.

  “Thank you, partner,” the judge said to Xavier as he laid out his cards as dummy. This is a makeable contract, she thought, relieved. I need to take nine tricks. In addition to the six spade – trump – winners, I need three tricks in the other suits. It should be possible to take two tricks in hearts, after opponents take their ace and king. One more trick is all I need … Diamonds look promising in dummy. Making three spades will score 140, and won’t let me catch up with Mr. Drake, who has 170 points… Can I make an overtrick to tie? I will try, but it seems unlikely …

  *

  It was a letter. She read it carefully. It was addressed to Sinclair.

  Dear Mr. Davis:

  It is with great pleasure that I write this letter. Inside the packet enclosed, you will find a detailed itinerary of your visit to our facilities. If there is any change, please contact Julia Trayne. She will be coordinating the details of your trip…

  A trip? Natalya looked around the couch, and leaned to see underneath. Nothing. No papers. He must have the itinerary, she thought. Her brows furrowed uncharacteristically and she felt anew that same sense of betrayal – the one she had felt upon finding the LiGa invitation.

  Who had written the letter? She read the unfamiliar letterhead. She could make nothing of it. The letter was signed by…again, an unfamiliar name… or was it? It started with W…Natalya ran to retrieve her shoulder bag and withdrew from it the newspaper she had been reading. She laid the newspaper side by side with the letter…

  Yes! It was Dr. W!

  So, Sinclair had already known…

  She continued her perusal of the letter.

  The length of your treatment will depend upon you. Even patients with severe LifeGame-related degeneration have recovered significantly after our treatments.

  I need you… he said in her memory.

  And yet he’d gone to play LiGa without telling her. And he’d continued to play…

  He was generous. He treated her well. He bought her things. He would take care of her… Wouldn’t he? He wanted her to go away with him…

  Natalya stood quite still and looked at the door. He was going to call after the game. The game should be over by now. Perhaps he had already called while she was showering. She ran to find her cell phone in the recesses of her bag. One missed call. From Sinclair.

&n
bsp; She dialed his number and held the phone to her ear hesitantly.

  “Baby, we’re leaving,” he said, and his voice was even more tenuous than it had been a few hours ago.

  “Where? When?” she asked tentatively.

  He said she would get a call from someone called Julia to give the details of the journey. They didn’t have much time, he said. Less than three hours now…

  “I need you…” he said finally. “I need you to be with me when they do this.”

  Natalya sank into the couch. She reached for the letter. Julia would call her…

  “Oh Sinclair…”

  *

  “I should like you to become immortal!” Cat declared, in the manner of one bestowing a favor.

  “Thank you, Cat. I should like that very much also.”

  “I mean if I could choose, I think I would choose you,” she continued slyly. “But I can’t, what a pity!”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Bruce said lightly.

  “That’s why I like you,” Cat took a sip of tea. “Do you realize that you and I have been the only people in this game who have actually enjoyed it?”

  “What does that say about us?” Bruce laughed. “That we’re callous, cold-hearted bastards who don’t care about life and death?”

  “Yes, that’s just right!” Cat clapped happily. “Think of poor dear Roland out there–” she nodded in the general direction the priest had taken earlier. “He’s always brooding and thinking, and is always terribly concerned. It’s enough to break your heart!”

  “He’s been trained to brood and think – I’m sure it’s almost second nature to him – but do you really think he’s concerned?” Bruce asked.

  “I am sure you are right, darling – seeing as you are such a clever attorney!”

  “My lawyerly instincts notwithstanding, I think your ‘poor dear Roland’ is neither poor, nor much of a ‘dear.’

  “I am quite certain that the superior general wasn’t looking for ‘poor dear Tom, Dick or Harry’ to send to play LiGa Bridge!”

  “Well, he did seem pretty concerned about poor Sinclair – there I go, calling him ‘poor’ also, even though I disliked Sinclair intensely throughout the game–”

  “Until you realized he wasn’t a threat,” Bruce pointed out. “Because he’s dying. But, getting back to ‘poor Roland’: I would like to remind you that his so-called concern never went beyond a solicitous pat on the back.”

  “True,” Cat nodded. “He didn’t give Sinclair any of his life, and I am absolutely certain – almost absolutely certain, because I didn’t hear it with my own ears – that Sinclair asked for it.”

  “You are probably right. It would fit both Sinclair’s and dear Roland’s character perfectly – as far as I have had a chance to observe at least…”

  “So what’s he thinking about now, do you think?” Cat looked out towards the building on the right.

  “Oh, Father Griffith has plenty to think about! I mean, look: we’re playing a game of life and death. The philosophical and theological possibilities are simply – endless!

  “You said you and I have been the only people to enjoy this game, but I would disagree with you: I think the simple pleasure we have taken in playing a challenging game of bridge against worthy opponents – for the ultimate prize – could never rival the highs – and lows – that a priest of ‘poor dear’ Roland’s caliber could achieve merely by thinking about the meaning and implications of LiGa Bridge…”

  “Well, rather him than me,” Cat quipped. “I’ve always found a refreshing cocktail more gratifying than philosophy!”

  “Well put,” Bruce said approvingly.

  “Darling, what will you do if Storm wins?” Cat asked.

  “I will play again?” Bruce replied promptly. “If the judge loses, I will end up with 98 Life Points. That’s almost thirty points more than I started out with. Why would I not play again?”

  “Oh …” Cat hesitated. “I thought you couldn’t play again. Isn’t that what Mr. Tanner said after Daniel’s outburst at the end of the game?”

  “He told Cross he couldn’t play because he lost,” Bruce explained. “Cross did lose. He will have only 35 or 36 points left after this game. I don’t think LiGa would let him play … but that’s not the case with me – and our good Father Roland – we haven’t lost. At worst, we weren’t able to accumulate 100 points before you.

  “Bid and made three spades,” Xavier announced, writing down the score of 140 for Judge Other.

  Couldn’t make an overtrick, the judge thought with disappointment as she dealt out the cards.

  I’m ahead … so far … Storm thought.

  “Ave Maria, gratia plena ….” Father Griffith recited, pacing with slow deliberation along the perimeter of the rose-bed.

  The words of Mark rose to his mind. One of the luminous mysteries.‘… The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand …’

  The kingdom of God …

  And in the Book of Revelation: ‘… And the city lieth foursquare, and the length is as large as the breadth: and he measured the city with the reed, twelve thousand furlongs. The length and the breadth and the height of it are equal …”

  What is the kingdom of God?

  ‘ … the city was pure gold, like unto clear glass…’

  What is glass?

  A substance of varying transparency, used, often, as a visual aid. Correct? Up to a point.

  A powerful symbol.

  What is a symbol? Truth? A lie? Both?

  What is the kingdom of God? Is it a place? A geographic location? No. And yes. An emotional space? That too. An ideal? Yes, and no.

  Is the kingdom of God real?

  What is real?

  A perfect cube of a city of pure gold ‘like unto clear glass.’ Is it a real place?

  I have seen these symbols, Lord. I cannot say they are not real, but are they true?

  “Domine Iesu, dimitte nobis debita nostra, salva nos ab igne inferiori …” save us from the fires of Hell… So many symbols. Symbols are meant to be a shortcut to the Truth. Not the Truth itself.

  Or are they?

  The fires of Hell and the city ‘like unto clear glass…’

  The third hand played out as a contract in 4-hearts by the judge.

  Now I am in the lead! She thought, having scored 420 for making the contract. I must be very careful on the next hand, though, because this could be a temporary advantage. If Drake bids and makes any game contract in the next hand, he will win.

  Tanner dealt the fourth hand of the rubber.

  Following an initial bid of 1-diamond, Storm jumped to 5-diamonds on his second bid, game in diamonds. The contract was set. Tanner laid down his cards as dummy.

  Four potential losers, and I can only afford two, Storm thought.

  A rose, thought Father Griffith. A beautiful flower.

  A red rose for love…

  A white rose … for purity, for new beginnings… I know something of the language of roses. It is our language. These are our symbols. But does a red rose love? Is a yellow rose full of joy? How pure is a white rose?

  Silver Dawn with a diamond halo. Someone cared enough to give you a halo.

  Mary, full of Grace.

  Your halo means a great deal to us… What does it mean to you?

  To a rose, a halo is no different than a striped petal. Is it? The priest leaned forward towards a fuchsia flower, sporting a ‘missing’ petal. Someone was trying to recreate that white flower, he thought, smiling. And they could not get it quite right. They could not recreate the halo.

  What does it matter?

  Are we not all children of God?

  All the roses in the garden…

  He was suddenly reminded of a poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins.

  Glory be to God for dappled things—

  For skies of couple-colour as a brinded cow…

  That’s what I was afraid of… thought Storm. Now there’s nothing I can do. No way bac
k to dummy. I have to lose the queen and the 6 of hearts. I cannot make the contract…

  “Father!”

  Roland Griffith looked up from his thoughts. A man’s voice. A familiar voice.

  “Father!” Came the voice again, holding a note of exuberant urgency. “Roland! Where are you?”

  “Here,” Father Griffith said, walking towards the voice. “I’m here, Mr. Saber.”

  “Roland–” Bruce held out his hand. “We’re going to–”

  “–have a chance at life everlasting …” Roland Griffith finished the sentence, reaching out to shake the lawyer’s hand.

  29

  The players had been notified of their final Life Points at the conclusion of the tournament.

  The three new Immortals were congregated inside the glass cube. They were joined by Xavier, Peter, Tanner and Blanca Chevalier. It was Xavier who took center stage.

  “Welcome to LiGa.” Xavier began, pausing to address each of the newly-minted Immortals in turn. “Mrs. Catherine Trahan … Mr. Bruce Saber … Father Roland Griffith.”

  “Welcome,” Blanca said, her voice as distant as the stars. She was seated, gracefully on a brushed chrome chair.

  “I congratulate you all on behalf of all the Immortals of LifeGame,” Xavier continued. “And I take great pleasure in welcoming you to our world.”

  “Which world would that be, Mr. Redd?” Father Griffith asked.

  “The one in which you are an Immortal, Father,” Xavier replied.

  “I expect to live in the same one I lived in as a mere mortal,” Father Griffith countered.

  “That would be a shame,” Xavier said. “No. Worse. It would be a waste. A waste of time and opportunity.” As he spoke each word precisely and with equal emphasis, he moved forward, filling every inch of empty space about him.

  “What it means to you I cannot say, but before you leave the glass cube, I want to tell you what Immortality has always meant to me.

  “I have an idea – a vision, if you will – of a world like the glass cube.

  “A world as clear as glass.”

  I am not surprised, Father Griffith thought.

  “I am not interested in fantasies,” Cat interrupted.

  “It need not be a fantasy, governor,” Xavier turned to her. “It is not a fantasy. We are working towards such a society.”