“Kathy should have a real home,” said Duffy. “Gimme two cards. She should have a husband and kids, lots of kids.”
Edward Slope put down his cards and looked to some distant point in the room. “I’m trying to picture a world with a lot of little baby felons who look like Kathy.”
The largest pile of change was in front of Edward Slope. The rabbi’s pile and Robin Duffy’s were smaller but respectable. As always, the obvious loser in this first hour of the game was Charles Butler, who had gambled wildly at the start, and now nursed a rather small pile of quarters and dimes. For the next round, the rabbi held the deck, and five cards were dealt to each player, four cards facedown and the last card showing. The high card, an ace, fell to Charles Butler.
“Don’t pick up your cards,” said a voice behind his chair, Mallory’s voice. The other players looked up in unison.
“Trust me, Charles,” said Mallory. “Just let the cards lie there facedown. Now ante up.”
He put his quarter alongside the other three quarters in the pile at the center of the table, not knowing what his hand held, only trusting Mallory. As he looked around at his friends, he saw three suspicious faces focussed on her. All of these people had known her since she was a child. And now his trust in her increased.
“If you want to play, pull up a chair and do it properly,” said Edward Slope.
“I don’t need a chair in the game to beat lightweights like you.”
There were raises of quarters around the table, and she nodded to Charles when it was his turn. “See that raise and raise him another quarter.”
They went through this ritual until the pot at the center of the table had grown considerably. Charles had only three quarters and a small assortment of dimes and nickels left to bet with. According to the rules of long standing, when he lost his change, he was out of the game. His faith in Mallory was flagging. Logic dictated that he could be cleaned out by the player with the largest store of change, and that was Edward.
“Too rich,” said the rabbi, as he folded his cards. “I’m out.”
It was Robin Duffy’s play. “Give me a minute,” he said, rearranging his cards to make it seem like he had at least two pair. Now he looked to Charles’s hand with only the single ace showing. The graduate of Harvard Law School continued his deliberations over the twenty-five-cent bet.
“I’ve got a question for you, Doctor,” said Mallory, with such exaggerated formality, Charles had to wonder what they were feuding about now. It was always something. “How long can a person live on liquids but no solid food?”
“Depends on the liquids,” said Edward. “Not long if all you’ve got is water, maybe ten, twelve days. Some people have fasted for months on fruit juices, and vitamin supplements.”
“Suppose the liquid is wine?”
“You can kiss that idiot goodbye. He’ll be severely weakened after a few days with no food, and probably hallucinating. He might last a few days more before dehydration kills him. Alcohol is a diuretic.”
Robin Duffy put in his quarter and met the last raise. Edward Slope pitched his coins to the center of the table, and raised the bet with a dime.
“Ante up, Charles, and raise him a quarter.”
“But shouldn’t I at least have a look at my cards? I am getting rather low on change.”
“Bad idea, Charles, just let them lie there.”
He did as she told him. Then Robin Duffy folded his cards, eyes fixed on Charles’s ace.
Mallory stood by Edward Slope’s chair now. “Let’s say the fast has been going on for three days, and he has a bottle of water. What would you add to the diet if you only wanted to keep him conscious and functioning?”
“Oh, crackers or bread would be the simplest things for the body to break down and utilize quickly.” Edward pitched his quarter into the pile, and raised by only a nickel this time.
“Meet that and raise him a quarter, Charles.”
“If I raise him another twenty-five cents, I’ll be down to fifteen cents.”
“Do it.”
Charles laid his last quarter down in a raise. And Edward Slope folded his hand. The doctor looked up at Mallory, and something passed between them, part anger, part admiration. Charles looked from Edward to Mallory.
“You knew he was going to fold.”
“Yes, Charles.”
“But how could you possibly know?”
“Dr. Slope is a gentleman of the old school.” Mallory spoke to Charles, but fixed her eyes on the doctor. “That’s what Markowitz called him. The old man always did this to him early in the game, but only when the game was at our house. Markowitz would bet his whole stash and win the pot every damn time.”
Charles knew something was going by him but not what. “Mallory, I don’t see the-”
“Charles, you’re his host, and the night is young. He wouldn’t let you lose everything and then just sit out the rest of the game. Of course, when Markowitz did this to him, the old man always looked at his cards. But you can’t do that. You couldn’t run a bluff if I put a gun to your head-not with that face.”
And now Charles’s face was a signboard advertising all his frustration and incredulity. “But you’ve put me in the position of taking unfair advantage of Edward.”
Three men looked to the ceiling, but held the line at not laughing out loud.
“That’s right,” said Mallory. “Now you’ve got it. Try not to lose that pile, okay?”
Edward Slope pointed to Charles’s cards. “Okay, let’s see ‘em. What were you holding?”
Mallory quickly reached across the table and grabbed the deck of cards. She swept up Charles’s five cards and mingled them into the deck with the waterfall shuffle of a seasoned gambler.
Edward Slope looked down at the hand which held his beer bottle in a death grip. “I know you only did that to drive us nuts.”
Robin Duffy leaned toward the doctor. “And you always said the kid had no sense of humor.”
Mallory settled behind the rabbi’s chair. “I’ve got a religious question.”
Edward dealt the next hand. “Rabbi, if you want to keep my friendship and esteem, you’ll tell her to get lost.”
The rabbi was staring sadly at the deck of cards in the doctor’s tight fist, the deck which contained the insoluble mystery of Charles’s winning hand. “Edward’s right. You do a thing like that, and then you ask for my help?”
“You’re my rabbi, you have to help.”
“All right, you got me twice in one night. What is your question?”
“I need to know what you have to do to get kicked out of a Catholic seminary.”
“Kathy, as I recall, Helen gave you four years of a very expensive Catholic school education. Go and ask Father Brenner. He’s semiretired now, but I believe he’s filling in the vacation schedule at St. Jude’s this week.”
“Father Brenner and I aren’t exactly on friendly terms. Maybe you could ask him.”
“It’s been what, maybe ten years now? He’s not one to hold a grudge. It’s not as if you broke that nun’s leg.”
After Mallory left the room, the other players fixed on the face of the rabbi in dead silence. He cast his sweet smile on each player in turn, which was easy because he was holding the best cards of the evening. But he never said another word about Kathy Mallory and the nun, not even when they withheld his sandwiches and beer for a time. He would not talk.
Gregor Gilette stood in front of the church, hatless in the drizzle.
He began as a pilgrim, climbing the steps vast and gray, leading up to the church doors. He had come here to find his wife. This was Sabra’s church, not his.
As a small boy he had once wandered into a Catholic church, where he was dazzled by the spectacle of flaming candles and stained-glass windows lit with images of heaven and hell. He had stared at the tortured figure on the cross beyond the altar and then looked up and up to the high ceiling with its carved, curving beams. Sky high it was. As a child, he’d had the sense of a magical place. It had frightened him, and filled him with awe.