The Ninth Wave

by Eugene Burdick

  "You can't cut down," Mike said. "You're hungry so you've got to eat. You don't get any fatter so it must be going into energy or some damned thing. But you can't eat less."

  Hank was vaguely ashamed of his appetite. He would eat the huge starchy meals they served in Commons, take seconds, and then two hours later he would feel a sharp pain in his stomach and in a moment he was ravenous. A Hershey bar, a huge handful of peanuts, a few apples, almost anything, would blot out the appetite and in a moment he had forgotten it completely, could work absorbedly until the next attack of hunger. But if he did not have the food at once he became dizzy, his attention dissolved and he felt a sharp anxiety. Sometimes he even woke up at night and staggered around the room, half asleep, looking for a candy bar or a bag of peanuts or anything. If there was nothing in the room he would put on his clothes and half sick with embarrassment and anger would walk down to the all-night restaurant and eat a mass of fried potatoes and toast and then walk back to the campus.

  Hank worried because the enormous amount of food never made him any fatter. His face was thin, his ribs stuck out. He longed for a layer of fat over his bones.

  "I know, I know," Hank said. "But maybe I could cut down on the food between meals."

  "You can't," Mike said flatly. "We've just got to get more money."

  Hank's face went hard and tough and defensive.

  "Look, Mike, I told you no crap about money. We made an agreement."

  "But we need money for the next quarter."

  "You said we had two hundred and sixty-seven bucks."

  "It'll be gone next quarter when we pay tuition. What about the spring quarter?"

  "We'll worry about it when the money's gone," Hank said.

  His bleached thin features relaxed. He murmured a word softly, looking down at the book. "Aorta, aorta, aorta," said with the bemused repetition by which a child chants a word into meaninglessness or twists it into a special emphasis.

  "Hank, why don't you get into the poker game Hollis has in his room every night?" Mike said. "If you can play like you said you can you'd win plenty."

  Hank turned the page, read a few words and then looked up at Mike. Mike knew he had not heard him. He was repeating another word, worrying it to death.

  "Poker, Hank," Mike said. "Get in the poker game in Hollis' room. A lot of those eastern prep school boys play there. They've got money. They play for big stakes."

  "Phagocyte, phagocyte, phagocyte," Hank murmured. Then he heard what Mike was saying. His odd blue eyes snapped open, he swung his feet to the ground. "No. Don't mention it again. I hate poker. No more crap about money. Understand? And especially not about poker money."

  Mike left the room and walked down to Hollis' room. Hollis had money. Everyone in Encina knew it. Hollis never mentioned it, but they could tell. They could tell from the framed photograph on his wall which showed him with his arm around the shroud of a very large yawl and wearing shabby sneakers. They could tell also from the blazer he wore which had an intricate little device over the heart and a Latin motto stitched in white. They knew also from the thick white envelopes on his desk which contained invitations to debuts in San Francisco and Boston and New York. It wasn't until years later that Mike knew that the soiled white buckskin shoes and the slipover Brooks Brothers shirts and the use of the phrase "Nanny used to say . . ." were also signs. Mike thought that Nanny was a nickname for his grandmother.

  Hollis looked up wheh Mike came in the door. He had a thin, very tan face. He seldom smiled.

  "Hello, Freesmith," Hollis said. "No openings, but there might be later. Make yourself at home." Hollis looked at the six men sitting around the table and his voice became harsh. "Osborne, you can take your shirt off if you want, but you can't stay in this room if you do."

  Osborne, a big muscular boy from Ohio, stopped with one hand still in a shirt sleeve.

  "Hell, Hollis, it's hot in here," Osborne said. "All this smoke and stuff."

  "No one sits around in my room in an undershirt or naked to the waist," Hollis said. "Take your shirt off if you want, but get out if you do. Go ahead, Holloway, deal the cards."

  The cards spatted on the table. Osborne hesitated, his face anguished. Hollis looked at the first card. Osborne slowly put his arm back into the sleeve. He left his shirttail out as if to defy Hollis, but Hollis did not even notice.

  "How much are the chips worth?" Mike asked.

  Hollis looked up from the table and found Mike's face in the dim light ringing the table. He smiled.

  "Not much," Hollis said. "White chips are a half dollar, red chips a dollar and blue chips two dollars. Of course we could always sweeten it up a bit if anyone wanted to. But we just try to keep it friendly."

  The other boys at the table smiled, but they did not look up from their cards. Mike guessed that they found it expensive to play. Most of the pots wound up with around fifty or sixty dollars on the table. No money changed hands, for Hollis acted as bank and merely made a notation on a slip of paper when players bought chips. At the end of the night he calculated what everyone had won and lost.

  Hollis won the hand and while the cards were being shuffled he looked up at Mike again.

  "I understand that you Los Angeles people do things in a big way though," he said. "You probably wouldn't want to play for little old stakes like these."

  The men around the table laughed. Some of them pushed back from the table, gave Hollis soft encouragement.

  Mike smiled at Hollis, but he had made a decision. He waited until the laughter died away.

  "Those stakes are rich enough for my blood," Mike said. "But I'm not the poker player in our room anyway. I'll tell you, though, you won't get Hank to play for those stakes."

  "A pity," Hollis said. "All these run-down Easterners could stand a transfusion of real red Southern California blood."

  He did not look up from his cards. Mike knew he did not want to go on with it. Mike slipped it in softly.

  "Not Hank," Mike said. "He won't play for chickenshit stakes like this. That Hank is a real poker player. He plays poker for really big money."

  Hollis looked up from his cards. The other boys stopped talking. The dealer paused with a one-eyed jack about to drop from his fingers. Mike went on reflectively.

  "No, these stakes wouldn't interest Hank. Not him."

  "I think we could make it interesting for Mr. Moore," Hollis said. "Why don't you just step down the hall and invite him to play? He can . . . "

  "He won't," Mike said. "Not for stakes like these. He's heard of these stakes. I don't think he'll play with you."

  "Tell him he can name the stakes," Hollis cut in sharply. "Whatever he wants."

  "No, no," Mike said as if Hollis were being very dense. "You don't understand. Once you play for really big stakes, kid stuff like this is out. You're bored. I wouldn't want to ask him."

  Mike walked to the door and opened it. As he closed it behind him he had a diminishing, angular, smoke-obscured view of the room . . . the overflowing ash trays, the blank faces of the boys, the white shirt fronts, the hands holding the fans of cards. Then he heard a collective exhalation of breath and Hollis said, "I'll be damned." Then the door closed.

  Hollis stuck his head in their room the next night.

  "Moore, would you like to play some poker tonight?" he asked. "Nice bunch tonight. They can probably play for any stakes you want."

  Hank looked up, startled.

  "No. I don't want to play poker, he said.

  When Hollis had left Hank turned to Mike.

  "Who was that?" he asked.

  "Hollis. He is the guy I told you about. He has a poker game every night in his room."

  Hank had already lost interest and was turning over the pages of Gray's.

  The next day at lunch in Encina Commons, Osborne and Hollis sat at the same table with Mike and Hank. There were eight men at each table. The food was brought in big white porcelain bowls and each man helped himself.

  Hank ate quickly, nea
tly and fiercely. He seldom talked at the table and he seldom listened to what was said. He was on his second helping of creamed chicken over biscuits before he knew something was wrong. He noticed everyone except Osborne and Hollis was silent. Hank looked at the boy across from him and at once the boy glanced away. Hank turned and looked down the table at Hollis.

  "It's simple, Osborne," Hollis was saying. "I'll repeat it. Only a crude anti-Semite would believe that the Jews have all the money because they are greedy. The fact is that the Jews have all the money because they never take a chance on losing it. They just hold on. If you hold on long enough to all the little bits you can collect pretty soon you've got a big wad. It's just that simple. The Jews just freeze the money when they get ahold of it."

  Hank felt his fork break through the crisp crust of a biscuit. Without looking down he scooped the food into his mouth. He looked at Hollis' tweed coat, the striped tie and the coarse, expensive-looking Oxford cloth shirt. A pinpoint of hunger started up somewhere in Hank's stomach. He reached out and quickly spooned more chicken onto his plate.

  "Go on, Hollis," Hank said. "Tell us more."

  "That's all there is to it, Moore," Hollis said. "You heard it. It was plain enough."

  Hank nodded. His mouth was full and a bit of biscuit hung from his chin. He added some lima beans to his plate, spread butter on a biscuit. His teeth bit into the lima beans; reduced the soft pulpy substance to liquid and felt it go down his throat. He felt a necessity to cram more food down his throat.

  He looked at the red embarrassed faces of the other people around the table and the hunger grew until he knew that he could never ease it. He took two more gigantic bites of biscuit, scooped up some chicken on his last biscuit and pushed it into his mouth. He chewed slowly. When his mouth was empty he looked down the table at Hollis.

  "Hollis, I know you're trying to be tough," Hank said gently. "But you don't understand. I don't care one way or another about being a Jew. I just don't react to it. I'm a Jew, but I'm not a patriotic Jew. But I don't like you. Not because of what you said about the Jews. Just because you're a pretty crude guy. I guess you were trying to be tough so that you could shame me into playing poker with you. O.K., I'll give you your choice. I'll play poker with you or I'll take you out behind Encina and pound the shit out of you. Which will it be?"

  Hank turned back to the table and began to eat the bread pudding dessert. Hollis' face turned a slow red that gleamed through the tan.

  He looked at Osborne, but there was no help there. Everyone at the table sensed how neatly Hank had trapped him. If he picked the poker it looked as if he were afraid to fight Hank. If he picked the fight Hank wouldn't have to play poker and the whole conversation between Osborne and Hollis was a silly stunt.

  "I'll do both of them," Hollis blurted out. "I'm not afraid of you, Moore."

  Hank looked up and laughed.

  "One or the other," he said. "I haven't got time for both of them."

  Hollis looked around the table once more.

  "We'll play poker tonight," he said slowly.

  Mike counted all the money in the cigar box. It came to two hundred and fifty-two dollars. Hank reached across the table and picked it up. Mike put the coins back in the box and closed the drawer. A thin tinkle of pennies and nickels echoed in the room. Hank smiled. "Let's go," Hank said.

  They walked out of their room, down the corridor, and into Hollis' room.

  There were six of them waiting around the table. They were all eastern boys. Three of them were wearing seersucker suits and all of them wore ties. They looked up curiously at Hank, smiled at his sweat shirt and blue jeans. Hollis did not introduce Mike or Hank to the men at the table.

  "We pay up at the end of the evening," Hollis said crisply. "By check or cash. It doesn't matter."

  Hank slumped into the empty chair. His long white fingers hung on the edge of the table. Mike stood behind him and for the first time he was aware that in the dim light around the edge of the room there was a ring of freshmen. They were pressed against the wall, sat on the two beds, crouched on the dresser. They sat quietly, but their eyes gleamed in the reflected light. Mike could not recognize any of them; all he could see was the pairs of eyes and the occasional shift of hands as someone lit a cigarette.

  "What stakes do you want to play, Moore?" Hollis asked.

  "Are there any house rules?" Hank asked.

  "Do you want some?" Hollis asked.

  "Yes," Hank said quietly. His face was back out of the light, only his long limp fingers showed. "Dealer's choice, but games limited to five- and seven-card stud and five-card draw. No jokers. No wild cards. No misdeals . . . every card is played even if it is misdealt. Three bumps. Declare a time limit at ten o'clock with the big loser setting the time."

  Mike heard the men around the room take a collective breath. Hollis looked slowly around the table.

  "That seems all right," he said. "What kind of stakes do you want?"

  "Anything you say."

  "How would one dollar for whites, three for reds and five for blues be?" Hollis asked.

  Hank did not say anything. The white fingers reached for a cigarette, struck a match and suddenly Hank's face was illuminated by the small light from the match. He blew out the match and threw it in an ashtray.

  "Well, how about two dollars, five and ten?" Hollis asked. "That all right?" His voice was a little tense.

  "Anything you say," Hank replied.

  "That's it then." Hollis said. "How much do you want to start, Moore?"

  "Five hundred dollars," Hank said.

  The eastern boys stirred in their chairs. Hollis hesitated and then counted out five hundred dollars in chips. He stacked up thirty-five blue chips, twenty reds and fifty whites and pushed them over to Hank. Hank did not touch them; he just let them rest between his hands.

  Hollis counted out five hundred dollars in chips for the rest of the players without asking them what they wanted.

  You better be good, Mike thought. You've got twice in chips what you've got in cash. You better be good.

  "We won't cut," Hollis said. "You can deal first, Moore."

  He broke open a deck of Bicycle cards and threw them over to Hank. Hank peeled off the two jokers and dropped them on the floor. Hank shuffled the cards slowly. He did not do it skillfully. He held the two halves of the deck together and riffled them and then pushed them awkwardly together. Mike felt a slight pang of doubt

  "Five-card stud," Hank said. "Everyone ante two bucks."

  Hank pushed two white chips out onto the table. His fingers tightened, he held the deck flat above the table and the cards started to fall. He dealt three down cards and stopped with his hands in front of Hollis, a card held in his fingers.

  "Go ahead, deal," Hollis said.

  "You haven't anted," Hank said.

  Hollis looked down. There were seven white chips on the table. Hollis flushed and pushed a white chip onto the table. Hank dropped him a down card and went on with the deal

  When everyone had their second card Hank put the cards down and looked at his hole card. He raised the tip of the card so that Mike could see it Hank had a king down and a queen up.

  A man with an ace showing bet a red chip. Four of the players went along. Hank folded. Osborne won the hand with two jacks.

  The next dealer played five-card draw. Hank drew four low spades and the ace of hearts. He discarded the ace and drew a jack of diamonds. On the first bet after the draw he folded.

  Hank lost also on the next two hands which were five-card stud. Then Hollis was dealer.

  Mike watched Hollis shuffle. He did it expertly with a gamblers' riffle; the cards hissing through the air and then a long stream of them falling quietly into his hand.

  "It's draw," Hollis said.

  He dealt the cards rapidly. Hank had a pair of treys and an ace of spades and two other low cards. Hank held the treys and went along with the opening bet of five dollars. He drew three face cards and did not improve
his hand. However, when the betting started he raised the first ten-dollar bet by fifteen dollars.

  Easy, boy, Mike thought. Only four hands and you've already lost about a hundred dollars. Two treys are not much in this game.

  Hollis raised Hank twenty dollars and two other boys went along. Hank raised twenty dollars and everyone folded except. Hank and Hollis. There was almost two hundred and fifty dollars in the pot.

  Hollis won with a straight. He raked in the chips and his tanned face was creased with a smile.