Very Rich

by Polly Horvath

  Finally, in the middle of the afternoon, the Rivers came to their last game.

  ALL RIGHT, everyone,” called Uncle Henry. “Bring all your prizes back to the dining room table.”

  “Are these really mine?” Rupert whispered to Turgid, pointing to the mountain of prizes he was lugging. There were too many to place on the table and he had to pile a bunch of them up behind his chair as well.

  “They’re yours, all right,” said Turgid. “You won them fair and square. Not bad for your first games.”

  Rupert could hardly believe it. None of this was what he had come to expect from life. He could hardly believe his luck in getting snagged by the terrible gate and jolted over it. It just goes to show, he thought, that you mustn’t be too hasty to judge the events in your life: what is good or bad or may lead to better or worse things. He thought he knew what to expect, but it turned out you never do know.

  He didn’t realize it, but in his delight he was squirming in his seat and grinning from ear to ear.

  “What’s wrong with him?” asked William, pointing.

  “I think he may have fleas,” said Melanie. “Fleas and my Nancy Drew books. That’s the worst kind of guest, if you ask me.”

  “They’re not your Nancy Drew books,” said Turgid. “He won them!”

  “Yes, but I clearly had dibs on them and I live here. Who is he, just some scarecrow of a boy you scooped off the lawn!” said Melanie, her eyes blazing.

  “Would you like them back?” Rupert asked Melanie politely, getting off his chair and preparing to deliver them to her.

  “Stop that right now!” barked Uncle Henry. “That’s cheating! If Melanie wanted them, she shouldn’t have lost them in Forfeit. You can’t go around just giving things to people! Why, there’d be chaos! Anarchy! Bad things would come whiffling through the tulgey wood. I’m telling you, I won’t have it at my game table!”

  “Oh,” said Rupert, and sat back down.

  “Well, stand forewarned, I’m gunning for you,” said Melanie, squinting at Rupert.

  “Excellent! Now there’s the attitude,” said Uncle Henry.

  Rupert looked sick.

  “Never mind,” said Turgid. “Soon you’ll have a chance to win all the prizes.”

  More prizes, thought Rupert! Had there ever been such a day?

  Mrs. Rivers insisted they have dessert before the final game, so everyone placed their prizes on the floor and Billingston reset the table and brought out all the pies and cakes and cookies and éclairs and custards again. Another hour was spent with concentrated stuffing. This time Rupert had room for it. He proceeded to make himself as ill on the sweets as he had on the savories. It was a wonderful kind of sickness. Finally, everything was cleared away for the last game of the day.

  Uncle Henry sat down, looked around the table with narrowed eyes, and then brought a deck of cards out of his pocket with a flourish.

  “It’s poker,” Turgid explained to Rupert. “And we play until there is one winner left who has won everything.”

  “You mean I can lose my prizes again?” asked Rupert. “The ones I won in all the other games?”

  “Yep, you probably will too. Uncle Henry is a dynamite poker player. Same with Dad. Uncle Moffat’s not bad. They’ve been playing for years. The rest of us are pretty much on an even playing field. Someone will end up walking away with everything at the end of the game. It’s tough. But on the other hand, the prizes aren’t the point, it’s playing the game, right?”

  No, thought Rupert, it’s the prizes. He turned his head and looked at everything he’d won. He had a warm winter hat, a stuffed bear, two boxes of chocolates, a Monopoly game, a set of encyclopedias (he couldn’t even lift all of those)—why, it would take a truck to get all of this home. He had dozens of things that he hadn’t even gotten to examine properly yet. He almost wanted to ask if he couldn’t just stop there for the day and keep what he had, but this, he felt, would be frowned upon. So he sat nervously at the table, his stomach making loud sounds from his gnawing anxiety and food overload.

  Uncle Henry and Uncle Moffat tried to explain the rules in detail to Rupert while the others crowded around and shouted tips.

  “We only play five-card draw,” said Melanie.

  “So it’s not too complicated,” said William.

  “You don’t play your hand; you play the people around you,” said Mr. Rivers, which Rupert didn’t understand at all.

  “You must have a good poker face,” said the other Turgid. “See, like this.”

  And he made such a terrible face that Rupert almost fell off his chair in fright and Turgid began laughing.

  “All right, all right, enough, he gets it,” said Uncle Henry. “Come on, deal the cards.”

  Rupert didn’t get it though, not at first, and he lost both the teddy bear and one of the most desired boxes of chocolates in the first two hands. Then desperation kicked in. When someone won a hand, they not only got their own wagered prize back, they got a pile of the other people’s wagered prizes. His brain, usually unfed and so not good for much, was now on fire, tanked up with all the sugar and rested by its long time unused. It sprang into action for once and helped him out. He began to figure not just what to do with his cards but what was going on in everyone else’s hand. He began to determine what the odds were that people’s bets reflected the hand they actually had. He could not have told you how he was doing these things, but he was certainly doing them for he began to win. Every hand.

  “He’s cheating,” complained William.

  “That’s enough, William,” said Mrs. Rivers. “We never ever say that here.”

  “How could he cheat?” said Turgid. “He’s never played before.”

  “That’s what all cardsharps say,” said William. “That’s how they sucker you in.”

  “That’s it,” said Uncle Henry, standing up and glaring at William. “You’re banned from the table.”

  “I don’t care,” said William. “I’ve lost all my prizes anyway,” and he left to watch television and sulk.

  “Don’t mind him,” said Uncle Henry. “He’s always been a sore loser. But you! You’re amazing! You’re a genius. We’ve never seen anything like you. You’ve certainly livened up our Christmas this year. Yes, you have, young Rupert! What a special lad you are!”

  Rupert blushed. Then he won again. He won until the area around his chair was simply stacked with prizes. He wondered again how he would get them all home. Perhaps the Riverses would let him make several trips. The most wonderful prize was the winter boots. He had been able to stand his freezing feet because he had no choice, but now, knowing that his feet would be warm, he couldn’t bear the idea of them ever being cold again. It turned out you could bear things just until there was hope of reprieval. In horror, he realized that this actually made things worse, for now he had hope for something better. And hope was a terrible thing because it crushed the necessity of bearing the worst. And once the necessity was gone, so was the steely ability to do so. Now the thought of having freezing feet was unbearable and this was dangerous for he was not yet in the clear.

  He and Uncle Henry were facing off for the last hand. Winner take all. Uncle Henry had a pile of enviable prizes on his side of the table as well. He’d won a saucer to go sledding. He’d won a skateboard. He’d won a case of canned corn. Rupert thought he would be happy to let Uncle Henry keep his prizes and all of his own too if only he could stop now and take the boots home. Just the boots. He would be happy just not to lose the boots.

  Usually by this point the Riverses who were not in the final showdown had had about enough of each other and the games, and they drifted out to watch TV or read by the living room fire or have another go at the desserts. But this Christmas there was something about the electric energy between Uncle Henry, the expert, and Rupert, the novice—each determined to win, each spying the other with narrowed eyes over their cards—that kept everyone silently rooted to their chairs. Now all the prizes were heaped in one pi
le on the table, which fairly bent under the weight of them.

  “Who will win? Who will win?” asked Mrs. Rivers nervously.

  “Oh, do shut up, Beth,” said Uncle Moffat.

  “I want Rupert to win,” said Turgid.

  “Oh no, it must be Henry,” said the librarian from behind the curtains. “It’s always Henry.”

  “Oh, of course it must be Uncle Henry,” said Melanie. “Then he can give me back my Nancy Drew books.”

  “Give up, you’re not getting those books,” sneered Rollin. “Even if Uncle Henry wins. Which he has to. Family honor is at stake.”

  “No, let the newcomer win,” said Aunt Hazelnut. “This family could do with some shaking up.”

  Rupert and Uncle Henry said nothing. Their breathing had slowed. Their eyes had narrowed even more. The room had shrunk to two card hands and a pile of prizes.

  The winner won’t be me, thought Rupert. It can’t be me. It must be me.

  Uncle Henry and Rupert each had five cards. They were allowed to throw out four cards from their hand to make a better hand, and to this end could ask for up to four new cards. Rupert had three sixes. Three of anything was good. Four was better. In fact, it would be unusual for anyone to get a hand better than four of a kind. But he had no idea what cards Uncle Henry held. If Uncle Henry asked for four new cards, he probably had nothing at all. If he asked for only one new card, it was likely his hand was very good.

  Rupert asked for two more cards, discarding the two he had that were not sixes, hoping to get a fourth six. Uncle Moffat passed them to him. Rupert lifted the two cards one by one into his hand. The first one was a nine. But the second one, no, it was impossible. It was impossible! A fourth six! He would win! He would get to keep not just his own prizes but all of Uncle Henry’s as well! But wait, not necessarily. Let’s not jump the gun, he thought. It depended on Uncle Henry’s hand and the cards he received. And now Uncle Henry was asking for two cards as well. Perhaps he had three of a kind. Perhaps he had three sevens and would get a fourth. That’s all it would take for Uncle Henry to win. Four sevens.

  Uncle Henry lifted the two cards he had received one by one into his hand as Rupert had, slowly revealing to himself what luck had brought him. Rupert studied Uncle Henry’s face as intently as if it had the meaning of life written on it, but he could not tell what Uncle Henry had gotten. His face showed nothing.

  Uncle Henry returned the stare. “Just two cards, eh?” he said finally. “You’re bluffing, Rupert. I bet you have nothing in that hand. I bet it all.”

  “Yes, well, um, fine. I bet everything but the boots,” said Rupert hopefully. After all, Uncle Henry might have any number of hands better than Rupert’s. He might have a full house or a royal flush. Better in the end to err on the side of caution and keep back one prize.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” said the other Turgid. “You can’t do that. You have to meet his bet. You have to bet what he has and he has bet it all. So you must bet it all or forfeit it all. It comes to the same thing. Say it.”

  And then Rupert was surrounded.

  “Say it! Say it! Say it! SAY IT! SAY IT! SAY IT!” they shouted until Rupert’s head was swimming, his ears were ringing, and he could stand it no more.

  “I BET IT ALL!” he exploded, because anything was better than this.

  Then everyone was quiet.

  “Players, reveal your hands,” said Mr. Rivers.

  Slowly Uncle Henry put his cards faceup on the table. Rupert looked at them. Then he looked again. At first, he was ill. Kings! Uncle Henry had kings. And kings were far higher than sixes. But wait. Could it be? Uncle Henry had, why he only had three!

  Rupert put his own cards faceup on the table.

  For a moment there was utter silence in the room and Rupert wondered sickly if they would pounce on him and kill him. That would be a not entirely unexpected ending to this day.

  Then there was a huge shout and Uncle Henry shouted the loudest.

  “FOUR SIXES! Brilliant! Brilliant! The boy is a genius! What LUCK he has! He’s the luckiest boy I’ve ever known. Rupert, Rupert, you win, boy. You WIN IT ALL!”

  Rupert sat as one who’d been hit with a hammer, but Uncle Henry paid no attention and continued to bounce in his chair.

  “What a dark horse! What a surprise! I’ve never been so happy to lose in my life. What a game, eh, Moffat! What a game!”

  Uncle Henry stood up and did a little jig. He and Uncle Moffat hooked elbows and danced about the room until they knocked over two wing chairs. They spun faster and faster until Uncle Henry was pulled right off the floor by Uncle Moffat’s much heavier mass and he went spinning in a circle, his feet flying through the air, knocking bric-a-brac from tables and paintings off the walls. Finally, they fell over in a heap and lay on the ground laughing hysterically. Rupert was left sitting quietly alone. Wanting to laugh with them but barely able to breathe.

  “You have won! You have won it all!” cried Uncle Henry, getting slowly back to his feet and trying to explain it to Rupert, whom he was sure hadn’t understood, because he sat there so silent, so unmoving.

  Everyone was cheering and punching Rupert jovially on the arm, trying to awaken him to his good fortune.

  Then Melanie, who’d been sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, stood.

  “Not quite,” she said, looking more and more like a lizard to Rupert as she smiled a slow malicious smile.

  “Oh dear,” said Uncle Henry, sitting down and rubbing his head.

  “Oh yes, oh dear,” said Uncle Moffat, trying to sit up, but too fat and full at the moment to do so. He decided to remain lying for a few more minutes and gazed forlornly at the ceiling, repeating, “Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. Yes, I’m afraid that’s true.”

  Mr. Rivers looked away.

  The cousins sighed.

  Now they’re all going to kill me, thought Rupert, and perhaps eat me. He looked appealingly to Mrs. Rivers.

  Mrs. Rivers wrung her hands nervously and then said, “Rupert dear, what Melanie means is that you have to answer one traditional Christmas question to really win. To really win and keep your prizes.”

  “What?” asked Rupert, and now he did come awake. This wasn’t fair!

  “It’s just a little thing,” said Mrs. Rivers.

  “Hardly anything at all,” said Melanie, her eyes sparking.

  “Just a little tradition, as Mrs. Rivers said,” said Mr. Rivers.

  “What?” asked Rupert again, going pale.

  “Oh, don’t look so frightened,” said William, who had returned to the room like a shark to the kill.

  “We do it every year,” said the other Turgid. “Billingston picks a question from the encyclopedia and the person who wins poker has to answer it correctly. If you do, you keep everything. If you don’t, you lose everything.”

  “But…I already won,” said Rupert, too disturbed by this turn of events to keep politely quiet.

  “Not really,” said Mr. Rivers.

  “Not yet,” said Melanie.

  “Now, Melanie, he has won,” said William. “But whether he will get to keep the winnings, that’s the question.”

  “I’m sure he will,” said Sippy.

  “Not likely,” said Rollin.

  “I’m sure you’ll answer the question correctly; you look like a bright enough fellow,” said Mrs. Rivers, but she didn’t look sure at all.

  “Of course, you only get one chance,” said William.

  “One question,” said Melanie.

  “One answer,” said the other Turgid.

  “That will teach you to be a cheat,” said William.

  “Out!” said Uncle Henry. So William was once more banished from the fun.

  “All right,” said Rupert quietly. His brow broke out in a sweat. His hands shook. Mrs. Rivers fetched the envelope with this year’s final question and held it nervously before her.

  Everyone’s eyes were on Rupert.

  Mrs. Rivers looked at the circle of faces
and took a deep breath.

  “I hope,” she said shakily as she opened the envelope, “that it will be an eensy bit easier than last year’s question.”

  “That one was really impossible,” said Uncle Henry. “It was idiotic. It was absurd. I lost everything. But anybody would have. It was a ridiculous question. I said to Billingston, you’d better stop coming up with such hard ones. Of course, he makes them hard because if the winner doesn’t know the answer, we give Billingston all the prizes. So he has a stake in your failure, you see. But don’t worry, boy.” Uncle Henry leaned down and patted Rupert on the shoulder. “It won’t happen to you. You’re still in school. Your mind is fresh. Your brain cells aren’t dead and blowing away like dandelion seeds. You’ll have no trouble.”

  “Yes. Well!” Mrs. Rivers gathered herself and drew out the paper with the question. She read silently first. “Oh dear,” she said, and frowned.

  “What is it?” asked Uncle Moffat.

  “It’s—it’s nothing,” she said, and laughed nervously.

  “Is it difficult?” asked Mr. Rivers.

  “Not too difficult for our boy, Rupert, here,” said Uncle Henry.

  “Well, for God’s sake, read it,” said Aunt Hazelnut. “I can’t stand here all day. I’ve eaten seven pieces of pie and I must lie down and digest.”

  “It’s, um, geography this year,” said Mrs. Rivers, clearing her throat. “Billingston has picked geography. He always picks such, um, difficult questions.”

  “Are you good at geography, boy?” asked Uncle Moffat.

  “Of course, he is!” said Uncle Henry. “He’s good at everything, our boy. Didn’t you just see him skunk me at poker? A game he’d never played before?”

  Rupert looked up hopefully. The thing was, he was good at geography. He was interested in the world because he planned to travel some day when he became a person who does a special thing, whatever that turned out to be. He had already memorized all the state capitals and had started on Canada. He knew the continents. This wasn’t so bad. Thank goodness it wasn’t a math question. He stopped trembling and pulled himself together.