telegraphing to his fingers. A fit of nerves?
“Cut!” he cried again.
No, no. He looked at his hands. They were
Durand laughed at him with a mad,
shuffling; shuffling in a perfectly normal, demoniac light in his beady eyes. He laughed.
perfectly steady manner. It wasn’t nerves. Still
“No! Deal them as they lay. I shan’t
his brain kept telegraphing, and he kept cut. You are too anxious for me to cut. Too watching the motions of his fingers—and then anxious. No, no. Deal, and be damned to he saw that his second finger and thumb had
you!”
shuffled the ace of clubs to the bottom of the Gautier dealt. And mechanically, even
deck.
as he was watching them, his fingers gave to Had he done it on purpose? He himself five cards from the bottom of the wondered. All his life he had amused his
deck. Four of them were aces. The fifth was
friends with card tricks. He reflected. There the queen of hearts.
was the Coast. There was the stone. There was Durand picked up his hand. He looked
the gold. There was Paris. And here was the
at it. He laughed again.
stinking, festering jungle—the Tonkinese—
“Give me two cards, Anatole. I’m
Vasanda—the little knives—and the ants—the
going to take a chance. I have a hunch that I’ll ants.
win.”
Another ace joined the first at the
Gautier studied his own hand. Four
bottom of the deck—the third—the fourth.
aces—and the queen of hearts. The queen of
Then the harsh, jarring, arrogant voice
hearts! He would never forget that red queen.
of Jean Durand.
She seemed to smile at him. A sardonic grin
“Deal! Damn you, deal! You’ll shuffle
was on her silly, painted lips.
all the spots from the cards.” Gautier was
The queen of hearts! Of course he
about to shuffle again. But the other stopped would discard her. Alight as well make the
him with a savage gesture. “No, no, no. Don’t other believe that he had bought one of the
you dare shuffle them again.”
aces. So he discarded the queen. She fell face
Short Stories
6
upward. The wind carried her a little to one Suddenly he noticed that the cards were still side—a little away from the circle of light—
clasped in his hand—the cards were losing
over to where Durand was sitting.
cards which had cost him fortune and life.
But still Gautier could see the mocking
He threw them on the ground, in front
smile on her painted lips.
of Gautier, face up. A second later, he was
Then he dealt. Two cards to Durand,
gone.
one to himself.
Anatole Gautier looked dazed. It
There was a short, tense silence. seemed to him that he had lived through all Durand was studying his hand. He looked up
this before. In a former life? Yes. It must have and stared at Gautier. Gautire felt been in a former life, a former incarnation.
embarrassed. Did the other suspect him? Now
He remembered the whole scene,
was the time to act, to act well, to simulate every single detail.
surprise. He looked away from the other. He
But wait, wait! There had been a
studied his hand; he studied it again and again difference. What was it? He thought and
as if he couldn’t believe his eyes.
thought and thought.
Then he gave a mad shriek of joy.
Then doubt came into his soul. Had it
“I win! I win! Four aces! By the really all happened in a former incarnation?
Madonna, four aces!”
Had it not been in this life; twenty years ago?
And he threw his hand on the ground,
Old memories flashed up in red streaks.
face up.
Yes. Twenty years ago. He
Durand picked it up. He examined the
remembered the whole scene. But there was a
cards one by one.
difference, a little difference.
“One—two—three
—four
—four
Suddenly he knew. He knew where the
aces.” His voice was thick, choked.
difference was. There, in that scene of his
Then he studied his own cards. Again
dead life, Durand had gone into the jungle. Of and again. Beyond the feathery tops of the
course. He had lost. He had seen the four aces; trees a haggard morning sun was rising. A
a nearly unbeatable hand. And then he had
flickering, pale-yellow ray fell on Durand’s laughed. But he had torn the cards into small face. It looked drawn and green.
pieces; he had thrown the pieces into the
Suddenly a change came over him. He
dying camp fire!
straightened himself up. He rose.
And here—here were the cards, whole,
At the same moment, Vasanda stepped
face up. He looked at them. He studied them.
out of the jungle. He bowed deeply, It was a heart flush—up to the queen.
courteously.
The queen of hearts.
“You have decided?” he asked in his
But he remembered that he himself
gentle sing-song.
had discarded that same identical queen of
“Yes.” It was Durand who spoke. “I
hearts. A gust of wind had carried the bit of stay with you. Gautier goes to the Coast. He pasteboard a little to one side, to where
returns here with the gold—inside of thirty
Durand was sitting. Had then Durand cheated?
days.” He broke into his dry, harsh, high-
Had he picked up the card to make his flush?
pitched cackle. “He returns here with the
Gautier trembled in every limb. He
gold—with the gold—with the gold! Au
called after the other.
revoir, mon ami.”
“Durand! Oh, Durand!”
He did not offer to shake hands. He
The other turned and looked at him,
bowed mockingly. He was about to go. questioningly.
The Fetish of Remorse
7
Gautier stared. He rubbed his eyes. But
acting! Yes, yes—he remembered it all!
this was not Durand at all. This was
He turned on Jenkinson. He spoke with
Jenkinson, the American, his friend. And the a thick, angry voice.
other, the Tonkinese by his side. Why it was
“You—why didn’t you do as I told
Lee Mon-Kau, the Chinaman with the long,
you? Why didn’t you tear up the cards as
gold-encased fingernails, and the heavy-lidded Durand did? As he did twenty years ago?
purple-black eyes.
Look—look—you picked up the queen of
Suddenly the whole scene flashed up.
hearts from the discard. You cheated. And
He remembered. Why, yes—this was Paris—
Durand did not cheat. It was I who cheated. I his home; and he had arranged it all; he and who killed my friend. Durand did not cheat.”
his two friends: Thomas Jenkinson, the big,
He broke into a paroxysm of tears.
good-natured, slightly sarcastic American, and Lee Mon Kau smiled. He opened the
Lee Mon Kau, the Chinaman. Yes. Together
windows. A gust of fresh clean air came from they had arranged
it all. He, Anatole Gautier the garden.
himself, had coached the American in the
Jenkinson put his hand on the
sound of Durand’s voice ... he himself; Frenchman’s shoulder.
because he wanted to get an actual picture, an
“Yes. Durand tore up the cards. So you
actual moment of his dead life, visualized
told me. But then, my friend, how do you
once again, lived once again. Of course it
know? You did not see his hand. He might
sounded real. Jenkinson did remarkably well.
have cheated. Eh? He might have cheated.
Jenkinson should have been an actor. . . .
Gautier looked up. He spoke
And of course the atmosphere, the mechanically, stupidly.
carefully staged, carefully prepared
“He might have cheated.” Again and
atmosphere of the room made the whole again he said it. “He might have cheated. He cursed impression more real than ever. Florist might have cheated.”
and painter and decorator had joined hands to And suddenly, with a great throaty cry
change the large living room of his house into of relief, he fell on his knees. He raised his a bit of Tonkinese jungle. Even the moist heat hands above his head.
had been faithfully reproduced. Also there was
“Thank God, thank God!” he shouted.
the incense; that mad, blue-clouded Indian “He might have cheated!”
incense in the jeweled silver censer, breathAnd he dropped on the ground in a
clogging, mind-choking. And the acting—the
swoon.
The Fetish of Remorse by Achmed Abdullah Page 2
