by Mark Ryan
Dave looked at me long and hard.
‘Like a dose of the clap,’ he said.
‘I don’t know…’
‘Good, then it’s settled. Mary, cut the cards.’
It was a deck of cards such as the one my father had owned. Mary shuffled them and cut.
‘There,’ she said, placing the cards on the table in front of me. ‘It’s done.’
‘And a good cut it is,’ said James, ‘don’t you think so, Dave?
‘It’s a good cut.’
‘There you have it, son. It’s a good cut, so put your money in.’
‘He’s right,’ said Mary, her face almost in mine. ‘It’s a good cut. What do you think, Dave?’
‘It’s a good cut. Put your money down.’
‘Are we playing for money then?’
They stared at me for a moment and then all three split into laughter.
‘Are we playing for money?’
‘That’s a good one.’
‘The boy’s a comedian isn’t he, Dave?’
‘Up there with the best.’
‘Funniest thing I’ve heard in years.’
James dabbed at his eyes and waved the other two down.
‘We have to remember,’ he said, ‘that the game of cards is a serious concern.’
Mary gripped my wrist.
‘So put your money down, boy.’
‘How much should I put in?’
James considered.
‘Well, let’s say…’
‘There’s a fair old bulge in his breast pocket,’ said Mary.
‘Then let’s say a ton just to start us on our way.’
‘A ton?’ I said. ‘Do you mean a hundred pounds?’
‘Start low and build your way up,’ said James.
‘You want to play with the boys,’ said Mary. ‘You have to show your bollocks. Isn’t that right, Dave?’
‘That’s what they say, right enough.’
James put his arm round my shoulders and beamed reassurance.
‘You’ll win it all back, with luck. Count out your money.’
‘There’s got to be five hundred pound in there,’ said Mary. ‘Dave?’
‘Five hundred, I’d say. At least five hundred.’
‘So count it out, and we’ll play the game.’
‘Put your money down, boy.’
‘But a hundred pounds?’
‘What’s that between friends?’ said James. ‘What did you say your name was?’
‘Jack.’
‘I feel I’ve known you all my life already, Jack. Welcome to our game.’
‘Get him to put his money down,’ said Mary. ‘Dave, tell him.’
‘Put your money down.’
‘A hundred pounds you say.’
‘You’ll win it back. That’s right, boy. On the table.’
‘And I’ll win it back?’
‘Of course you will. Straightaway, won’t he Dave?’
‘Straightaway.’
‘Then it’s game on,’ said James. ‘Pull the top card.’
I turned it over.
‘Well, there you have it. There’s no beating the Heirophant is there, Dave?’
‘There’s no beating that old card, you’re right enough there.’
‘So I’ve won?’
The three of them rocked about, slapping their thighs.
‘Did you hear that? So I’ve won?’
‘That boy will be the death of me.’
‘I don’t know where he gets them from do you, Dave?’
‘Better than anything on the telly.’
James dabbed at his eyes and Mary turned to me, her face hard once more.
‘You’ve lost your whack. Put some more on the table.’
‘There’s no need to look downhearted, lad,’ said James. ‘You’re sure to win it back. Perhaps if we upped the stakes. Two hundred on the table. That’s fair enough isn’t it, Dave?’
‘It would certainly strike me as so.’
‘Two hundred pounds?’ I said.
‘If you don’t have the bollocks…’ said Mary.
‘I’ve got the bollocks all right. Here. Two hundred pounds on the table. Cut the cards, Mary.’
As we all leaned forward, she cut the deck again. I turned over the top card.
James sighed deeply.
‘Ah, it’s not good news. The High Priestess. And following as she does the Heirophant you’ve taken a bit of a blow to your personal finances, isn’t that the case, Dave?’
‘It would appear thus, the truth be told.’
‘I can only suggest you put whatever money remains to you on the table in an attempt to cover your losses. Do you agree, Dave?’
‘The only right and sensible thing to do.’
‘But I’ve only got two hundred pounds left from the money my mother gave me to find my father.’
‘Put it on the table,’ said Mary.
‘You’ll be sure to win it back. Won’t he, Dave?’
‘It’s a possible sureity.’
‘Put the money on the table,’ said Mary, ‘and I’ll cut the cards.’
‘Cover your losses, Jack my lad.’
‘The money, now.’
I put my remaining money on the table and Mary cut the deck. My eyes closed in silent prayer, I turned over the top card. My three new friends sucked in their breath sharply and I heard the sound I had come to dread.
James sighed as though overcome with the woes of the world.
‘Oh, my poor boy. My poor, poor boy.’
‘He’s poor now,’ said Mary.
‘A sock in it, you gobshite,’ said James and took me by the shoulders. ‘You see… ah…’
‘Jack.’
‘Of course. Jack. The Fool coming after the Heirophant when the intermediary is the High Priestess has spelt bad luck for you, my boy. Dave would agree with me here. Dave? Would you concur?’
‘Whole-heartedly.’
Mary leaned into my face.
‘Now we’ve had your money, so get yourself to hell.’
I had lost all my mother’s money and the only possession I had now to my name was the locket containing the image of my father. By luck it was hidden inside my shirt or without doubt they would have had that from me as well. The ferry docked and I had no choice but to accept a lift from James.
I rode in the cab, changing gears on demand. I had no wish to discuss the game but felt I should make some attempt at conversation.
‘How did you lose it?’
‘Second!’
‘Sorry?’
‘The gearstick, boy. Second.’
‘Oh, right you are.’
I changed gear.
‘Now what did you say? How did I lose my arm?’
‘If you don’t mind my asking.’
‘It’s a sad story, although there may be a lesson in it for you. Third!’
I changed gear again, beginning to get the hang of the thing.
‘But bear in mind, boy, that once you have heard my tale you can never unhear it. Are you sure you want me to tell it?’
I told him I was.
‘It was in a card game such as the one you have learnt today.’
‘You lost your arm in a card game? How did that work out?’
‘These things happen. Third!You throw in your chips and there must be consequences. The Lord moves in mysterious ways his wonders to perform. Good and bad. You can leave with a whack of some other tosser’s stash or you shrug your shoulders and pay up. Fourth!
‘I was a young man at the time, not much older than yourself. Although I had paid little attention to my academic studies and failed in the school certificate, I had laboured long and hard to master the chemistry of drink and the biology of women; indeed I was quite the scholar in both subjects, and through diligent study and brave experimentation gained distinction in the arts of dissipation. It was only natural that in time I should graduate to the mathematics of cards. Back down to second!
‘But the
re are people in this world, my boy, who would take advantage of the curious and revel in the destruction of their fortune. Unhappily, I fell in with a group of such fellows and watched as first they took my money, my grandfather’s gold watch and my sister’s virtue until I had nothing left to stake. Or so I thought.
‘One of them, an evil-looking rogue with a rope-burn around his neck, suggested that I might place my arm upon the table. At first I misunderstood his meaning, but he elaborated. His proposal was that I should stake my left arm; I laughed at the idea, but it was seized upon by the rest of the company and I, intelligence dulled by drink and appetite sharpened by avarice, agreed. Third!’
‘And you lost.’
‘I lost. Not just the hand, but my whole arm. They fell upon me with knives and in a matter of moments I was as you see me now. Divided from my limb but multiplied in sorrow.’
‘But your arm. What could they have possibly wanted with it?’
‘The point has been missed, lad. It’s the principle of the thing. You put in your chips, you lose and you pay up. It’s the rules of the game. You play, you pay. Rules of the game, old son.’
‘What did they do with it?’
‘Chucked it, most probably. Third! No use to them. Like I say, it’s the principle of the thing. But it might’ve been worse, old son.’
‘How?’
‘Might’ve been my right arm. Never have I managed to bring off a satisfactory wank with the old left hand. It’s not the same somehow. Now where do you want dropping off?’
‘Aberuffern. It’s a place in the Valleys.’
James turned to me, his mouth agape.
‘Aberuffern?’
How Dave Met His Death
The earliest memory Dave had was of a little rhyme his mother sang. She sang it when she fed him, when she bathed him and when she put him to bed. She sang it when he cried, when he had been disobedient and when he had soiled himself.
She had probably sung it to him before he had words enough to fix it in his memory and she was still singing it when he left home to attend his first day at school.
He was sat next to a boy he had never met before. The teacher asked the boy his name and received the answer ‘Dave’. The teacher nodded and passed on to Dave.
‘And what is your name?’
‘Dave.’
The class stirred with stifled laughter.
‘Quiet,’ said the teacher. ‘Dave is a common enough name. There is nothing surprising or amusing that two boys, each named Dave, should find themselves sitting together.’
At the end of the day, Dave’s mother was waiting for him at the school gate. She called for him and he ran to her.
‘My name is Dave now,’ he said. ‘You must call me Dave from now on.’
His mother accepted this without comment and led him home for tea.
Now it turned out that the other Dave lacked the advantage of Dave’s peaceful upbringing, having a drunken lout for a father who beat his mother and son regularly. She, in her bitterness, became a vindicative woman who vented her spite at the world on her only boy. He in turn, being well-grown for his age and lacking any benign influence at home, found himself comfortable in the role of class bully.
Dave would have been his natural prey but, whether it was due to their shared name or that Dave seemed unaffected by any attack, verbal or physical, he failed to satisfy the bully’s appetite for intimidation. Instead, Dave became his ally and proved himself valuable whenever the bully needed an explanation, justification or alibi.
Dave’s school years went by uneventfully; indeed he could have been said to have spent them profitably. He did passably well in tests, rarely scoring below half-marks due to his habit of answering ‘yes’ rather than ‘no’, and ‘true’ rather than ‘false’ whenever given the choice which, for the benefit of the examiner, was more often than not.
When the time came to leave school Dave, having passed top of the class, secured work immediately but he soon found this tedious and unrewarding. His friend, the bully, had fallen in with a gang of thieves and rogues and, missing Dave and his compliancy, had little difficulty in persuading him into this alternative employment.
Dave proved to be popular; he drank drink for drink with the best and the worst of them and was never last to buy his round at the bar. Soon he gained a reputation for wisdom, and no plan was put into action until it met with his approval. This approval was always forthcoming which added to his popularity.
Once there was a girl who showed an interest in Dave. She plied him with smiles and gentle touches to his sleeve. His friends croaked their jibes and cawed their obscenities behind his back. It was obvious to a deaf and blind cat what she was after, but Dave was amicably unaware of it all.
Time passed and the girl grew impatient with his indifference and took the bold step of asking him out herself and to no one’s surprise but his own he agreed.
Dave, who had always been content with the way life had been going, now found real happiness in the company of this girl. With her the sun always shone, the birds always sang and he found a new spring in his step.
One day this happiness was torn from him when she said she no longer wished to see him. He asked for a reason and this is the answer she gave:
‘When we first met it was clear that you liked me, but you never had it in you to ask me out. When we did go out it was because I was tired of waiting for you to make the first move. When I asked where we should go, you asked me where I should like to go. When we first kissed it was because I pressed my lips to yours.
‘This is not what I want from a man. I want a man who knows what he wants and goes out to get it. I want a man who knows his own mind and stands by his decisions. I want a man who stands up to the world and damns all the rest. You are a kind and pleasant man, but you are none of these things. It would be cruel of me should I lead you on any further.’
Dave listened to her in silence because he knew she was right. As he watched her walk away he understood the nature of sadness and loss but did nothing.
The time came when his mother fell mortally ill and with her last breath she sang him the little rhyme that was his first memory. The tears dribbled down his face as he heard the words that had guided his every step in life and he joined his voice to hers.
When you’re asked a question
Agree with all the rest
Always go
With the flow
You’ll find it’s for the best.
His mother was gone, his sweetheart was gone and next went his friend the bully, shot dead by the police outside a bank. He was armed with an umbrella wrapped in a carrier bag.
One by one the gang drifted away; to death, to prison, to sickness, to women. The day came when Dave stood alone at the bar with no one to match drink for drink, no approval to give and none to gain. He took a bottle from the shelf and went home to the bed in his mother’s house. He started to undress, but the weight of his tiredness made a monstrous imposition of even this slight activity.
Which is how the man from the council found him a few days later, dead on his bed with one sock on and one sock off.
Aberuffern
The valley where Aberuffern now lies was originally the site of a scattering of farm houses, no more than forty in number. With the sinking of the pit and the raising of the coal by the Parry Glamorgan Colliery Company in the latter years of the last century, the population has swollen to over five thousand in only fifty years. Streets have climbed up the slopes of the valley to house the influx of newcomers and the yeomanry have forsaken their pastures to work the seams, lured by the promise of higher wages. The springs around Aberuffern have all but dried up, and where once a profusion of wild flowers flourished there remain only a few sorry weeds. The cause of this blight is the steady removal of the coal far beneath the fields where in days of yore the shepherd drove his flock.
From ‘An Aberuffern Schoolmaster’ by J. P. Huntley (Tremorgan, 1942. Elysian Press)
�
�Now where did you say you wanted dropping off?’ asked James.
‘Aberuffern. It’s a place in the Valleys.’
James drew a deep breath and sighed, slowly shaking his head from side to side.
‘Aberuffern, you say? I’d steer clear of there if I was you, my old son. It’s near my route but thank the Lord Jesus I don’t have to set foot in that accursed place.’
‘Why? What’s wrong with it?’ I said. It was clear that James’ mood had taken a turn for the worse; a cloud obscured his sunny disposition and his voice grew darker.
‘Nothing good is ever said of Aberuffern, if it is ever talked of at all.’
The driver sang; a dark and doleful melody.
In that black place upon the hill,
No soul worth a penny to old Harry himself,
Carrion crows circle in the skies,
A man’s own shadow walks in disguise,
Sorrow haunts each pair of eyes
In Aberuffern.
The church stripped bare, her windows smashed,
The Saviour on His Cross planted upside-down;
Carrion crows circle in the skies,
Croak as the tortured baby cries;
Hatred haunts each pair of eyes
In Aberuffern.
The graves lie empty, the corpses gone
To satisfy the appetites of the ghouls;
Carrion crows circle in the skies,
Even the Moon is afraid to rise,
Evil haunts each pair of eyes
In Aberuffern.
He sighed; a dark and doleful sigh.
‘Now, here it is. See those burnt-out houses down there? On the other side of those trees?’
‘I see the trees.’
‘They call that Coed-y-Cysgod.’
‘And does that mean something?’
‘Everything has a meaning, old son. It means the Wood of the Shadow or the Shadow Wood. Whichever takes your fancy. Take the road through the woods and you’ll find Aberuffern on the other side, God help you, although I doubt that He will. You’ll be getting out here. Goodbye, Jack me old lad.’
I thanked him and jumped down from the cab. The lorry pulled away and was soon out of sight but the melody lingered in my head.
