Playing with fire (part two of two)

continued

He exchanged his free 500denarii chip for ten 50s, and placed one on the number 7. This chip was quickly collected by the croupier. Frank had lost it before understanding the idea of the game. Sirenia was very ‘helpful’, placing a chip each on 6, 12, 18 and 24. This time, he lost four chips in one spin of the wheel. She tried a corner bet, covering 32, 33, 35 and 36. Another loser.

‘This game is harder than it looks, and it looks close to impossible,’ he said, with a shrug.

Quickly his ‘free chip’ was used up, gone forever, and Frank didn’t feel he’d had all that much fun. He wondered what it would feel like to win at this game, so he broke into some of the chips he had been given in exchange for his inheritance.

He knew there was something rather foolish and promise-breaking going on, but the allure of Sirenia’s perfume, the atmosphere around the roulette table, and the screams of laughter and joy among the other players when they laid a winning bet all conspired to quiet his conscience. I might win a decent amount on the very next spin, and that would pay back everything I’ve… invested so far, he told himself. He wasn’t sure if he believed this.

He soon had a small victory, favouring red, but those winnings were very quickly squandered when Sirenia ordered another drink. She thanked him with a kiss.

Time rushed by, and several hours later, Frank realized that he’d not only lost the original 500denarii chip, but he’d also lost roughly half of the chips he’d bought with his inheritance money. If he left now, he could at least take home the equivalent of the amount he’d taken in the first place. It wouldn’t be the gain he’d promised, but it would be no loss, either. But what if the next spin is a winning one? he thought. I’d be a fool to miss this opportunity… He listened to the voice within.

Meanwhile, Sirenia was still spending his chips, having a great time and being friendly, although she seemed occasionally to have been distracted a little by the chap on the other side of the table who was clearly what they call a high-roller.

‘We’re bound to have a change of luck soon, Frannikins,’ Sirenia purred, putting another stack of chips on evens and several each on high, black, 28-30 street, the second dozen and Orphelins.

The mesmeric mantra of the croupier, the whiz of the ball around the highly polished wooden surface and then the tink…tink… tink-tink ti-ti-tink as it found its way into 3 – an odd, low red, which was neither in the 28-30 street nor the second dozen, and in the Voisins du Zero. Useless. A total loss.

Once again his chips were quickly scooped up by the croupier’s stick.

Once again Sirenia sipped at her pink champagne, apparently oblivious of the decimated stash of chips in front of Frank.

Once again Frank thought, to no avail, about his luck changing.

He staggered, eventually, away from the roulette table and towards the cash-up window with less than one-third of the chips he’d had when he had first begun to seek it out.

‘Oh, look at the time! No wonder I am so hungry,’ Sirenia said, glancing towards the restaurant.

A couple of hours later, Frank had eaten a magnificent dinner, finished his share of three bottles of champagne and blown the rest of his chips on a ‘let’s-see-if-our-luck-has-finally-changed’ vain imagining.

Sirenia drifted rapidly away once her benefactor was ‘no fun any more’ and Frank returned alone to his motel room. He knew he’d failed in his Quest. What could he do now?

The news the next morning was confirmation of the famine that had been threatened, so he left the bright lights behind and sought employment in a pig farm.

Two weeks later, hunger gnawed at him insistently, and he decided he should try to eat the good bits among the rotting vegetation on which the pigs were fed. But the food was entirely inedible.

A flash of inspiration dawned, and he came to his senses. ‘What am I doing?’ he asked, out loud. ‘My father’s hired hands eat well, and here I am, reduced to this… I shall go home and ask my dad to give me a job working for him. I’m no longer worthy to be called a son.’

He made his way back to the farm. While he was still a long way off, his father, who had been keeping watch from the roof of the house, saw him and ran to greet him.

He kissed him and embraced him, and wouldn’t let Frank say his carefully-prepared ‘I’ve been a fool – you were right – the temptation was too much – let me work for you as a hired hand…’ speech. Instead, he brought him shoes, a coat and a ring, and called for the calf to be slaughtered in celebration.

‘This my son was lost, but is found; he was dead but is alive!’

They had finest rump steak, with onions, grilled tomatoes, mushrooms… but no chips.