ReadFin Literary Journal (Winter 2018)

It’s an Ill Wind
Robert Bennett
The Seven of Clubs was boasting again.
“I am the Atlas that holds up this house and don’t forget it.”
The other cards rolled their eyes at one another. Seven was
universally considered to be a big pain in the deck. They all knew
that any one of them could have been occupying his place instead.
“Oh, shut up Seven,” shouted an annoyed King of Spades. “We cards
are controlled by chance not destiny. There is nothing certain in
the life of a card. When it’s all said and done, you’re just a fancy
piece of pasteboard like the rest of us. If you weren’t holding up this
house you’d be flat out trying to make a pair or a small straight.”
“Quite so, your Majesty,” said the Jack of Hearts. “However, some of
us have superior designs and are more highly valued. Seven lacks
those qualities. Indeed, he seems to lack any noteworthy qualities
at all. He is basically useless.”
The King shrugged. He knew the Jack was only trying to ingratiate
himself…as always. Still, he acknowledged the Jack’s remarks with a
lordly nod. Must keep up appearances, he thought.
“Upper class twits,” sniffed Seven, as loud sniggering broke out all
around him. One day, some day, he would show them all that he
was no joke.
The house of cards was one of eight that stood on a fabulously
carved billiard table. The table itself was the central feature of a
games room in a large country mansion. The games room was a
special place where Clifford Sidney-Hall went to read and drink
brandy, among other things. Clifford also enjoyed playing billiards
and snooker. But he never played pool. Pool had too many lower
class associations. Clifford detested seedy late night poolrooms full
of smoke and the smell of liquor. The irony that his games room
often smelt of smoke and booze was lost on Clifford.
Yet for some weeks, Clifford’s cue had remained in its rack as he
channeled his energies into constructing houses of cards. The
project was all for his own amusement. A way to kill time while
he waited for his fiancée, the delightfully free spirited Daphne
Grainger to return from her holidays in the South of France. It was
unheard of for Clifford’s cue to be racked when Daphne was around.
If the cue was feeling neglected, the billiard and snooker balls were
grateful for the respite. They did not miss the constant collisions
and concussions. They particularly feared one of Clifford’s friends
who possessed a ferocious, cracking drive that always sent the balls
racing and bumping about the table. The lucky ones went into a
pocket off the break and were safe. Until the next game.
But the old cue ball was virtually punch drunk. He alone was always
involved in the game. The past few weeks had been like paradise for
him nestled safely in a padded box with his fellow balls. His speech
was now only slightly slurred and he looked much brighter.
The elegant, oak billiard table showed no emotions either way. She
had been built to last and elicit expressions of admiration. That’s
right. The billiard table was female and a real lady in every respect.
She had beautiful legs, all the way up to her shapely cushions. Her
pocket linings were of softest leather with fine netting stockings
that were finished with a golden tassel. When a ball was sunk the
fortunate pocket trembled. Not violently, but with delight. The
tabletop was made of a single heavy sheet of quality slate. It was a
top made for flaunting. She was proud of her top, which never failed
to draw compliments from the players. Although the table was old,
she had aged magnificently. Something like Helen Mirren…if that
lady were a piece of fine furniture.
The jaunty cue rack on the wall never grew tired of feasting his eyes
on the table. The table knew that the rack had feelings for her, as
she did for him, but of course, nothing could ever come of it. They
were just too different and fixed in their ways. It might also not be
fitting.
The walls of the room were paneled with oak and adorned with
oil paintings and fine etchings. There were a couple of Stubbs’
horses and three Norman Lindsey nudes each of which exuded the
casual, wanton sexuality for which that artist was famous. A few
glass lights with brass fittings and a deep, crimson, Oriental rug
completed the decor. Clifford’s high-winged back armchair stood
like a throne near the stone fireplace. Antique chairs, a leather sofa
and padded benches accommodated other players and guests. If the
room exuded anything it was the subtle aroma of old money.
The eight houses of cards were arranged in two rows of four with
a wide avenue running down the middle. Clifford was interested
in town planning and he liked order. But no two houses were
exactly alike. For one thing, Clifford had used different types
of playing cards for each house. Another variation was that not
all of the houses consisted of a full pack of fifty-two cards. This
meant that some houses were taller than others, while some were
more compact. Whatever Clifford’s intentions had been, the fact
remained that these differences had created a hierarchy. Clifford
was, of course, ignorant of the situation he had created.
This was hardly a surprise to the billiard table and the other noncard
denizens of Clifford’s games room because they knew that
playing cards were among the worst snobs and most competitive of
all gaming equipment.
But let’s return to Seven’s house, a grand affair which employed all
fifty-two of a pack of “Queens Slipper” cards. The base of the house
was made up of a series of pairs of cards that formed rows of an
inverted V shape. These Vs were about five centimetres apart. Next,
a third card was laid flat across two of the V shapes. Gradually, the
house had risen to six stories. Almost as soon as the house had been
completed some of the other cards had suggested that as Seven was
more shiny than the other cards at the base of the house, he was
most likely to slip and bring the whole lot tumbling down. Worse
than that Clifford had seemed to sense what the cards were saying.
Seven had been alarmed when Clifford suddenly left the room last
evening. Seven was sure that Clifford had gone to think things over.
“Oh you can bet on it,” said the Three of Diamonds. Seven did not
like Diamonds at the best of times. Three was now on his trump
list.
The next house was of similar construction but it has been made
with a set of “Gardens of Suzhou” cards that Clifford acquired in
China. The cards were slightly smaller than most Western cards
but they featured some lovely views of the water city of Suzhou,
including the famous “Humble Administrator’s Garden”. All of
the pictures faced outwards, so despite being smaller than its
neighbour the “Gardens of Suzhou” house was quite beautiful.
On the other side of the Garden’s house was one made with an old
pack of “Guinness” playing cards. These cards were well used and
slightly discoloured. They also smelt of the famous stout that had
been made in Dublin since 1759. Actually, the house was more like a
tower. Perhaps, Clifford had been thinking of the solitary Norman
towers than still stand throughout Ireland today? At the end of
the row was another tower, slightly lower, made from a set of cards
designed exclusively for the Folio Society. The illustrations on the
cards are whimsical and amusing. Like those in the “Garden of
Suzhou” house, all the cards in the Folio Society tower are turned
outwards so the illustrations can be seen. The tower seemed to be
one of Clifford’s favourites.
Directly across from the “Queens Slipper” mansion was a rival
ReadFin Literary Journal 27