The two won’t do.
I have to play my cards right. It’s the only thing I can truly do, the only thing I have control over, my play. My play is everything.
“It’s your move,” Duck said. He didn’t look like a duck, but he had a pout that made him look like one, so the name served.
It’s been five years. Or maybe four? At least three, I know. At least three years, I’ve been jailed inside the mouth of a fish larger than any river or lake or ocean. The cards in my hand felt frail and tiny in comparison, but they are the ones that would set me free.
“Your move.” It was Duck. He slipped a hand inside his coat. He is cheating. He’s always cheated. It started on his fourth game and continued to now. He’s always cheated but never won.
“Drop one card. Drop one card,” Frog spoke. He wasn’t really a frog, but he sounded like one, so the name served. The good thing about Frog was that he never cheated. He’s never cheated but never won. “Drop one card. Drop one card.”
I needed to drop a card, that was true. The decision was easy, I knew. Five cards at hand: the jack, the queen, the king, the ace, and the two. The other players held five cards too, and I was certain Duck had an ace, maybe even two. Maybe a third inside his coat, who knew?
The two I had wouldn’t do.
I made a move to drop it to the center pile, reconsidering. Hesitating. Stopping. I gripped the card between two fingers, my index and my middle. The two stayed there, in mindless limbo.
“Why are you stopping?” It was Tom. He flashed a buoyant smile that made it seem like we weren’t playing for our freedom. He was young. He was new, and this was his first game, so his smile was maybe honest, maybe true. Who knew?
Every year, there was a card game that had no name, but everyone knew. Winning the no-name card game was the most important thing because winning meant freedom, and freedom was everything, so winning was everything too.
The game ended only when the players decided it to, so it could last hours, days, months, or minutes.
I’ve played cleverly for so long. Sound, safe, and strategic. I’ve played for a while, at least three years, maybe four. Or was it five? Maybe this was the sixth time, and I have never won. I would not lose for a sixth time. I would not be here for a seventh one.
Sound, safe, and strategic. Perhaps that was the wrong approach. Maybe this sixth time I’ll do something different. Maybe…
I shelved my two and dropped the king, face up, so everyone could see. Duck grunted, and Frog croaked. I didn’t see what Tom did, but he must have done something, because something moved to my left. Something stirred. And that was where he was sitting.
I drew a card from the fresh pile, and what beheld me was an ace, an ace I did not expect. I tried to feign ignorance, pain even. I saw Frog curl his lip.
“Your move.” It was Duck. He was looking at Tom, who had just finished adjusting his seat.
The seats were flesh, and the table was meat. The game was held underneath the fish’s tongue, which spanned kilometers, or lightyears for all anyone could know. It was a weighted blanket with infinite mass, and the only way out was the game with no name. And now it was Tom’s turn to play.
He shifted uncomfortably, perhaps unsure what to do.
“Raise your tongue,” I told him then. “If you have questions or anything you’d want to know.”
“I have it. I got it. I think I know,” he claimed, throwing a card face down to the pile and drawing another, his face wrinkling with thoughts. Duck put his hand underneath his coat again. It was his turn. Your move, I thought, but the thought stayed silent.
“Drop one card. Drop one card,” said Frog, who held his cards upside down. I wondered how he could read them, only to—a second later—realize, that cards can be read both sides up.
The seats were flesh, and the table was meat, but the cards were cards and Duck dropped one and drew another. “Your move,” he told Frog, without a moment’s hesitation, sliding his hand beneath his coat.
Frog put a card down. It was the five of clubs, and suddenly it was my turn again. I dropped the queen and drew a third ace and knew this couldn’t possibly be real. Improbable, but not impossible, I thought to myself, my hands shaking, my eyes faking pain, still.
Tom stirred, I told him to raise his tongue, and he told me he has it and he knows. Duck pouted “your turn”, and Frog croaked his usual lines, and then it came to me. I dropped the jack and drew a fourth ace. A fourth ace! I was sure Duck had at least one. This was now nearer to impossible than improbable, but still not impossible. Still not impossible, still.
I couldn’t fake pain anymore, but I shook regardless, now not just my hands but my whole body too. Good thing Tom stirred in time to take his turn, and Duck pouted his way, away from mine.
When it was my turn again, my four aces stared against my lone two. Perhaps now the two, and only the two, the mighty two would do. I dropped the two, and with bated breath, I drew a card.
A fifth ace.
Impossible, now truly impossible. A loaded deck, to be sure. The ace of clubs and hearts and diamonds and spades all in my hand, and this fifth one I’m not sure. It had in its face the image of a fish, a large fish that swam on white.
It was not real. It could not be real, but how could I hold it if it was not real? “Someone loaded the deck.”
Frog croaked. “Loaded the deck? Loaded the deck?”
Duck was facing Tom, but he quickly turned to me. He scowled.
They will think I cheated. “Someone loaded the deck.” But I didn’t cheat. I could never cheat. I couldn’t say the same for Duck. “It was you.”
“Huh?” His scowl remained.
“You loaded the deck,” I pressed. “Reveal what you’re hiding under your coat.”
“No.” He pressed his arms against his chest, fastening his coat to his chest.
“Reveal it now!”
He slammed his cards face down on the table. “I will not have your accusations!”
I would not have his lies, but there was nothing to be had if I raised my voice further. The duck had his coat, and I have my cards, so let it be so. “Then I vote to end the game.”
“End the game. End the game.” Frog dropped his cards on the table, all facing up. All aces. All five.
“What?” Duck asked. He threw all his cards on the table, all facing up. All aces. All five.
I showed them my cards, which by now wasn’t much of a surprise, to myself or to them. All aces. All five.
“Wait.” Tom stirred. “I believe it’s my turn.”
I looked at him. “But the game is over.”
Frog croaked. “The game is over. The game is over.”
“Show your cards,” said Duck.
Tom ignored them and dropped a card. An ace. He dropped an ace. He drew a card and flipped it, and there between them was something that could not be true.
The card was the shape of time, the color of light, and the feel of energy. It was not true. It was fantasy. It was fiction. Then Tom stood and amassed his voice and said, “Now the game is over.” He glared above. He held the card like he held the world. “Raise your tongue.” And suddenly gravity lacked confidence. The big fish stirred.
The table quaked, the ceiling broke, and the tongue of infinite mass moved. The ground rumbled, and Duck’s coat fell from his shoulders, revealing nothing but feathers, dirty, unkept, and gray.
There, I thought, as freedom approached us all dressed in beautiful white, if a fish were larger than any ocean or sea, where does it swim? Where does it be?
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