Playing the Devil at His own Game
You know this story. There are hundreds of them. A man or woman meets the Devil. They are offered a deal. Or a bet. Or just what they desperately want.
They take it. They gamble. There is a catch. The Devil claims they are in His power. They owe him a soul. The lives of their loved ones. Something they cannot live without.
But as everyone knows, the Devil loves a challenge. An all or nothing throw of the dice. After all, He cheats. However, through luck, skill or esoteric knowledge, they win. The Devil is beaten, banished and belittled. The tale travels through the local population like a flames through a tinder-dry field.
This is one such tale.
Except . . .
Well read for yourself and see if you discover the hidden truth.
*
You will find the entry to His domain at the back of every casino. A door as black as sin looms. Crimson creeps around the edges like blood seeping from a wound. A solitary guard stares at the handful of patrons that wonder nearby, his black suit tight around a thick-set frame. Only the word “THUG” branded across his forehead will make his role more obvious.
One woman approaches the door. She has never before been inside a casino, let alone near this door. She ignores the slots, the tables, the Mammonic orgy of the gaming floor. What she seeks is more important.
Does the guard see it in the heavy, purposeful stride? In the set of her shoulders? In the deep, self-reassuring breaths and slight hesitations as she draws to within arms' length? Regardless, this solitary sentinel has a purpose. With a single outstretched hand he halts her advance.
He holds something within the palm of his hand. They are too close you us to see, but her shoulders slump, her eyes descend to the plush carpet. For a moment, an interminable heartbeat it looks as if she will turn away. But instead she takes the deepest of breaths, stands tall and nods.
Does she imagine a flicker of guilt, of humanity, that crosses his face as he stands aside? Is there a scintilla of empathy and encouragement as he gestures her onwards? If there is, it is gone by the time she presses a hand against the fine-grained wood.
The door swings open and she descends into Hell.
Elegantly decorated with a large mahogany table dominating the centre, it is not what she expects from the Devil's domain. Long-lost paintings adorn the walls with adequate empty space to create an almost zen-like feel. Six high-backed chairs await their occupants.
Almost she misses the Devil. He stands so still at first, his dark suit fading into the background. He seems to emerge the moment she spies the dark pits of his eyes, burning with the glow of distant coals. Suave, sophisticated and smiling an ingratiating smile, every inch perfects the role of a businessman; someone used to deals, bargains and gaining the upper hand.
She relaxes ever so slightly. A mistake of course.
“So. You're here on behalf of your boyfriend,” He says.
Surprise and determination wage war across her face. I have not told you about the boyfriend of course. A gang member looking for a way out, even now being threatened and coerced into remaining. The Devil's talons are deep in him and extricating himself is an impossible task.
“I want you to let him go.”
The Devil's smile broadens.
“And I cannot convince you to bargain something in exchange?”
She shakes her head. The Devil holds out a hand. Smoke swirls on his palm, coalescing into a deck of cards in a sulphuric, brimstone stench. He gestures expansively with his free hand.
“Please, take a seat.”
As she steps forward, she stops, heart racing. The other seats are suddenly occupied, cheerful faces staring back at her. Four young adults, no older than twenty, wave in unison.
“Hi Mom,” they say in discordant unison.
In the lines of their faces, in the set of their bodies, she sees echoes of herself. In the depths of her mind impossible memories stir. Of their fathers. Of lives as unlived. She tries to shut the cascade, to concentrate on the Devil dealing cards around the table, a delighted grin smeared across his face. She can't of course. Who could?
And so she is distracted when the chips appear. She fondles them without realising what each represents. Crisp, sharp and painful memories. Of past, present and possible. Births and deaths. Precious and mundane. Each a searing brand through her brain. She jolts her hand away but not quick enough.
Each of her children have their own stash in front of them. They smile at her, trusting and naïve. They don't see the danger. They can't see what the game may cost her.
“Don't worry. I'll beat Him for you,” they say.
The Devil deals her two cards. Ace of Spades. Queen of Hearts. An accompanying grin. And so the game begins. She forces herself to focus on the cards, only on the cards. A procession of hands follow. The Devil bluffs. The Devil fakes a tell. Her children fall for it, drawn into making outrageous bets and absurd calls. Somehow she can sense the Devil's game, see his thought processes writ large.
And so she betrays her children. She has to. If she wants to save them, if she wants to save her boyfriend, she has no other choice. And her pocket aces, her suited cards, are just enough to win their memories for her own. A turn of a card and she endures pained, hurt expressions. One by one they fade from existence, their faces wrenching at her heart with every passing, taking with them something vital.
And with every touch of her winnings, her heart breaks. She witnesses their triumphs and failings. Their graduations and their weddings. She feels their unconditional love and cannot bear it.
And throughout the Devil cheats. She cannot catch Him at it of course, but it is there in every smile, every snide comment and every laugh. In how he watches her face as omniscient as God. And then there are the impossible hands. The ones she has no right to win. In fact the only ones she loses are when she goes head-to-head against the Devil.
So she gives away her own memories, hoarding those of her lost children, struggling to maintain an impassive facade.
Before she realises it, it is just the two of them. Just her against the Devil. And of her own memories, she only has the painful ones of her boyfriend. Of the arguments and the fights. Of the crack of a hand against a cheek and the hard, hot tears. Of his desperate, flailing failings. Of the days when she knows he is with the gang and her impotent despondency. Of only the long moments where she doubts he can ever change, where she does believe there is a way out.
She stares at her cards. Queen of Hearts. Six of Hearts. The flop shows the other three sixes. The Devil matches her raises, unconcerned. The five of spades follows and the Devil grins, pushing His entire pile of chips forward.
“You can still walk away. You can take what you've gathered and walk away.”
If she matches him, she risks everything. She cannot win. Everyone knows the Devil cheats. He has to have spades in hand. He has to expect the only card that can let him win.
A frown creases her forehead. Has she seen one of the cards already? Was it in the hands of a bouncer held close to a chest? Too close her us to see? Was it in his expression and in his humanity?
Who can say what truly goes through her mind as her face goes blank. As she pushes all her memories forward, bets her life and soul against the Devil's own luck. As His smile turns brittle and cold, cracking like an iced over lake under the pressure of a body's weight.
*
They break up of course. Others get a truncated tale but she tells him everything and no relationship can withstand such truths.
But it drives them both forward. He breaks from the gang and draws others out too. He is a beacon of hope, revealing to others that beneath a violent facade lives a living, breathing, feeling person.
She meets someone else. The memories of her impossible children are replaced by a real one. One on her way to being a neurosurgeon, a human rights activist, that rarest of breeds; an honest and good politician. Someone to work good in the world.
And the Devil? More come to his door.
And so you see it of course. Where the Devil cheated. But more importantly, do you see what game the Devil plays?