Cardomon: The Poker Party

     Daytimes Mabutu lingered near the crib door, tried to view as much beyond as possible without being observed himself. He studied the guard’s routines, and he investigated the door.

     It was cheap, solid, swung inward, the latch had no parts on the crib side of the entry.

     He tried an experiment, wadded a small piece of cloth and wedged it into the lock strike. That night, when the guards finished, they dispensed the red pills and left the crib, slamming the door behind. Mabutu didn’t swallow his dose, once the guards were gone he drew out his stash, took half of a white pill and left his red pills. He waited for the cribmates to go silent and he rose, made soft footsteps to the portal.

     Snug in its jamb, with no inner handle, the door was yet a barrier. The cosmetics case contained a short nail file, he got that. It fit into the crack of door and jamb and had just enough grab to pull the door a tiny fraction of an inch. The patient eunuch wriggled his tool back into the slot, pulled again and the door came just a little further—after the seventh nail file probe he had a door edge he could get his fingers onto.

     Mabutu worked at floor level, he gently worried open a crack and checked the scene beyond.

     What he saw of the corridor was empty except for one sentry standing with his back to the guardroom entrance. The man was motionless, feet didn’t shift, eyes didn’t blink, possibly asleep afoot.

     Mabutu waited, resisted drug-jittery nerves, held his lower lip in his teeth and slowed his breathing, fingers twitched, the door wobbled. He closed his eyes, fearing catastrophe.

     The guard didn’t react.

     He watched again, time passed. The guard finally moved, turned around and went through the door behind him. He returned shortly, resumed his vigil.

     Mabutu’s own bladder grew anxious, he decided that he’d seen enough and carefully pushed the door back into its jamb then went into the WC.

      He released his breath, urinated, drank water and was suddenly exhausted. Mabutu stumble-walked to bed, fortunately his was the nearest.

     Mabutu cracked the door again, took a peek—there was no guard in view. He puzzled at that, pulled the door a little further, then it pushed firmly with its own force.

    A hand scooped from the blind side of the opening and hooked the eunuch under the armpit, dragged him out of the crib and he slid into the center of the corridor. The guard inspected the door jamb and found the blockage in the lock strike, he removed it and closed the door quietly.

     He turned about, faced Mabutu with a peculiar half smile and baggy, heavy lidded eyes under a sagged brow of wrinkles, not much hair toward the center of the scalp and the face was round, a warm light brown. He offered empty hands and whispered: “Nice trick, kid. Used it myself a time or twice. Bet you thought I didn’t see you the other night.” Smile broadened, showed a touch of upper teeth.

     Mabutu sat silently.

     “Don’t worry, it’s just you and me. I ain’t gonna mess with you.”

     Silence continued.

     “Yeah—can’t blame you, I’d be scared too. It’s really okay, I just thought as long as somebody is awake we can talk a bit. Gets too quiet all night alone out here. You like tea? I have a pot in the guardroom.”

     Still no words, Mabutu shook his head in confusion.

     “Stay here—I’ll be right back.” He went to the far end of the corridor and through the guardroom door. Three minutes or so later he stepped out again, pushing the door with his elbow and carrying two steaming mugs.

     Up to the youth’s space, squatted in front of him and put the drinks down, then he sat facing the eunuch: “Call me Bobol—almost like Bubu, huh?” He offered a hand of greeting.

     Mabutu took it briefly.

     Bobol lifted a mug and waved toward the other: “Figured you like it sweet—I put three sugars in. Drink up.”

     Mabutu lifted the cup and sniffed it, took a faceful of vapors: “I can’t drink this, it’s hot.”

     “Not too, see?” Bobol reached over and put a finger into the mug, held it there a moment and pulled it up, popped it onto his tongue and savored the tea.

Mabutu tried a sample taste. The sweet/bitter blend was too sharp for his palette and he pulled his head up with a grimace.

     “Need more sugar? I’ll get some.” Bobol started to rise.

     “No—it’s all right. I guess, I never tasted hot drink before. All we get is chocolate and vanilla.”

     “Those vitamin shakes? You like that stuff?”

     Mabutu nodded: “They’re good—I trade for extras from some of the babes.” He assayed another sip, tried to carefully review the taste—there was a heavy sourness and aromatics made his sinuses swim. “I’m getting used to it—kind of good.” A quick smile.

     “There we are, kid. Just starting to be friends, huh?”

     Another nod, another sip.

     “Don’t tell nobody—we’ll both get in trouble. You guys get enough trouble. I really hate the way they make us hurt you. If it was me there wouldn’t be no brothels or slave barracks—don’t tell nobody you heard that.”

     “No, I won’t.” Sipped: “Why are you being nice to me?”

     “Like I say—I get sick of the way they make us hurt you.”

     “Why don’t you stop?”

     “They’d kill me. Besides, they make me take flush—once that happens, I’m out of control. I try to avoid it—shit gives me headaches and I see double!—but it’s hard when they are watching all the time.”

     “Who watches you? Do you have guards too?”

     “It’s called ‘Management’—they’re worse than any guards. Especially the boss—Mr. Corman Braye, the man cheats at poker and we don’t dare complain.”

     “Poker?”

     “A game, with cards.”

     Mabutu shook his head.

     “Wow… Everybody knows poker.”

     “No.”

     “Let me get the cards—I’ll show you.” Bobol stood: “You need more tea?”

     “Yeah—I’m starting to like it.”

     The guard smiled: “You know what? I think we’re gonna be friends.”

     “…So your full house beats my three jacks—good thing we ain’t really playing, you’re kicking my butt. Not that I have anything to wager.” He picked up the cards and shuffled: “I can show you.” Put cards down and took a paper from his pocket: “Can you read, kid?”

     “No.”

     “Do you know numbers?”

     “A little—two and two is five… ”

     Bobol smiled: “Close enough for Company work. C’m’ere, look at this paystub.”

     Curious, Mabutu moved to Bobol’s side.

     He held the paper with one hand, pointed details with the other: “See this column? Comes out at four thousand—that’s my base pay. And this column here is deductions—I got housing costs, food, medical, retirement, insurance, plus sundry ‘incidental expenses, taxes and liabilities’—totals out at four thousand five hundred and eighteen. Each and every month I go five hundred and eighteen deeper into debt.”

     Mabutu comprehended none of it, but nodded appreciatively.

     “I did some calculating. My retirement fund matures in another fifteen years and if I cash it in I’ll have just enough to pay about a third of my debts. I think I’m in for life.”

     Mabutu continued to nod, with sleep.

     “You need to get to bed. It’s reveille in a couple more hours—let’s go, kid.” He stood and offered the eunuch a hand.

     Mabutu pulled himself up and went with Bobol to the crib door.

     Before the guard opened it up he fished the wad of fabric from his pocket: “Here kid—you can stick this back into the door jamb, I don’t care if you sneak out. But don’t let any of the others catch you.” He ushered the youth back on in.

     White pill animated conversation the next day:

     Honi: “Sal and I were in a brothel a long time ago—when we met. Some men there showed us that game, they called it ‘strip poker’—they got mad if we were better than them, but Sal was real good.”

     Salyanna smiled: “Those guys were so busy looking at me they always lowered their cards to where I could see—just put my boobies over the table and they forget the game. I had to let them win, though, or they got real mean. Otherwise they were kinda nice, gave us a funny drink—‘wine’—made us feel silly.”

     Honi snickered: “Yeah—I liked it.”

     “Playing cards is fun. We should ask for some—maybe Bobol will give a set to Bubu.”

     Mabutu: “They never give us anything.”

     Salyanna: “We never ask.”

     “’Cause we know they never give us anything.”

     Honi: “We should ask.”

     “Don’t tell anybody about Bobol. I shouldn’t have told you.”

     Salyanna: “But you have to tell us—always. You know that.”

     Honi: “We’re sweeties!”

     Mabutu: “All right—but just you—not even Bundi.”

     Salyanna: “She wants to see outside.”

     Honi: “Maybe we should all play poker with Bobol some night.”

     “I can’t stay awake after the red pills.”

     “Do like Bubu, don’t take them.”

     “I couldn’t do that… could I? I get sick and headachy without pills.”

     “Bubu does it.”

     “He’s little. Right Bubu?”

     “You babes get real sick without your pills.”

     “It’s strange there could be a nice guard… I’d like to see. Can you give me a white pill instead of my reds? We’ll trade.”

     “I don’t know… ”

     Honi: “Bubu wants his friend for himself—he’s afraid to share!”

     “How many white ones do you have?”

     “Only a couple. You babes are too big, you’ll need more.”

     “Save them up.”

     Bobol tapped the door lightly: “Okay kid, they’re all gone and the tea’s brewing.” He pushed it open.

     Mabutu came through, Honi and Salyanna followed.

     Bobol stared, appalled: “Oh kid—I told you not to tell anybody.” He looked into the crib, established that the others slept, then shut the door.

     Honi: “We share everything. You’re safe with us.” She had never smiled at a guard before.

     Salyanna: “We want to play poker.”

     “It’s fun.”

     Bobol: “This can only lead to trouble. Besides, we got nothing to bet.”

     “Can’t we just play?”

     “It ain’t fun without some kinda stake… I got an idea.” He went toward the guardroom: “Who wants tea?”

     Mabutu: “I do. Bring it for them, too. They should try it.”

     “I only made a small pot. I’ll start another, just be a minute.” He disappeared into the guardroom.

     Honi: “I haven’t seen that guy much—he doesn’t come in after the workers.”

     Mabutu: “Maybe he doesn’t like to fuck.”

     “Men all fuck.”

     Salyanna: “He looks funny. Kinda sad.”

     Mabutu: “He talks funny. I can’t figure half what he says.”

     “It’s weird to be out here.”

     “Quiet.”

     “Yeah, too quiet, I guess. Never heard a brothel so silent.”

     Honi: “Let’s look around.”

     “What’s to see?”

     “I don’t know—maybe there’s still food in the refectory.”

     The trio strolled the corridor and through a left side opening on the far end.

     The tables and benches were folded, leaning against the long bare rear wall. Opposite was the service counter, a stack of trays at one end and dishpans stood nested on the other. A side wall had a wash basin and a huge microwave oven.

     And near one corner there was a door, different from other doors. It was wide and heavy with a small window at face level—blackness lay beyond—and it had three locks.

     Mabutu looked in a cupboard above the counter and found a box of greens. He passed them around and they went munching back into the hallway.

     Bobol returned with a large pot of tea and a stack of cups: “Get it while it’s hot! Everybody take a seat and I’ll bring the poker things.” He put his load down and went back to the guardroom.

     Salyanna, Honi and Mabutu gathered in a triangle on the floor, the eunuch poured.

     Bobol came back, he carried a large satchel. When he sat he opened it and withdrew three jars holding the pills: “Red, blue and white, just like poker chips. Call the reds ‘ten’, the blues ‘five’ and the whites are the ‘one’s. Hey—did you guys steal those cookies? Give me one… ” He doled out ten pills of each variety to every player and drew a deck of cards from his jacket pocket.

     Two hours later Salyanna felt rich, her pile of chips held twenty-five red pills, thirty-two blues and ten whites. It was a warm sensation, like after a particularly pleasing meal. Her eyes glittered gleefully, her smile was smug.

     Bobol looked at his pile, two blues and four whites: “Wow, glad this ain’t money. No way I’m gonna survive another hand—give me a chance to get back in. Let’s do a simple bet on one five card deal—everybody meets my stake, okay?”

     The others nodded in semi-comprehension.

     Bobol pushed his pills into the center and they matched the bet. He shuffled the deck.

     While awaiting the deal Salyanna took two blues, a red and a white from her pile and popped them into her mouth: “I can get as high as I want! And I have way too many—you want some, Honi?” She washed down the pills with the bottom of her tea.

     Bobol stopped dealing: “Hey! You can’t eat those! I gotta put them back!”

     “You said I won them… ”

     “Only in the game. We’ll catch real trouble if drugs go missing.”

     She looked at her treasure: “I can’t keep them?”

     “Sorry, no.”

     She made a fading moan: “Ohhh… ” then picked up two more blues and another pair of whites, swallowed them: “I’m keeping these, you can’t take them back.” She pushed the rest of the pills toward Bobol: “I don’t want to play anymore tonight.”

     Suddenly the mood was awkward.

     Bobol stood up: “Maybe you guys should go to bed.”

     His companions all nodded.

     Honi, rising: “But we can play again? It’s fun.”

     Salyanna: “Yeah, I like it.”

     “You guys just want trouble, don’t you? We gotta find something other than pills, now I know I can’t trust Sal. Maybe buttons… don’t you have a sewing kit?”

     Mabutu: “Yeah.”

     “So borrow the spare buttons, that’ll work. But look, I’m not on graveyard watch again for another week. Jason will be out tomorrow night—don’t even dream of opening that door with him around! Wait ‘til I’m back on duty—I’ll let you know.”

     They all nodded again, he let them back into the crib.