SHORT STORY COMPETITION

Auckland Star, Volume LXV, Issue 26, 31 January 1934, Page 17

SHORT STORY COMPETITION

JANUARY AWARD. i I The prize in this month's Short Story Competition ■ goes to Donald J. Cowie for his story, "Who Was Wine?" -■

'Who Was Wise?"

(By DONALD J. COWIE.)

I mot her at some party or otlier. She was the mot sweet and demure and desirable girl that I had ever known, and 1 was particularly impressed by the way she had of holding her blue eyes up and saying: '"Do tell me!" She, on her side, I can well understand, was in turn enthralled by my gentlemanly deportment, the way I had of standing apart ehyly in a room, very tall and slender with one hand carefully in my trouscr pocket, the way my eyes carefully avoided hers and every other giiTs, the way 1 was always there to offer her food at supper.

It was a dreadful business at first, we were both so constrained and cowardly. Two healthy young animals wo were, botli animated by tho eame instincts and desires, and yet afraid to say a word to each other. But as the time parsed familiarity bred, if not contempt, at least forgctfulncss of those fears, and we were a typical young couple, going to pictures, dances, parties, and picnics together, spending weekend* at each other's houses, hopelessly sentimental about the most absurd details of our relationship, and, most wildly in love.

I can still recollect how much T was in love, and I respect the memory. Old fellow, when you exercise that saturnine grin of yours you forget that once in a lifetime at least the world is young. I can look back to it all with pity now; but then I was really happy. We used to speak to. each other over the telephone twenty times a day; we ueed to meet in the evening* and talk until her parents came out and literally dragged us apart; we used to bo considerate of tho most insignificant trifles, careful of the slightest phrases, anxious at all times to be on our very best behaviour.

Then, as the time went on, then: came that struggle in the life of all lovere, that struggle between the superficial pose that the lovers have adopted for their mutual delight—the best behaviour—and their real characters. We all have to go through it some time or other, and it is the great test. How many of us fail to compromise successfully!

Sally and I were seated in deck chairs on the lawn, in a patch of black shade that contrasted brilliantly with the sunshine of everything clee. If you had been there I am sure you , would have admitted secretly that we appeared the perfect couple. I was not exactly an eyesore in those days, I used to think Iwas quiet, and sensible, and considerate; while Sally was such a sweet and demure and desirable girl with her perfect taste in clothes, and her charming figure, and her very slight suspicion of a lisp. By jovc, 1 can still feel"that old thrill!

Well, we were seated there, just away from the sledge hammer sun, lazily popping eh'crriea and hurling the pips far and wide, and occasionally finding a. sleepy topic and tossing it to and from each other, quite without sense of direction, quite without seriousness. Then Sally said: "Mrs. Anftley asked us over next Saturday night, but it's no use as it's bridge." I was immediately struck by the disappointed tone of her voice, and became ashamed of a failing. So I replied: "Darling, I really must learn the game at once. I hate putting you in these awkward positions. Why don't you teach me?"

She did not say anything for quite a while. I began to think how noblehearted I was becoming of late—for the idea of learning bridge had always filled me with dread, and the game had ever seemed to me one of those peculiar tortures that should be reserved solely for the damned. Then she left her comfortable reclining posture in the chair and sat straight up, and crossed one knee over the other, clasped it with her hands, turned quite seriously towards me, and said: "Do you think it would be altogether wise?" "Wise . . . How to you mean?" She reclined in the chair now, but in a moment was up again, and intense: "I don't know," each word slowly and carefully articulated, "But—well— so many people can't agree over bridge." I confess that at that time I roared with laughter. I think I went to the length of taking her heart-shaped face between my hands and kissing it on every square inch, including the eyes, nose, and little mole on the left cheek. "Don't be silly," I cried. "Other people —y e3 —but you and I! No, I don't think so! Darling, I love you, ajid you love me. How could we ever quarrel over such a silly thing as bridge?" To my dismay, however, she was not immediately reassured. I am of a sensitive nature now, but at that time I was simply a mass of nerves of all kinds, and I could not bear anything to go wrong. It transmitted itself to every part of my body, that dismayed feeling, and made me positively ill. So when she said, "Yes, I know, but think of mum and dad," I began to tremble in every limb and wondered how to answer. But there came into my mouth, fortunately, something that I had thought more than once before, when faced by the same picture as she had evoked.

"Yes," I answered, "You can think of other people, but it ought to make you ashamed for them. I think there is no more pitiful spectacle in the world than a husband and wife quarrelling over a game of cards. Once upon a time they were like you and me, and made their sacred vows, and plighted their everlasting troth, and considered each other the most unique of _this world's creatures. Now they are like a couple of mongrel clogs, snapping and snarling in the gutter. And all over a few pieces of pasteboard and some silly, petty point of pride or so-called honour. Good gracious, it is a pitiful commentary upon the depth of that ancient feeling of theirs. But you and I are not going to be like that, my darling. We are going to love each other all our lives, and therefore we need have no fear of card games or any other temptations to selfishness. You must certainly teach me bridge." Arid the upshot was that she did.

, I must say that it was a delightful experience. She told me that I was the perfect pupil, but I assured her that that was simply because she was the perfect teacher. I can feel the touch of her cool fingers now, as she adjusted the cards in my clumsy fist, and put my bungling attempts, in order. I can catch the gleam of her hair now, caught then by a stray sunbeam, and hanging so

near my own cheek. I can still feel the glow of those mock battles—which, of course, she always won —that entailed so much mutual, yet how cunning, recrimination, which brought us so close top-ether across the green baize square, which always ended in the same "cuddle."

Yes, you can laugh. You think you can see what's coming. Well, you needn't listen if you don't want to. Have you ever eat alone, evening after evening, in a darkened room with the most charming girl in your world, learning from her how to play a game that consists mostly of push ings and slappings and squeezing* and big kisses? No, but you'd like to. Yes, well in that case don't langh until we come to the end of the story.

I was beginning to take an intelligent interest in bridge, because Sally's haphazard method of instruction had taught me to think and reason for myself. One day Sally said that, «he thought I was qualified to accompany her to a "bridge evening," and one evening we found ourselves in the conventional room, with tho conventional black and white and bare-shouldered crowd, and the conventional little green tables, and the chairs and oblong packets of cards.

At first 1 was at a different table from Sully, and it was fortunate, for I made a hopeless mess of the whole thing. Within twenty seconds I was quite convinced that J would never be able to play fastly enough for these people, within sixty T knew that what I didn't know about the game was sticking out of me for everybody to see, and when five minutes had passed I was feeling rather faint. Then, by some curious chance, I picked tip the best hand I had had in my life, was allowed to proceed with n. one no trumps bid upon it, and simply coined the tricks. And I was so elated that afterwards everything was easy.

Now I found myself in the midst of a thoroughly enjoyable evening. I said as much to Sally when we suddenly met at another table as partners, and I noticed that she noted with a rather thoughtful eye my flushed cheeks and generally animated appearance. Anyway, we began; and I, being anxious to prove myself a good partner to her, played slowly and deliberately, and, I felt, remarkably well. At first we had everything our own way, and I played a game and got through easily, and Sally plnyed one or two games. Then the luck of the cards took a natural turn, and I picked up the first of a succession of bad, unbiddablc hands. It continued for a long time, and, as Sally was little better off, our partners soon caught up with our score, and very eoon after had passed it. Then I resolved desperately to break th,e spell. I had three certain tricks in this hand I picked up, but I went to two spades on it, and waited with great trepidation for Sally to lay down her cards. Of course, as soon as I saw them I realised what a fool I had been.

I felt so annoyed and ashamed, with myself that I took little notice of Salty's darting glances as I eteadily lost trick after trick and went down 2.50. But when it was the supper interval, and we were seated next to each other in a secluded corner I was forced to realise that I had failed in my duty as a partner. She said to me: "Whatever did you Lid so rashly for?"

Perhaps I could have devised a quiet answer, but all the devils came out in me and held my tongue in a clinging vice. "You should never bid unless you have at least five sure tricks in your hand. You can rely on three at the most from your partner, so five tricks are absolutely essential." Then my tongue suddenly loosened, and somebody gave it a push, and it said: "Oh, I know!" Whereupon Sally, as if she had been waiting for the signal, said: "No, you don't know. That's the trouble. You think that you are a bridge-player when you have only played one proper game in your life. . . Two spades! I have never heard of such a thing! Never, never again in your life venture to . . "

But something had come over me also. I felt a strange anger firm within my bosom directing all my words and actions, and transforming me, for the meantime, into a totally different person. "Oh, stop preaching!" I cried, interrupting her. "I am sorry that I let you down. I am sorry that I made a mistake. But, for the Lord's sake, don't go on as if I had committed a crime!" "Reggie.!". I had never heard such a reproachful word from her before, and, almost .with terror, I watched her turn away and bite a quivering lip. I was ay old self again in that instant, and was stretching out my arms to her, but then she left her lip and she compressed it in a thin line, and looked firmly ahead of her, and spoke: "You must remem-

ber that you are only a beginner. Don't imagine, Reggie, that I am going to put up with a slanging from you just be* cause you have made a hopeless mess of your iirst bridge evening. Plea&e don't discuss the subject with me again!"

That was all there was to it, positively all there was to it. I think tliers were some more games after supper, but I cannot remember the details of them, only my terrible feelings. Quite distinctly do I recollect the successive impressions of that cvi] hour, and the tumultous thoughts of the hours following, when I walked home slowly after seeing the stranger Sally to her gate, and lay awake long into the feverish night. First it was as if the peaceful happy world had been shaken to its very foundations by a great earthquake. 1 stood dazed and bewildered, unable to understand that this ghastly game had actually come between Sally and I for a moment, that it had actually forced us to quarrel. Of course, I know now that if that was a quarrel then the average altercation must be a free fight; but then it did seem that the world had come to an end.

But that impression was certainly not the dominant one during thope miserable midnight hours. After a while I thrust the idea of that devastating quarrel into the background, and. no doubt with the help of the little devils to whom I have already referred, began to relive that game of bridge and the argument about it afterwards. Good gracious, she had no right to speak to me like that! After aIJ, I had not committed a dreadful crime. . .

And, following that evil thought came a host of equally evil others. T remembered and specially resurrected various little incidents that had occurred during my apprenticeship to t.ho game in those precious evenings, and I was no longer thinking of the old most sweet and demure and desirable Sally, but of a person very much like myself, who took scllish advantage of another's weakness, who was a bad sportsman, who was confoundedly nide and wanted a jolly good biff under the jaw!

Then —and no doubt it was a very good thing —I went to sicep. When \ woke in the morning the first thing I was conscious of was the usual irritating nervous headache, but the next thing was that I must hurry, or I would be late for my usual appointment wit'n Sally. You see, we used to meet at the avenue corner, and she used to walk down with me every morning part of the way to work. She was a darlin? to do it. Yes, the second thing I thought Of was that T must hurry or eUe I would miss the appointment.

When you hurry in the morning end have a nervous headache you don't think much about the night before. You instinctively shrink from that dreadful and remote period. So I walked down to th" meeting place in the fine sunshine without any feeling of doubt, or hesitancy, or fear. As a matter of fact, I was eagerly awaiting the moment when I should see her familiar little figure turning the corner, and her sweet cheery smile.

Usually she was remarkably punctual for a girl, and nine times out of ten we would arrive at the meeting place together. But this morning she did not come round the corner and she was not at the meeting place, and I suddenly felt rather sick.

Even then, however, I did not allow mvK-elf to think, hut only reflected quickly that doubtless the poor darling was tired and would come along in a great state very soon. I stood with my hands behind me and my legs apart, and took appreciative sniffs of the clear sunfiltered air. I felt that my headache was disappearing.

But it came back with n rush when Sally's little sister stopped her bicycle on the wav to school and ehouted out to

me: "Sally says she's not coming this morning because of a headache!"

My head swam. I groped along the etreot feeling that everybody must be looking at me and guessing my catastrophic secret. Then the headache drowned my brain and forced my feelings into the most crooked channels. So that wae how she was going to behave, was it! I was ready to forget and forgive, but she .. . All women were alike, then. They would allow such a paltry thing as a bungled game of bridge to wreck their life's happinese. In that case I would know the line to take up myself.

I don't think that ever in my life beforo had I been so angry as I was" when I entered the office that morning; and when the boss called me in and asked me if I would consent to be transferred to tho Islands right away to take Benson's place, I gave my answer like a shot. Xo, I never eaw her again.