I waited. I felt the way Christ must have felt when he walked on water. Just like that. When he walked on water, he understood he was the son of God. But he contradicted his laws. And because of this he was at odds with God. He was God too, but I was only Sergio Escalante, attorney. I could walk on water without God begetting me. Over the expectant surface. In my case, it was just an accident: the waters chose to not swallow me. But we refer to those exceptional accidents as miracles. And we are filled up with awe and rapture.
So I waited, and while I waited, it turned out banco. So I put three green rectangles on banco, and it turned out banco. I left the six on banco, and it turned out banco. They gave me six more and I waited. Banco took it again. I hadn’t lost, but it was a bad sign, a fracture in the surface of the water that I had to watch not to step in.
During the hands I waited the game got mixed up and progressed without any order at all. Then a game favoring the banco began to take shape, and when I saw that it was holding up, I played thirty thousand on banco and it turned out banco. I left the sixty and it turned out banco again.
While they were giving me the twelve green rectangles, which had the number stamped in gold in the center, I decided that at the next hand the game would shift, and I put five green rectangles on punto. And punto took it. They gave me back ten. I left five on punto, and they gave me back ten again. My pile of green rectangles and yellow ovals was so big that when I stretched my hands over them, with my fingers separated, I couldn’t cover them all.
Now three hands will turn out punto, I thought, then two bancos. I’m going to play five chips per hand, and after the fifth I’ll get up.
I won the first three hands on punto, and on the fourth I played the banco. The dealer turned the cards over on the table, and they showed that I had nine. I thought that the banco probably had a nine too. The banco turned his cards over and showed an eight and an ace. After the push, it turned out banco, and then to banco again. Now the whole circle of players was looking at my pile of green and yellow chips. I started gathering them up, and when I had the pile ready, I got up. I was walking toward the cage, with my pockets full of chips and even more in my hands, when I saw a guy standing next to me suddenly turn his head toward the stairs. I turned around. Then I saw that the police had come in.
There were more than twenty, and three or four had machine guns. They surrounded the table and told everyone not to move. A photographer jumped out from behind one that seemed to be the captain and took two pictures, the flashes bursting, one, then the next. Then they lined us up against a wall and called us over one at a time. When it was my turn, they took every last chip and wrote down my name and address. Then they sent me back to the wall.
When I got back, one of the workers was talking to a group of gamblers. He was saying that he would rather walk around with a chicken spider in his pocket than with a promise from the cops. Then they made us go down the stairs single file and put us in a van that was waiting by the entrance to the club. Less than half of the players made it in. The rest waited in the club. They took us to the police station and put us in a room with high ceilings and a wood floor. A guy was typing out a list with our names and addresses. When it was my turn, the guy asked if I wanted to leave anything in the depository. I said I didn’t.
When the last two groups of players came, they made them line up and they took their names and addresses. Then they started dividing us up among the stations. I was sent to the neighborhood precinct with four other guys. One was a fat guy with a single tooth, a manager at the Copacabana cabaret. Another was one of the dealers, a guy who didn’t say a word. The third was a guy who sold typewriters. The fourth, I don’t even remember anymore. We got to the station around daybreak, and they distributed us all over the building because we were supposed to be sequestered.
The guard who locked me in said to knock on the bars if I needed anything. The door to the cell looked out onto a courtyard where there was a water pump. Beyond the wall, I could make out the bare vines on the house next door. The top of the wall was lined with broken bottles. When the guard left, I threw myself on the cement floor and fell asleep. I woke up because someone was shaking me. It was a guard, but a different one from before. He wore glasses. He said that a family member was there to see me and was asking if I needed anything. I told him I would be right out. I followed him to the courtyard. I looked toward the waiting area at the front of the building, but I didn’t see any familiar faces. Then the guard came back and in a very low voice told me to wait a moment. I went back to the cell. The bars were open. Then the guard returned and told me to follow him.
I followed the guard through the waiting area and then into an office. An official was sitting behind the desk. He told me someone had come to see me and even though it was prohibited, they were going to let me speak to the visitor for a few minutes. He reminded me that I was meant to be sequestered, so I shouldn’t tell anyone that they had allowed it. He called me counselor, so I assumed he must have known me from somewhere. They took me to another room, and Marquitos was there, sitting behind a table, where there was a folded blanket and a packaged wrapped in butcher paper. Marquitos shook my hand and asked me how I was.
Locked up, I said.
He said there was a cold chicken in the package and that he was trying to get me out. I asked him what day it was.
Saturday, he said.
I told him not to bother, that there was nothing to do until Monday, and to tell Delicia.
Don’t tell her I’m in prison, I said.
Don’t you think that was a stupid reason to get locked up? said Marquitos.
I told him that any reason for getting locked up was stupid. That if he refrained from sermonizing it would make being locked up more tolerable. Marquitos said I looked awful.
I lost my luck at baccarat, some time ago, I said.
I have to admit I don’t understand anything about your life, said Marquitos.
I thanked him for the blanket.
Tonight, at the end of the shift, I’ll come back to see how things are getting along, said Marquitos.
I picked up the packet wrapped in butcher paper and turned toward the door. I stopped and turned around.
I sincerely regret my inability to allow you the pleasure of taking my place, I said, and then I left.
When I opened the blanket over the concrete floor, a book fell out. I picked it up and saw that it was Dostoevsky’s The Gambler. I left the blanket and the package and sat down near the door to read it. When it got dark, a light came on. It started getting cold, so I wrapped myself up in the blanket and sat down in a corner, near the light. At around eight, I had finished the book. It talked a lot about greed, ambition, weakness, the Russians, the French, the British. It even talked about gamblers. But it didn’t have anything to say about the game. It seemed like he thought discussing it would be a waste of time. Or, like my grandfather, that he was a man of a different generation. The last page seemed to me like the best in the book. Then the light was shut off. When the guard came by I asked what time it was, and he said it was ten. Then he said someone had come to see me. I told him to say I couldn’t be woken up. Over night, I woke up several times, freezing. When I opened my eyes the next day, it wasn’t raining, and the sun was coming out. It was going to be a pleasant day. I saw the package wrapped in butcher paper on the floor. I pulled off a drumstick and started eating it. Then I knocked on the bars, and when the guard came I said I had to use the bathroom. It was the same guard from the morning before. He asked me how I had passed the night, and I said I had passed it sleeping. Before nine, Marcos arrived. They made me go to the same room as before, where he was waiting. On the table there was another package wrapped in butcher paper and an orange thermos. He asked how I had slept. Sitting up, I said.