The War Game (22 page)

             
The short man picked up the top card, his hands shaking to a comical proportion, like a cartoon. He wavered a moment, like he was catching himself from fainting, before touching the top card. He turned it over, I could see the number from where I’m sitting.

             
“Hold it up now, announce it,” the judge commands.

             
“A one...it’s a one,” the man cries.

             
A big black underlined one.

             
The other man, somehow solemnly, picked up the next card on top of the pile when the soldier drew near.

             
He held it up, took a moment before announcing, “A 5. I have a 5,” he says apologetically to the man with the one but at the same time, making sure that there was no mistaking that he is holding the larger numeral.

             
“All right then. Carl?”

             
The soldier with the gun, whom I assumed to be Carl, took his gun and shot that short man in the head. His body stayed standing for a few seconds and then it fell.

             
A soldier led the tall man out of the courtroom. The man was walking steadily but I could tell that he was falling inside himself because I felt myself falling inside myself.

             
I couldn’t and still can’t, fully comprehend what just happened. I just saw a man murdered. My thoughts were on the short man. He was just alive. How could he be dead now? That was so much to take in within a matter of seconds that I didn’t take in the next fact, which was that John or I were about to die.

             
The judge pounded on the desk with a gun he took from underneath. “Next on deck!” he boomed.

             
The keeper poked my back with his gun; he had been trying to get my attention. I got up, it was hard. I weighed about a thousand pounds.

             
The other keeper lead John to the front, I followed behind. He looked back. I still remember the look on his face but I couldn’t analyze it then in that one second. He looked at me with concern. He was thinking about me when I couldn’t think about anything other than my own livelihood.

             
We stood in our places; there were duct-taped “X”s on the blood-stained floor.

             
Two other players were shuffled in and sat down behind us. It was right about then that I started to understand the situation.

             
I didn’t want to but my heart knew that this would be the last time I might see John. I didn’t recall any stupid random human anatomy facts this time. When I was sitting back at the bench, I felt like perhaps someone would come in and rescue us. That we would both be let go. But that was only in storybooks. Storybooks lied all the time, or they told a better version of the truth. There was no castle. There were no white horses. There were no mice who could sew a ballgown, only giant rats who would eat through the sheets.

             
I looked to John, I felt drops of water dripping onto my shirt but I didn’t care about something as insignificant as that. I looked to him for what I should do. He looked back, trying to calm me down with his eyes.

             
The judge must have been talking because now there was this big card in my hand that I didn’t remember taking. I still find that odd. I didn’t ever remember taking that card. How could I have done something to lock in my fate so absentmindedly?

             
I took it and flipped it over. A big, fat underlined 8. “Eight.” Was that my voice?

             
The keeper walked over to John, and he picked up the top card. He looked at it but I couldn’t tell if it was higher or lower than mine. He always could tell a lie with a straight face. John overcompensated by not blinking at all. Blinking gave you away. Ears turning red would earn you a bullet if you were interrogated. That was the one thing I wished I was really good at. Lying.

             
He lifted the card up slowly, first only revealing his fate only to himself. Then he flipped the card over and held it up from the bottom.

             
“A 6,” he announced.

             
“All ri”

             
Carl already took his shot.

             
Even the judge jumped in his chair. “Yes, thank you, Carl.”

             
John lay on the floor. I knew he wasn’t there anymore but that didn’t stop me from running over and draping my arms over him. When they came over to escort me out, I held onto John. My hands were gripping him, not letting him go. Blood soaked his shirt and the ground. I tried to convince myself that it was just ketchup again. But if it was just ketchup, why was I crying? Why was I grabbing his shirt as they dragged the body away? I was an awful liar. His eyes still wide open. Liars tended to overcompensate by not blinking so I closed his eyes. I grabbed the card out of his hand and then they took me.

             
I didn’t remember much after that. I’m sure that I screamed, likely cried. They dragged me out, taking me through that door in the corner. They threw me on the floor in the hallway and let me go. They let me go because I had won the game.

             
There was an exit sign but it didn’t sing out to me like it should have.

             
I was still on the floor, where they left me. I held my card, the big black underlined eight, and I held his. I turned it right side up. He’d let me win, again. Just like when we played hangman.

             
I turned it around

             
             
and then I knew the answer to my question. He did love me.