Body of Immorality (38 page)

“To the captain!” Domingo said, toasting, and they all drank.

*

On the dining room table, they drew their cards, spending the next five minutes placing their players strategically upon the board.

Clapton continued to pluck blue’s riffs from the stereo. Soon, the pizza arrived. Paying the man at the door (Gordy was the more financially sound of the two brothers), he left a generous tip and carried the pizzas back to the table.

“
Gratsi,”
said Domingo, helping himself. He took a bite of the pizza, hot cheese stretching from his mouth.

Once they were comfortable—the last man upon the board—they sipped beers casually, nibbled on pizza, and began to play.

*

The first moves were basic enough, depending on how many territories and cards you owned. The more territories you controlled, the more armies you received for your next move. More turns and sets of cards added an increasing number to a player’s armies. The more numbers on the board, the more certain the defeat. Holding borders was an equally challenging strategy as well. Letting an opponent infiltrate an already occupied territory was a quick defeat to whoever owned the region. Wiping out the last armies of an opponent resulted in gaining their cards, thus more armies, fortifying a player’s position.

The dice rolled. Armies advanced, stationed themselves, pulled back, and eradicated other armies.

The minutes ticked by…

Kendall lit another joint, and the three of them smoked and drank. Victories pronounced themselves as the night wore on.

*

“Jeez, here I am
again,”
Kendall said, facing defeat already. “You know what happens now, right?”

“If you knew how to play the game,” Gordy said. “You’d be able to fortify your borders better.”

Domingo laughed.

Kendall had been fortunate to gain possession of Africa. Africa, however, was a challenge to maintain. Borders could be invaded form Asia, Europe, and North America. Kendall knew this. Holding Africa from the start was a maneuver sure to impress the most amateur
Risk
player

“It’s a sure defeat,” Kendall said. “Do not waste your time, gentleman. Africa is impossible. That is where defeat lies, from Africa. You know Hemingway loved Africa.”

“I think everybody knows that,” Gordy said. “Just roll the damn dice.”

Kendall was now attacking his brother on the board. The sore spot was how Kendall tried to obtain Europe
while
holding Africa, an equally daunting task.

“You are attempting the impossible, yes?” Domingo said to Kendall.

“Shut up,” Kendall said.

They rolled the dice.

“Take two,” said Gordy, smiling.

Sighing, Kendall removed two of his men from the board.

*

Every move pronounced a magical stroke, the unheeded night as the dice rolled.

It was tradition.

*

“You can’t
do
that!”

Gordy grinned. “I’m doing it.”

“Some brother,” Kendall said, in disgust. “I suppose in the
real
world, if we were
both
commanding officers, you’d not hesitate throwing me over.”

“Wasn’t that The Civil War?”

“You know this ‘no mercy crap’…I’m
sick
of it. It’s ancient history. Let me just have a
piece
of Africa, for crying out loud! I want to win just one goddamn game!”

“Weep not, dear poet,” Gordy said, moving his yellow players into Africa. “Thy end is near. You have held your position valiantly, if not unwisely.”

Kendall sat back and watched his brother move a massive force into Eastern Africa. Kendall had held it valiantly, Gordy thought. He had to give his brother credit. Kendall, however, knew his downfall. Instead of keeping his forces strong on Africa’s borders, he’d put them around Greenland and Asia, places he hadn’t a chance of maintaining. For that, he was paying the price.

Kendall pulled out another joint and lit it. “To the gods,” he said, taking a deep inhalation. He passed it to Domingo. Kendall blew out smoke. “Ah! An artist’s demise. The perfect sleep. No mercy at the gate. Heaven is
not
invincible. My prayers have gone unanswered. Life has delivered a vicious blow, dear friends.”

“I think this calls for a drink,” Domingo said. He stood up and grabbed three beers from the refrigerator.

Kendall was on the verge of an overthrow. He’d fight, however, giving it all he had until Gordy and Domingo wiped the last of his armies from the board.

“How sad the song’s end is for the poet,” Kendall said. “He is gallant in his heart only. His strength leaves much to be desired. He will
not
soar.”

“Get your damn armies off the board,” Gordy said, without sympathy. “I’m moving in.”

Beers were distributed, and they resumed play. Kendall stood up and changed the music. Gordy hadn’t yet finished his turn and challenged Kendall for what remained of East Africa.

“Is there no mercy?” Kendall said, sitting back down. “Is there no one who can save us?”

“The game’s afoot,” his brother said. “You gonna roll one dice or two?”

“Two, oh my brother. I will roll two, and I will fight unto the death.”

“Roll then.”

They rolled.

“Take two,” Gordy said.

*

“Lights out, poet,” said Domingo. “Take a bow.”

Kendall sighed, taking the last of his armies from the board. He was done, the first one defeated for the evening. Greed and impatience had killed him.

“Well, there’s always the dee-jay,” Kendall said. “A form of art in and of itself.”

“Put Beethoven on,” said Domingo.

“Beethoven?” Kendall said, raising his eyebrows.

Gordy looked up and smiled. He still had confidence and strength to win. Domingo, however, was a different player than Kendall, strategic and wise with his armies. He’d played the game many times. If Gordy were going to win, he’d have to rely on rolls of the dice, and skilled, strategic planning.

“Beethoven,” said Kendall, looking worried. “You know what
that
means?”

Gordy did not reply. Domingo was an avid Beethoven fan. When he mentioned Beethoven, he meant one piece, one symphony alone.

Kendall went to the stereo. Soon, the sounds of Ludwig Van and the first movement of the Ninth were audible from the speakers.

“Beethoven, my friend,” said Domingo, nodding and smiling with confidence. “Prepare for war.”

“You forget something,” Gordy said, smiling.

Domingo raised his eyebrows.

“I’ve always liked Beethoven, too. In fact, he’s my fucking
favorite
composer.”

Kendall erupted with laughter. He went to the cupboard and pulled down the bottle of Windsor. “I think it’s mandatory we all take a shot before the major battle begins.” He grabbed three small glasses and poured two inches into each.

One by one, the three of them grabbed a separate glass, and raised them over the board. Glasses clinked.

“To Beethoven,” said Domingo.

“Beethoven,” Gordy said.

“Beethoven,” Kendall repeated.

They drank and chased the shot with a beer.

“Now,” Domingo said, licking his lips. “Let us play.”

The two remaining players resumed their game. Gordy and Domingo rolled the dice, two men intent on an assured overthrow. The influence of the night’s chemicals hazily rubbed at Gordy’s brain. He blinked his eyes and tried to focus.

After fifteen minutes, Gordy sat back while Kendall stood looking on with his arms crossed. Domingo waited patiently, sweating at the brow. Gordy turned over three cards.

“I’ve got a set,” he said.

“Sonofabitch,” Domingo said, sitting back in his chair, his shoulders slumping. He looked as if he’d been defeated already.

“Holy shit,” Kendall said. “Forty-five. Forty-five armies,
plus
his territories,
plus
the continents he already owns.”

Kendall stood over the board, looking down, and shook his head.

“Sixty-seven armies,” Gordy said.

“He could wipe you out,” Kendall said to Domingo. “With one swift move, this one turn. He could wipe you out.”

“Don’t you have something better to do?” Domingo asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Nope,” Kendall told him, smiling. “I’m watching this.”

Gordy stationed some of his troops in Kamtchatka. Others armies, he fortified on the southern peninsula of North America. Here, he could fortify his armies in Peru and the rest of South America.

“The world waits, my friend,” Gordy told Domingo. “Thou art simply too tyrannical a ruler. Prepare to die.”

Domingo laughed and rolled the dice.

Kendall laughed as well. It was, after all, a night among family and friends.

“Take two,” Gordy said.

“Damn,” Domingo replied, plucking two of his men from the board.

*

Isolated in his own victory, Gordy played on.

Something came to life behind his eyes, however, a tunnel of light, a stretch of corridor revealing…
something…

Gordy shook his head. He couldn’t tell what it was, the drink, the
gange…

Land and sea did not deter him. Until the last man, or color, dominated the board, play continued.

Victory was obtainable now.

*

“This seems to be the end for you,” Gordy said.

“And I thought Beethoven was good to me,” Domingo said, sighing.

“Is it getting hot in here?” Kendall said. “Or is it just me?”

“It’s probably all the shots you’ve taken,” Gordy told him.

“Let’s fire up another joint,” Domingo said. “Kendall?”

Kendall went to the stereo and found another joint sitting among the compact discs. He lit it and passed it around. They’d been playing for three and a half hours.

Gordy had, successfully, wiped the last of Domingo’s armies from the board. He had conquered. His feelings earlier had proved true, and it felt good to win the game, especially with Kendall and Domingo, this night of revelry.

It was luck.

“Uh, guys?” said Kendall.

They ignored him.

Gordy stood, looking down at the board, savoring the victory, all his yellow armies scattered throughout the world. To him, it was a beautiful sight.

What a great feeling,
he thought.
Winning.

“Hey, guys?”

Kendall stood by the window, the curtains closed.

Domingo walked over where Kendall stood, taking a hit off the joint.

“It’s hotter than hell over here,” Domingo said, forgetting about the game. He frowned

An orange/yellow glow emanated from the window, a slow, steady pulse of rhythm.

“What the hell is that?” Gordy asked, standing up. He moved to where his brother and Domingo stood by the curtain.

Should he have known? Again, something alien plucked at his thoughts…

You could have avoided this,
it said.
You got too messed up, and you could have avoided this. Your greed is something else. You transgressed into greatness like every ruler before you.

Gordy felt he should’ve understood what the glow meant, but was just shy of grasping it.

Heat emanated from the window in a dull, steady throb. Something, Gordy understood, turned permanently to dust.

Beethoven continued to triumphantly pound from the stereo, the last ten minutes of the Ninth.

Kendall pulled the curtain aside. “My God,” he said, in awe.

Domingo and Gordy were mute behind him.

Had
he felt the jolt, the electric blue current leaping from the shelf where the game had bit him?

Kendall stepped away from the window, going to the kitchen, where he poured another drink. He said nothing on his way. He fired up another joint. In those moments, it seemed the right thing to do.

On the streets below, the screams had dwindled. A single, untouched structure stood on Miller Avenue, a deserted island surrounded by Life’s consuming flame.

“Get me a beer, will ya?” Domingo said.

Kendall retrieved three more beers like a good host.

In silence, sipping beers, they stood in front of the window and surveyed the holocaust.

Why hadn’t they heard the destruction, the fire, the screams, Gordy thought? Had they been too absorbed in the game, that intoxicated, to notice?

From sea to shining sea, fire blanketed the horizon, in all its blazing, blinding glory. The window bubbled with heat.

Beethoven continued to announce a dramatically intense conclusion.

“What’s this movement called, besides the Fourth?” Kendall asked.

Domingo answered, not looking at him, staring into the fiery streets below.

“‘The Ode to Joy,’” he said.

Kendall took a drink. “Lights out,” he said. “Take a bow.”

“So much for victory,” Gordy said. “So much for luck.”

Luck, he realized, had nothing to do with it.

Gordy took the joint and inhaled deeply. Instead of luck, he contemplated fate as if he, too, were a ruthless warrior.

Just win,
he thought, looking at the flaming world below, the fire now catching on the complex. Soon, this place too, would be nothing more than heat and ash…

Gordy drank and closed his eyes, wondering if they had another game in them for the evening. When he asked Kendall and Domingo, they both nodded.

They sat at the table and resumed another game, smoking and drinking.

Despite the world outside, it was tradition.