Sin City (40 page)

I've
got
money, Reuben's money, fifty-seven dollars. I get it out again, kneel down by the candles, wipe my face. I'm feeling very faint. Miss Barratt in the library said gambling is a sin. I count the money one last time. It comes to fifty-eight now, yet I've already spent a dollar. Perhaps I'm lucky.

That man who sat beside me in the restaurant said luck is a Great Lady and if she calls you, you must follow, give her everything.
He
didn't think gambling was a sin. And the man on television gambles all the time, night and day and night again. He has a special programme where you learn. They wouldn't let you learn if it was wrong. I think Miss Barratt meant a sin in England. They have different sins in England.

I wish someone would come in. The cathedral's far too big to hold just me. And if I fainted, I might lie there for hours. People look silly when they faint. Their mouths drop open and they show their underclothes. There's no one here at all, just rows and rows of empty wooden benches.

I go back to the crib. At least St Joseph's someone. He and Mary never had a wedding. That's why he was shocked when she said she was expecting. An angel had to tell him not to worry. They had more angels then.

Suddenly I stop, stare up at the huge great stained-glass window on the right. There are buildings in the glass, tall buildings and a road. I move a little nearer, polish up my glasses on my skirt. I've seen those buildings before. I've even been in them. They're the places where you gamble. Yes, some have got their names on, or half their names. STARD … That's the Stardust. Carole took me there. And H for Hilton. That's the great big curving one where all those smiling people win Crocks of Gold.

So it's not a sin. It can't be. Not if they have gambling in cathedrals, in holy windows, underneath the saints. I think they're saints. It's difficult to tell. The glass is all in bits.

“You're admiring the stained glass then?”

I jump. Someone has crept up on me. A man.

“Unusual, isn't it?” His voice is rather high.

He's not a man. He's wearing a black frock. “Y … Yes,” I say. I'm scared. I haven't seen a priest for years and years, not a Catholic one. The Beechgrove Catholics go to Mass in a little wooden hut, and if they're really ill, the Vicar sees them. He doesn't like the Catholics.

“This one is my favourite.” The priest is smiling, edging up beside me. “Where're you from?” he asks. He sounds like Meg O'Riley, not American.

I don't know what to say. Carole told me not to mention Beechgrove. “Belfast,” I say softly.

“Irish!” The smile gets bigger, shows his teeth. “Great to meet a fellow countryman. I'm a Dublin man myself. You must be one of us if you've come to say your prayers here.”

I don't say anything. It doesn't matter really because he goes on talking himself. “I've been over here a month now, and, do you know, you're the first Irish person I've met. The Americans are different, take my word for it, very different. What‘s your name?”

“Norah.”

“Grand to meet you, Norah. I'm Father McKenna. Mac, they call me here. They're very casual here. It's ‘Father' back in Dublin. I'll be home in just two weeks. Can't wait to be back. How long is it you're staying here?”

“Ten days,” I say. We've had five of them already. It seems more than five. More like weeks and weeks.

“Ten days! That's a lot for Vegas. Most people stay only three or four, and I've known some poor souls head for home after just a few unlucky hours in one casino.”

Casino. That's the word. Those places where you gamble. I point towards the window.

“Yes, surprising, isn't it? Casinos in stained glass. Some people take exception to it, say it's not right in a church. I said the same myself until I met the Sisters here. D'you know them?”

I shake my head. I only know the Sisters back in Beechgrove and I mustn't mention them.

“Sister Anne's my favourite. She's a character. Irish by extraction. She told me all about the glass. It was done by these two women – foreigners, they were, from Hungary, or somewhere Communist. They got out, fled to freedom. Well, they say there's freedom over here. I'm not so sure, are you? I'd rather be in Dublin, tell you the truth. Anyway, they do a lot of glass, and they always like to gear it to the actual place it's in. So if it's stained glass in a steel town, they show steelworks or whatever in the church. I'd prefer just saints, but there you are. That's foreigners.”

He keeps pulling at his frock. It looks too tight for him. I think he must have borrowed it. Perhaps he lost his suitcase.

“There's no steel in Las Vegas, no industry at all, except for gambling, so …” He shrugs. “They had to put casinos in that window. Fair enough, I suppose. Sure most people here do work in them, and they've not forgotten the other sorts of jobs.” He takes my arm, moves me closer in. “Up there you'll see the farmer with his wheat sheaves, the nurse and her patient, right there in the middle, underneath the teacher with his book. And that's a poet on the right, the tall fellow with the harp.”

I look up where he's pointing. The poet's neck is very thin and scraggy. He doesn't look like Milton.

“I think Sister said a poet, though I've never met a poet in Las Vegas. Only gamblers. Eighty per cent tourists we get here on a Sunday, and they've all come to Vegas to get rich. You should see the collection plate. It's not just money they drop in, but casino chips as well, all colours of the rainbow, and some worth fifty dollars. Father Jude has to cash them in each week. He's been doing it for years. He calls it the ‘Casino Chip Run,' says he's the only one in Vegas who comes out of a casino with as much as he took in.”

His laugh is grey and thin. (He is plump and black.) I'm too surprised to laugh myself. A church with gambling chips. A priest in a casino.

He checks his watch. “I'd better be on my way. I've got some calls to make.”

I ask him what the time is.

“A little after three.”

“Oh, dear.” I've wasted half an hour. Carole will be cross. I ought to have started on that shopping. The list is very long. But if I spend the money, there won't be any left to make some more with. I've got to make some more. I know it's right now.

“Are you running late? I can offer you a lift if it's any help. It's not my car, it's Sister Anne's, but she always gives me the loan of it, God bless her. Father Jude is never out of his – never walks a step. He'd drive up to the altar if he could. Which direction are you headed?”

“The … Hilton,” I reply. Of course it's not a sin. I remember now, that Reverend on the television said God approved of gambling. This Reverend does as well. And Father Jude. I don't know who he is, but he must be quite important if he never walks.

“It's on my way. I can drop you right outside. What did you say your name was?”

“Norah.”

“Ah, yes. Lovely Irish name. I miss Ireland, to tell you the truth. It's not the same here, is it, dear, not the same at all. I'm only glad it's not the summer. It's murder in the summer, so they say. Have you been here in the summer?”

“No,” I say. “I haven't.” I wish he wouldn't talk. I'm trying to work out what to do, how to make the money.

He keeps on asking questions, even in the car. He doesn't want the answers, so I don't say much at all, just sit up nice and straight. I feel very grand to be driving in a car, driving with a Reverend. He pulls up outside the Hilton, helps me out, still talking. The hotel's so big and frightening, I almost change my mind. It's also very ugly. Not a palace like the Gold Rush, just rows and rows of windows stretching up so high they hurt my neck.

I take a few steps forward, see the Crock of Gold. It's gleaming in the sunshine and full of golden coins. I have to crane my neck again. It's set high up on a tower, which is standing in a garden with a blue pool underneath it, and painted like a rainbow.

It
is
a rainbow. I stand and stare at it. I had a book once about a Crock of Gold. You find them at the end of rainbows, but only special people ever get there and there's a lot of pain and sadness first. It's different at the Hilton, though. You can be old or bald or ordinary and still win a million dollars. Carole said so. She showed me all the photos. Some were really ugly. One man was eighty-three. I wouldn't want a million, just four hundred.

A lot of taxis are drawing up outside, with people jumping out of them. I follow three fat ladies through the heavy double doors. Inside, it
is
a palace, with those huge lights made of glass and flowers in golden pots. It's also very crowded. I keep bumping into people or tripping over cases. Everybody's arriving in time for New Year's Eve. They all look very rich, in furs and jewels. I'm scared they'll make me leave. I don't think you're allowed here if you're poor.

The whole ceiling shines and sparkles, though it's only afternoon, and there are more lights in the mirrors, and Christmas trees hung from top to toe with shiny coloured balls and a great stuffed camel, bigger than a real one, and the Three Wise Men holding three more Crocks of Gold. The camel smiles at me. No one else has smiled yet. The third Wise Man is pointing to a notice. A very special notice, one for me. “Free gambling lessons,” it says. “TODAY, 3.30 p.m. Ask for Tony.”

It's because I lit that candle. God couldn't smell the smoke, but He heard me just the same. He must have done. I ask the time and it's half past three exactly. That proves it.

Then I ask for Tony, and I'm taken to a table with a brown dish at one end of it and lots of coloured numbers on the bright green tablecloth. A lady and two men are sitting on high stools. All of them are smoking and wearing their best clothes. The lady has pink hair, and earrings which reach right down to her shoulders and keep twitching when she moves.

Tony shakes my hand. He's all dressed up in one of those black suits with stiff white shirts and black bow ties which men wear when they play in bands on television. He has diamond rings on both his hands and his teeth look very new. I didn't know you dressed up to play cards.

It's not cards, he says, it's roulette he's going to teach us. I say I've never played roulette, only snakes and ladders, and patience on my own. He laughs and says I'm not to worry, roulette is very simple and a child of five could play it.

It isn't simple, not at all. He uses words I've never heard, and talks faster than my brain works. There's less time in America, so everyone talks fast. The lady with the earrings is very kind and whispers things to help me. She also whispers where she lives and what she's called and what she did today, so the red and black and numbers get all mixed up with names and places.

“I'm Sally-Ann,” she tells me. “Sal to friends.” I knew her name already. It's spelt out on a necklace made of letters. I tell her
my
name, which I think she likes because she uses it a lot.

She must be fairly old, but her face looks younger than her hair and hands, as if it belongs to someone else. She has long red shiny nails and a red bow in her hair like children wear. She hasn't any children, but two husbands and three homes. She says she always spends the winters in Las Vegas because it's warmer than her other homes back East.

“I'm bored to tears, though, Norah. There's not a thing to do here, except eat and drink and gamble and see shows. I've seen the show at Caesars a hundred times at least.”

“A hundred?” My own whisper is a gasp.

“Yeah. That's nothing, hon. A friend of mine's been to see
Star Crazy
three hundred and twenty times. The three-hundredth time they gave her a gold watch, a real fancy one with diamonds on the strap.” Sally-Ann shakes her head. The earrings shake as well. “Lee don't want a watch. She must have half a dozen, and, anyways, what's the point of knowin' what the time is, when you've got damn all to do and all day long to do it in?”

“Ssh,” says the tall man sitting next to her. He doesn't like her whispering. He frowned at her before.

She takes no notice. “Know why I come here, Norah? No, it's not the lessons. I don't need no lessons. I know all these damned games backwards.” She puts her face right up close to mine, giggles in my ear. “I got the hots for Tony, that's for why. Isn't he a hunk? The cutest thing on two legs.”

The tall man turns on her. “Look, if you wanna talk, go find a bar or somethin' and spare the rest of us. We're here to learn the game.”

Sally-Ann winks at me. “My first husband, Herb, was always gettin' mad at me like that. That's what killed him in the end – hollerin' and shoutin'. He dropped dead at forty-one.”

“Right,” says Tony. “We're going to try our luck now. I'll give all you folks some chips, and you get them on this table. Don't worry – we're not playing for real cash. This is just a practice, to give you confidence so you can march up to these tables tonight and know exactly what you're doing and how to win.”

I
don't
know what I'm doing, but Sally-Ann stops whispering about funerals and starts explaining red and black again and Tony smiles and says he'll talk us through it. I watch the others for a while and realise all I have to do is put my chips somewhere on the tablecloth. I'm not sure where, but I wait for Sally-Ann, and wherever she puts hers, I place mine on the number right next door. I feel close to her like that.

We all have different coloured chips. Hers are pink to match her hair. Mine are blue. Blue's my favourite colour. It's Our Lady's special colour, so the nuns said.

Tony throws a little ball which spins round and round the dish, round and round, and everybody watches and stops breathing. Even Sally-Ann is silent till it stops. Then Tony calls out “Twenty-three” and gives me some more chips, which means I've won.