Game for Five Read Free Page A

off the bone with a green bean and cashew nut flan? If only you’d listen to me . . . ’ or even worse. I know places where there’s no middle way, either you’re a connoisseur and then the owner loves you and always gives you a star entrance, or you’re a piece of shit who doesn’t know a damned thing about wines and then they make it pretty clear to you that someone like you should stay at home and not come around there breaking balls, because there are people waiting. They don’t mind your money, they just can’t stand you.”
    This speech was greeted with complete silence.
    Wednesday was never a very busy day, plus there was a biting wind outside, which every now and again blew the lids off the trash cans and rubbed the branches together and howled under the double-glazed door. Only the noise gave any idea of how cold it must be out there.
    Massimo had had enough of standing behind the counter pretending to be a barman, so he came out through the flap and made a timid attempt to get rid of the old-timers—they were nice guys, but they did get on your nerves after a while—so that he could close up and go home.
    â€œIt must be more fun anyway, going to the disco than playing cards. Didn’t you have a game tonight?” he said, craftily putting the night in the past tense, hoping in this way to make it clear that he was about to close.
    â€œHey, you’re right, we still have time,” Ampelio said.
    â€œBut there are five of us,” Massimo said, cursing himself inwardly. “You’re always forgetting I stay open after midnight so you can play cards, but I don’t think games for five people have been invented yet.”
    â€œYou may have a degree, Massimo, but you really are ignorant. Haven’t you ever played a game of
briscola
for five?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œYou’ve never played a game of
briscola
for five? Ampelio, what did you teach your grandson when he was little?”
    â€œTo ask his grandmother three times for chocolate and give half of it to him when they had him on rations because of his diabetes.”
    â€œWhat an idiot, your grandpa. Listen, how about giving it a go? I’m sure you’ll like it. I’ve never known anyone who doesn’t enjoy
briscola
for five.”
    Massimo thought it over. It was bitterly cold outside and the idea of going out there wasn’t especially inviting.
    That’ll teach me to be clever, he thought. But the idea of avoiding the cold for a while longer wasn’t a bad one.
    He went to get his cigarettes. Outside, the wind was making the shutters whistle, and the street lamps were swaying, lighting the street only in flashes that made it look truly ghostly. He made himself a coffee without asking the others if they wanted any, went to the table, sat down, and stretched his legs. Then he put his elbows on the arms of the chair, lit a cigarette, and said, “Go ahead.”
    The four old-timers took their chairs and made themselves comfortable at the table without the usual round of cursing. In fact, their whole attitude had changed to a mixture of satisfaction and concentration, as if they were the repositories of a great secret and were pleased to have found someone who could appreciate it.
    Pants were straightened, sleeves rolled up, and cigarettes placed religiously on the table, as if to underline to themselves that they were really going to need them. The typical behavior of those savoring something in advance.
    Even Massimo’s mood had changed. As he watched the old-timers getting ready he had started to feel something. It was like when you’re a little kid and the older children ask you to play with them, of their own accord, without their mothers forcing them to do so. You’re being allowed to take part in a ritual, whatever dumb thing you get up to you have a lot of fun, and you end up with a day to remember. For a fraction of a second, he wondered