THE NAME AND THE GAME

New Zealand Listener, Volume 20, Issue 510, 1 April 1949, Page 16

THE NAME AND THE GAME

| Written for "The Listener" |

by

JAMES K.

BAXTER

HATEVER their value to the community, most freezing works are an eyesore, The one at Blackhurst is no exception. Set like a scab on a hill above the town, it draws labour from 20 miles around and in spite of the Town Council’s complaints, pollutes the creek with refuse. On a Wednesday morning work was slackening off in the gut room. The paunches came down the chute in

straggling clustersthick yellow fat, intestines stilh halfalive and rippling, an occasional liver knobbed with hyda-

tid cysts as hard as stones. Winter sunshine filtered through the small high panes. A short dark lad of about 23 who was stripping fat at the mouth of the chute, turned quickly and looked at the wall clock. It was a quarter to twelve-ten minutes to knock-off. He had been tearing guts from paunches, the hardest job on the bench, and his back and wrists were aching. As the -guts hit the bench splashes of muck spotted his face and stung his eyes. He was glad of a spell. He had been married five months now, and the thought of Brenda still seemed a secret one. They had met first at a local dance, and passed soon from friendship to intimacy. Already his life before marriage seemed dreamlike and rather empty. They were saving to furnish the house and all his pay went towards it. When he was single he had spent his Saturdays in the pub with a few friends; now he dug the garden or did odd jobs about the house. Brenda did not mind him having a drink after. work. But the need had left him with the loneliness from which it had sprung. He liked to take home his pay envelope unopened, and throw it down on the kitchen table as if it were a gift. ‘T HE last few paunches slithered on to the board. He wrenched them free from the guts, then stepped down to the concrete floor, untying his apron as he went. He was finishing his lunch in the dressing room when Harry sat heavily down beside him. "Coming along for your pay?" he asked. "There should be a few bob more this week." ‘In a minute." "Take it all home to Mum, eh? I’m going to go along to the Crown and Anchor and put half-a-dollar on the diamond, myself. It’s time it had a run. You ought to take a shot. Win a quid and buy some silk stockings," "I might go for a couple of throws." Jack put away his lunch tin and walked down to the office. A crowd had gathered round the window. He took his place in the queue and lighted a cigarette. "J. Chisholm?" "Here I am." "Eight pound twelve and nine."

He signed for the pay, tore open the envelope, and took out the silver, leayv‘ing the notes in his hip pocket. He walked on to the butchers’ dining room. Through the door that opened on to the yard came the crying of sheep’and barking of dogs. Only two days off their mountain tussock ground, they seemed to smell their own doom in the stink of blood and offal, and cried out on a shrill note of distress. Jack had seen the "chain" at work and had never quite lost a feeling of horror at the quick

change from live struggling animals to dangling carcases. Occasionally a ewe would escape from _ the pen and scramble

down to the lower floor, but it was always recaptured and hauled back to the knife. He pushed open a door netted against flies. Inside were long trestle tables where some butchers still sat eating of reading newspapers. At the middle table a tall Aussie was unfolding a piece of sacking marked in squares. A group had clustered round him. He shook the dice in an inverted leather cup. "Make your investments, gentlemen, came his showman’s patter. "Roll up, roll up!" HE steady ‘bettors had found seats beside the board. The more cautious hung on the outskirts of the crowd and leaned over from time to time to throw on some small coin. Soon there was about 15 pounds in notes and loose change. "Any more for any more," came the patter. The Aussie rattled the dice and threw. "The name, the game, and a diamond." f Some turned sourly away, Others collected their winnings. A_ sallow-faced Dalmatian from the freezing chambers put on a florin from the pile of silver at his right hand. His mouth twitched nervously. He was the keenest gambler in the works, never missing a session, rarely betting high, and losing slowly but consistently. Jack pressed forward and put a shilling on the crown just before the banker threw. "Two crowns and a spade." His face flushed as he collected his three shillings. The fever and unreality of the game lifted him like a rising tide. Harry pushed in beside him, "You want to stick to the diamond, boy," he said. "It’s due for a run. The crown’s had a fair thrashing lately." Jack nodded but put his three shillings back on the crown, "Crown, diamond, club," came the liturgical response. He was five bob to the good. For a moment he thought of leaving the game, but decided to have one more go. He put the five shillings, his entire: winnings, on the anchor. He would leave the game at least ten bob to the good, or else square. A lanky butcher with bloodstained leggings threw a five pound note on the crown. (continued on next page)

(continued from previous page) The Aussie shook the dice and threw three crowns. With some reluctance he paid the butcher his 15 pounds, and asked him to try his luck again. The butcher ghook his head, stuffed the notes into his pay envelopé, and leaned against _@ table to watch the game. Jack stared at him enviously. He’d have a pound to the good if he had stuck to the crown. There was a touch on his arm. "You want to leave it now,’ said Harry. "You're square. I won a quid on that last throw, and I’m pulling out." "T’'ll stay to watch for a bit," he said. He waited till Harry had left the room, then drew out his pay envelope and put a 10 shilling note on the crown, The crown seemed to stand out from the rébt of the board, red and magical. He waited tensely for the throw. "Two diamonds and a heart." He felt a sudden hollowness, as if vitality had been drained from him. Double up, he thought, it’s the only way. He put a pound on the crown. "Hook, diamond, spade." Like a robot, his head singing, he put two pounds on the crown. "Two hooks and a diamond." His arms and legs seemed wooden, and his heart pounded. As he put four

pounds on the crown the banker looked at him curiously. "You’re betting high," he said. Then, as he threw club, diamond, and spade-"It all goes to the firm. Better luck next time." ‘THE air blew cold on Jack’s cheeks as he pushed through the door. "Last throw, gentlemen," sounded behind him. Then-"Crown, club, and spade." He scarcely cared. The tide had fallen, leaving him:stranded on a shore of hard fact. He had twenty-two and six in his pocket. What could he tell Brenda? That he had lost it et the Crown and Anchor board? She would never forgive him. That someone had stolen it? She would want to make enquiries, maybe ring the police. For a moment he thought of going back and demanding the money from the Aussie. But he had run the chancé of winning and could not complain if he lost. The machines were starting up as he came ‘into the gut room. "Did you come out to the good?" asked Harry. "No, I lost a few bob." One thing was certain-he would never play Crown and Anchor again. But as the first paunch hit the bench he thought, if I'd stuck to the diamond I'd be sitting pretty. ‘