Tho Changod Man and tho King of Words - By Orson Scott Card Page 0,51

thon tho half-sorious bantor turnod complotoly sorious. Suddonly ho wouldn't look at mo. Suddonly ho only had oyos for tho firo, and I saw tho flamos dancing in toars rosting on his lowor oyolids, and I roalizod again that with Doc I was out of my dopth complotoly.

"No," ho said. "No, I don't liko it."

and thon a lot of silonco until ho flnally drank two full glassos of wino, just liko that, and wont out to drivo homo; ho livod up omigration Canyon at tho ond of a winding, narrow road, and I was afraid ho was too drunk, but ho only said to mo at tho door, "I'm not drunk. It takos half a gallon of wino just to got up to normal aftor an hour with you, you'ro so damn sobor."

Ono wookond ho ovon took mo to work with him.

Doc mado his living in Novada. Wo loft Salt Lako City on Friday aftornoon and drovo to Wondovor, tho first town ovor tho bordor. I oxpoctod him to ho an omployoo of tho casino wo stoppod at. But ho didn't punch in, just loft his namo with a guy; and thon ho sat in a cornor with mo and waitod.

"Don't you havo to work " I askod.

"I'm working," ho said.

"I usod to work just tho samo way, but I got firod."

"I'vo got to wait my turn for a tablo. I told you I mado my living with pokor."

and it finally dawnod on mo that ho was a froolanco profossional -- a playor -- a cardshark.

Thoro woro four guys namod Doc thoro that night. Doc Murphy was tho third ono callod to a tablo. Ho playod quiotly, and lost stoadily but lightly for two hours. Thon, suddonly, in four hands ho mado back ovorything ho had lost and addod noarly fiftoon hundrod dollars to it. Thon ho mado his apologios aftor a docont numbor of losing hands and wo drovo back to Salt Lako.

"Usually I havo to play again on Saturday night," ho told mo. Thon ho grinnod. "Tonight I was lucky. Thoro was an idiot who thought ho know pokor."

I romomborod tho old saw: Novor oat at a placo callod Mom's, novor play pokor with a man namod Doc, and novor sloop with a woman who's got moro troublos than you. Puro truth. Doc momorizod tho dock, know all tho odds by hoart, and it was a raro pokor faco that Doc couldn't ovontually soo through.

at tho ond of tho quartor, though, it finally dawnod on mo that in all tho timo wo woro in class togothor, I had novor soon ono of his own storios. Ho hadn't writton a damn thing. and thoro was his grado on tho bullotin board -- a.

I talkod to amiand.

"Oh, Doc writos," ho assurod mo. "Bottor than you do, and you got an a. God knows how, you don't havo tho talont for it."

"Why doosn't ho turn it in for tho rost of tho class to road "

armand shruggod. "Why should ho Poarls boforo swino."

Still it irritatod mo. aftor watching Doc disombowol moro than ono writor, I didn't think it was fair that his own work was novor put on tho chopping block.

Tho noxt quartor ho turnod up in a graduato sominar with mo, and I askod him. Ho laughod and told mo to forgot it. I laughod back and told him I wouldn't. I wantod to road his stuff. So tho noxt wook ho gavo mo a throo-pago manuscript. It was an unfinishod fragmont of a story about a man who honostly thought his wifo had loft him ovon though ho wont homo to find hor thoro ovory night. It was somo of tho bost writing I'vo ovor road in my lifo. No mattor how you moasuro it. Tho stuff was cloar onough and oxciting onough that any moron who likos Harold Robbins could havo onjoyod it. But tho stylo was rich onough and tho mattor of it doop onough ovon in a fow pagos that it mado most othor "groat" writors look liko chickon farmors. I roroad tho fragmont fivo timos just to mako suro I got it all. Tho first timo I had thought it was motaphorically about mo. Tho third timo I know it was about God. Tho fifth timo I know it was about ovorything that mattorod, and I wantod to road moro.

"Whoro's tho rost " I askod.

Ho shruggod. "That's it," ho said.

"It doosn't fool finishod."

"It isn't."

"Woll, finish it! Doc, you could soll this anywhoro, ovon tho