Amberville - By Tim Davys Page 0,37

We pushed out our chips. Took our cards. Then it was time for the next round. I had no idea what was going on. But the dog, like the others at the table, became more and more furious.

The fury was directed at me.

“What the hell are you up to?” hissed the dog.

I shrugged my shoulders.

But before there was time for anything more to happen, the chinchilla suddenly showed up by my side. With a discreet nod he got me to leave the table and my chips. He placed the same question as the dog, although in a lower voice.

“What the hell was that?”

We kept each other company away from table twenty-three.

“Are you out of your mind?” he asked. “A few rounds more and they would have had to carry you out.”

I didn’t answer. We walked slowly in order not to attract attention. Everyone moved slowly inside Casino Monokowski. The heat, perhaps the alcohol, but above all the mass of animals meant that you were forced to take it carefully. We turned to the right into a long corridor bordered by slot machines giving off an ear-splitting din.

“Take this,” whispered the chinchilla right next to my ear, slipping me a small package.

He did it so discreetly that the package was in my hand before I noticed that I had gotten it. It was no larger than a matchbox. White wrapping paper and thick, beige tape.

“It’s for Otto. He’s sitting farthest in, in the Twilight Room.”

“Otto?” I said.

“What are you taking this evening?” asked the chinchilla with irritation, and stopped me right before the corridor of slot machines ended. “Otto Orangutan. In the Twilight Room. Shall I lead you there?”

Before I had time to accept his offer, he turned around and left.

There I stood with a small white package in my hand, not knowing what I should do. The clatter was ringing in my eyes, I was still bewildered by my experiences at the gaming table and the taste of alcohol still remained on my lips.

Should I give up and go home?

That was a possibility. Events were running away in an uncontrollable manner, and I was feeling physically ill from the greed and bewilderment that were in the air. True, I hadn’t run into Eric, but perhaps that was just as well?

I had uncovered his secret.

It filled me with shame and disgust.

I decided to go home, but it wouldn’t be that easy.

That fateful evening at Casino Monokowski was a foreboding of the rest of my life. Psychosomatic illnesses, pre-destination, and religiosity; it’s all about faith. Having sufficient imagination in order to be able to twist reality into faith’s more limited framework. If I spend my days searching for signs, I’m going to find them in the end. Perhaps it’s the same way with that night at the casino. Perhaps I attributed greater significance to it in retrospect than it had?

Perhaps not.

At first glance, Casino Monokowski looked like a single, gigantic room. It proved to be more than that. To make your way from where I stood to the exit was a real hike. Slowly I walked against the current, with my gaze to the floor in order to avoid all the “acquaintances” who knew Eric but not me.

My strategy was simple. I walked along one of the outside walls. That must lead me to the exit.

Golden sheets of cloth were hanging along the walls. They muffled the sound in the place and gave the miserable reality a certain degree of class. I assumed that the walls behind the draperies were unfinished cement. Thus I was surprised when the golden drapery was suddenly pulled to the side.

Out through a gap in the drapery a gazelle’s head appeared. The gazelle’s right horn had come off in the middle. His eyelashes were so long that for a moment I wondered if I had been mistaken, if he actually was a she?

“Come!” whispered the gazelle, indicating behind the drapery with his hooves.

For a moment or two I considered ignoring him and continuing toward the exit, but it was easier to do as he wanted.

I stepped in behind the drapery. There was yet another large room. Here, however, the dimensions were more normal. Animals were sitting at round tables playing cards, and the only bar was traditionally located, along the short wall.

The gazelle shoved me to the side so that we ended up in the shadows, at a respectable distance from the card players.

“Sweetheart. You’re not Eric,” said the gazelle.

The tongue-tiedness I’d shown signs of up till