House of Cards

On Saturday nights, if you were over 40, didn't dance or drink - at least not to excess - you could always find your way to play cribbage at the Legion Hall.  And if you were very brave or very foolish. you took on Israel Pyne.  And invariably lost.

Uncle Izzle was tall and lean with bright blue eyes, wavy white hair and a neatly trimmed beard,  He had been, according to my grandmother and several other equally respectable island women, quite the ladies man in his prime and had not only aged well and handsomely but had lost none of his charm.  He was a lifelong bachelor, well into his seventies and had slowed down some - Ain't we all, Nana would say with a wistful look -
but he hadn't lost his touch with women or with cards.  He played bridge, canasta, gin rummy and most versions of poker but cribbage was his game of choice.  He never turned down a game and there wasn't a single Legion Hall regular who could recall his losing a match.

Damned if'n I know how he does it, Uncle Shad muttered sourly one night after he'd had one too many Molsons,
Jist don'e seem natural to have that long of a run of luck.

You reckon I cheat, Shadrach?  Uncle Izzie asked, real friendly-like but those blue eyes hard like steel.

Ain't what I said, Israel, Uncle Shad replied mildly, I reckon I jist ain't never know'd a man so lucky.

Powerful diff'rence 'tween luck and skill, Shadrach, Uncle Izzie observed with a cold smile, Powerful diff'rence.

Shad considered the words while the rest of us all wondered who would back down first, then he shrugged.

Mebbe so, he finally said, mebbe that's jist exactly so.

You could feel the tension dissipate and most of those who'd heard the exchange declared it a draw.  No one stayed enemies for long on the island.  In a village of less than 400 year round residents, there just weren't enough of us.

Sometimes when Nana would send me to the canteen to fetch a box of kitchen matches or a pint of sweet cream, Israel Pyne would be there, holding court in one of the scratchy leather booths.  He taught us some of the simpler card tricks, two different kinds of solitaire, a bunch of kid card games and the delicate architecture of building a house of cards.  His hands were leathery and bruised with age but sure and steady as the cancer that was slowing taking his life.  He'd survived two heart attacks by then and a mild stroke - they were called "shocks" in those days - but it was the cancer that finally killed him.  Most of the magic in his hands died with him but there are still a few of us left who can build a mean house of cards.

He was laid to his final rest in the tiny cemetery beside the Baptist chucrh on a late summer afternoon, in his fancy boots, button down vest and black frock coat.  Uncle Shad, Uncle Willie and four of the Sullivan brothers carried his coffin.  Nana and the respectable ladies tossed flowers into the grave but the men threw cards from a brand new deck.  They did it discreetly and before he thought better of it and had to hide it, even the preacher smiled.