The last game (10 page)

“It is.”

“You’re not making a pass at a poor blind
woman, are you?”

“If I was fifty years younger I would.” He
answered her as they got to the other side of the road. “But don’t
worry you’re safe. My lovely wife is waiting for me at home.”

“Well, tell her for me that she’s got a
charming husband. Thanks for everything.”

“Can I do anything more for you?”

“No, thanks. You’ve already done more than
you had to do. My house is close to here and I can get there on my
own. Say hello to your wife for me.”

“It was a pleasure meeting you. Take
care.”

For some reason Albert found it difficult to
take his eyes off her. He watched her walk to the corner before she
disappeared.

He continued on his own way.

The young woman walked a few steps around the
corner and stopped beside a garbage bin. She threw the sunglasses
and cane in, then walked to a car that was parked a few yards
ahead.

She got in and took Albert’s orange envelope
out of her coat, running her finger over the bills, doing a rough
count, smiling.

As soon as she’d walked through the door of
her house Judith dropped Albert’s envelope on the corridor table
and looked in the mirror and it was then that she realized that
there was another envelope there that she hadn’t seen when she
entered.

It was black with white edges. Judith picked
it up, frowning. Was it that time again? She was about to open it
and find out when the sound of something bouncing on the floor in
the living room surprised her. She walked into the other room and
found the answer to the mystery in front of the chimney.

Death stood there smiling at the other end of
the room, the giant dog beside her, tensed on his hind legs after
dropping a cushion on the floor.

Judith threw the envelope on the sofa. She no
longer needed to read its contents.

“
It seems like you’ve nearly forgotten me
this time. Have six years really passed?"

The girl roared with laughter, her black
ponytails bouncing around her head. Zeta growled, then barked, as
if he was demanding something from the girl.

She just laughed all the more.

“We’re going to play again very soon.” She
said running her tiny hands over the animals giant snout. “But not
yet.”

“No problem.” Judith said. “As if I didn’t
know at this stage of the game how things worked.”

The girl gave the dog a signal and Zeta
followed her out of the room, neither of them looking at Judith as
they went.

Judith watched them go without even a hint of
fear in her veins.

“You’ll never get me.” She said to herself.
”I’ve dodged you for twenty years and I’ll keep on doing it. I
always win.”

Zeta suddenly stopped and sat on the floor,
refusing to move. The girl turned back towards him and signaled him
to go to the door, but the dog stayed where he was, without
budging.

“Very bad boy.” She reprimanded him. “You
know there’s no point in fighting. You’ll only postpone the
inevitable. And the angrier you make me the worse the punishment
will be.”

As if he’d understood her perfectly, the dog
got up and padded over to the girl submissively. Death patted him
tenderly and then smiled at Judith for a few seconds before she
turned around and skipped happily out of the room.

* * * * *

I visualized this story as a short homemade
movie that supposedly three or friends and myself, all amateurs I
might add, would have filmed.

We were all going to enjoy ourselves. The
project only required a few actors, no special effects, and one or
two sets at the most, given our non-existent budget. The cost of
material resources would be zero and we weren´t going to do
anything fancy on the technical side or with the acting. So we
agreed that the short film would be as simple as it could be and
shot in one of our homes.

Soon after, it occurred to me that a game
of cards could fulfill all of the above and I could enjoy myself at
the same time with a game I´d been a fan of for years. Poker seems
perfectly suited to the cinema, because it can create a lot of
tension until the final moment when the cards are
revealed.

In the first rough copy of the story I let my
vocation for fantastic stories have its head, and substituted what
remained of the gamblers’ lives for the money that is normally
played for. At that stage, I had a happy ending in mind, for the
sake of the filming, although such an end never really convinced
me. It was then that my girlfriend suggested something different
and I changed the story to the one you´ve just finished
reading.

Sometime after all of that it became clear to
me that we weren´t going to film anything, but by then I was hooked
on the story. The good thing about that was that all the
limitations that we had imposed on the story for the purposes of it
being filmed, simply disappeared.

It was in this way that this singular version
of Death was created.

I hope you´ve enjoyed it and I would be more
than pleased to hear your opinion.

Fernando Trujillo Sanz

Thanks for reading.

* * * * *

(SAMPLE)

Only someone
who is dead inside can take charge of the preparations for his own
funeral without feeling even the slightest pang of nerves. Wilfred
Gord threw the coffin catalogue as far as he could, barely a
meter and a half, and lay back on the bed thoughtfully. He still
hadn´t discounted cremation. The idea that his body would rot in a
box had yet to convince him.

According to
most studies, seventy years is within the average life expectancy
for men. However, this failed to console Wilfred. To tell the
truth, nothing did.

His life had
passed too quickly. He had achieved what others can only dream of,
and very few get. He had built a financial empire with his own
hands, starting from scratch, and become the powerful owner of a
business conglomerate that encompassed every activity imaginable.
There was no job that Wilfred´s employees didn´t occupy. But
despite the uncountable successes achieved during his life, and the
incredible challenges that he had overcome, he was now
irreparably defeated by a fearful enemy that would take his own
life: cancer.

His mansion was
one of the most distinguished in London. The city in which he had
lived all his life and in which he was about to die.

"I couldn´t get
here any earlier." Ethan said, poking his head through the
doorway.

The two
formidable bodyguards that were always posted at the entrance
stopped him for an instant, then, after verifying his identity, let
him enter. Ethan threw them a sharp glance that would have been
angrier under other circumstances. He approached the bed where
Wilfred lay, and sat down beside him with the ease of a body that
had yet to reach twenty years old. His smooth, unmarked face and
his abundant mat of brown hair contrasted with the bald head and
deeply lined face of the old man in front of him. They both had
brown eyes: Ethan´s shining with the intensity of youth, Wilfred´s
sunken and lifeless in their sockets.

"It doesn´t
seem to matter now." the old man said in a voice that was little
more than a whisper, turning his head to be able to look Ethan in
the eyes. His expression of deep pain touching the young face
beside him, "None of my doctors think I can live more than two or
three months."

"
They don´t know what I know." Ethan said, taking Wilfred´s
thin hand in his. "There´s still hope... I think I´ve found a
way."

Wilfred´s
eyelashes lifted imperceptibly.

"You said you
couldn´t reveal the secret." he murmured with difficulty.

"Remember the
first thing I explained to you. There are rules. I can´t tell
anyone else. I´ve already risked too much. Think of the greatest
danger you can imagine... I can assure you I am facing something a
thousand times worse."

After a
considerable effort, Wilfred lifted his left hand from under the
sheet. The bodyguards understanding the gesture left their
posts.

Wilfred still
didn´t know what to make of Ethan. Despite all the undeniable proof
of his identity, a sliver of doubt remained deep within. Neither
his age, nor the foul cancer itself had affected his ability to
reason, of that he was completely sure. And even in his wildest
dreams he knew avoiding death was impossible. Still, he had nothing
to lose in listening to Ethan´s suggestion, even though there were
many other things to attend to. Hope urged him to listen. To
consider anything new however absurd it may be.

Ethan waited
until the door was closed before he turned back towards the old
man.

"Well then, you
must pay attention to the little that I can tell you." he
said, lowering his voice. "It´s possible that I can´t see you
again, so it´s very important that you remember what I´m going to
say. Can you do that?"

Wilfred was
irritated by the thought that this insolent young man didn´t
realize that his memory still worked better than his. His frown was
a good enough answer.

"Excellent." Ethan replied without showing any sign of
being irritated. "The first thing is that never, under any
circumstance, can you mention my name. It´s simply better not to
not add unnecessary obstacles."

"Why can´t I
mention you?" Wilfred asked in a whisper.

"I can´t tell
you. If everything works out well you will know in time." the young
man answered. "You have to trust me. Just follow my instructions
and you will live a lot longer. More than you can imagine. What
have you got to lose?"

"In the little
time left to me... nobody can cure me... maybe you have to accept
that as well."

"Damn! Isn´t it
enough for you to know who I am? You have to believe me. I´m doing
this all for you. If my identity isn´t enough to convince you that
it´s possible, I don´t know anything else that will."

A look of
desperation covered Ethan´s face and he frowned until his eyes hurt
and a tear ran down his cheek.

The memory of
the time when Ethan had revealed who he was cut through Wilfred
with the speed of a lightning bolt. He had never had the sensation
before of having talked with a true madman. Ethan´s story had been
so strange that only a mind completely detached from reality could
have come up with anything like it. In spite of everything, the
details had fit into the puzzle one after the other with
disconcerting ease. Wilfred had demanded a DNA test and anything
else that he could think of to confirm that the whole thing
wasn´t a horrible joke. But in the end his doubting waned and he
was forced to accept the undoubted accuracy of the test
results.

"I believe
you." Wilfred mused. "Go ahead and tell me. I won´t forget it and I
will do what you tell me to."

"Do it, please,
it`s your only chance." Ethan said opening his eyes again and
looking at the old man. "I´m risking much more than my life in
helping you."

"More than your
life? What are you talking about?"

"Don´t worry
about that just remember this name, Aidan Zack. He´s a detective.
You have to meet him."

"A detective
can cure me?"

"No, but it´s
part of the solution, although he doesn´t know it yet. He doesn´t
even suspect what´s coming."

"What do I say
when I meet him."

"I can´t reveal
that now without breaking the rules. As strange as it may seem to
you, and in spite of everything that is going to happen from
now on, don´t forget there are rules, and that sooner or later
you will learn them. Everything follows certain logic and
everything has its consequences. Don´t forget that."

"Ok." the old
man said without sounding very convinced or even of having
understood what he had to do. "I will find this Aidan. Then, I´m
afraid, I will have to improvise."

"I have to go."
Ethan said getting up abruptly and leaning over the old man, moving
the bed slightly as he did. "I wish I could tell you more. I hope
you will understand what this is all about before it´s too late."
The young man kissed Wilfred´s bald head tenderly, as his hand
stroked the old wrinkled skin of his face. "Look after yourself, my
son. I´m always with you."

Ethan turned
away to hide the pain that suddenly filled his heart, leaving the
room quickly to avoid collapsing right there and then.

"Goodbye,
father. I´ll find that detective." Wilfred called after the young
man disappearing through the door, his whole body shaking with the
thought that nothing could make him get used to the fact that his
father was fifty years younger than him.

* * * * *