beaten and generous in victory were part of its pleasures. The game offered him scope to express both his villainy and his heroism.
Bruno dispatched his mediocre challenger, invigorated by the new arrivals. With a cocky air he racked up the balls and chalked his cue stick. He and Lao agreed on a bet, just big enough to compel concentration.
‘I’m at a disadvantage,’ Lao said.
‘How?’ asked Bruno. ‘Because you’re black?’
Lao looked at him and smiled. It had been said with warmth, with innocence even. That made all the difference.
‘No,’ Lao said. ‘Because my woman is here. There is more pressure on me.’
‘Oh, I see. Can’t afford to lose, eh?’
‘Something like that.’
‘It’s easier to lose if you have to win.’
Lao shrugged. He had been lying. He knew he could lose a thousand times and Mistletoe would put it in context with a phrase. She made herself invisible to Lao. The pressure was on Bruno, but Bruno didn’t know it.
5
Bruno won the break. The game progressed, and the crowd of on-lookers grew. They brought their murmurs, their side bets, and their cigarette smoke. Bruno played to the limit of his limitation.
He talked while he played. Lao liked him the more he listened.
‘All my life I have wanted to be a doctor. I have one more year to go. I want to go to Africa, to help the poor and the sick. I am doing two other jobs besides being your driver. My father was an engineer. Now he’s retired. He worked in Africa. Maybe you know him. My mother is a teacher. It’s because of her I speak English. Is my English good?’
Lao nodded.
‘Thank you. I was born near Basel, but all my life I have dreamt of going to Africa. I don’t know why. All my school-mates used to read books about America or mountain climbers or racing-car drivers, but I read everything I could about Africa. Isn’t that strange? I have never been there, but I feel in a way African. Can I say that?’
Lao shrugged again.
‘Why not?’ he said encouragingly.
Bruno paused in his play. He had been playing formidably well. He gave Lao a long thoughtful look. Then he said:
‘This feeling I have for Africa is one of the greatest mysteries of my life.’
Lao wasn’t sure what to say, so he stayed silent. He had met people with a nostalgia for Africa. Most of them had never been to the continent, but said they had Africa in their souls. Some of them spoke of Africa as a place they had known; it was a place in them older than memory. Reincarnation was a subject Lao seldom discussed. To know something means needing no explanation and having no need to explain to others. Life is coloured by such knowledge. To know one thing is to know many others. To know is to be silent. Lao never spoke of such things. Instead, he played. Bruno had lost a shot, and it was Lao’s turn.
6
Having not played the game for a while, Lao had no sense of his limitations. To his mild surprise he potted balls he would normally have missed even before he’d played them. In the past, faced with such shots, he would fear that he couldn’t pocket the ball. More often than not, it worked out as he feared.
In the past, before a game began, Lao always knew whether he would win or lose. Often, leaning towards a lazy fatalism, he knew deep down that he would lose; but he would play for fun, and lose anyway. Then he would feel bad. The bad feeling, stored away for the next game, made him feel he would lose again.
Then sometimes when he won it was in spite of himself. When he thought about it, though, he realised that when he won it was usually because he was absorbed in the game, engaged but detached, and that natural flow made him victorious. He found that he could determine the outcome from one moment to another if he danced with the nature of his opponent’s game, playing as if in a dream.
7
In the past, Lao estimated his chance of victory or defeat on how well his opponent played. But he sometimes found that he was victorious even when
Bruno dispatched his mediocre challenger, invigorated by the new arrivals. With a cocky air he racked up the balls and chalked his cue stick. He and Lao agreed on a bet, just big enough to compel concentration.
‘I’m at a disadvantage,’ Lao said.
‘How?’ asked Bruno. ‘Because you’re black?’
Lao looked at him and smiled. It had been said with warmth, with innocence even. That made all the difference.
‘No,’ Lao said. ‘Because my woman is here. There is more pressure on me.’
‘Oh, I see. Can’t afford to lose, eh?’
‘Something like that.’
‘It’s easier to lose if you have to win.’
Lao shrugged. He had been lying. He knew he could lose a thousand times and Mistletoe would put it in context with a phrase. She made herself invisible to Lao. The pressure was on Bruno, but Bruno didn’t know it.
5
Bruno won the break. The game progressed, and the crowd of on-lookers grew. They brought their murmurs, their side bets, and their cigarette smoke. Bruno played to the limit of his limitation.
He talked while he played. Lao liked him the more he listened.
‘All my life I have wanted to be a doctor. I have one more year to go. I want to go to Africa, to help the poor and the sick. I am doing two other jobs besides being your driver. My father was an engineer. Now he’s retired. He worked in Africa. Maybe you know him. My mother is a teacher. It’s because of her I speak English. Is my English good?’
Lao nodded.
‘Thank you. I was born near Basel, but all my life I have dreamt of going to Africa. I don’t know why. All my school-mates used to read books about America or mountain climbers or racing-car drivers, but I read everything I could about Africa. Isn’t that strange? I have never been there, but I feel in a way African. Can I say that?’
Lao shrugged again.
‘Why not?’ he said encouragingly.
Bruno paused in his play. He had been playing formidably well. He gave Lao a long thoughtful look. Then he said:
‘This feeling I have for Africa is one of the greatest mysteries of my life.’
Lao wasn’t sure what to say, so he stayed silent. He had met people with a nostalgia for Africa. Most of them had never been to the continent, but said they had Africa in their souls. Some of them spoke of Africa as a place they had known; it was a place in them older than memory. Reincarnation was a subject Lao seldom discussed. To know something means needing no explanation and having no need to explain to others. Life is coloured by such knowledge. To know one thing is to know many others. To know is to be silent. Lao never spoke of such things. Instead, he played. Bruno had lost a shot, and it was Lao’s turn.
6
Having not played the game for a while, Lao had no sense of his limitations. To his mild surprise he potted balls he would normally have missed even before he’d played them. In the past, faced with such shots, he would fear that he couldn’t pocket the ball. More often than not, it worked out as he feared.
In the past, before a game began, Lao always knew whether he would win or lose. Often, leaning towards a lazy fatalism, he knew deep down that he would lose; but he would play for fun, and lose anyway. Then he would feel bad. The bad feeling, stored away for the next game, made him feel he would lose again.
Then sometimes when he won it was in spite of himself. When he thought about it, though, he realised that when he won it was usually because he was absorbed in the game, engaged but detached, and that natural flow made him victorious. He found that he could determine the outcome from one moment to another if he danced with the nature of his opponent’s game, playing as if in a dream.
7
In the past, Lao estimated his chance of victory or defeat on how well his opponent played. But he sometimes found that he was victorious even when
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