EDITH PACKER HAD THE tape cassette plugged into her ear, and she was smoking one of his cigarettes. The TV played without any volume as she sat on the sofa with her legs tucked under her and turned the pages of a magazine. James Packer came out of the guest room, which was the room he had fixed up as an office, and Edith Packer took the cord from her ear. She put the cigarette in the ashtray and pointed her foot and wiggled her toes in greeting.
He said, “Are we going or not?”
“I’m going,” she said.
Edith Packer liked classical music. James Packer did not. He was a retired accountant. But he still did returns for some old clients, and he didn’t like to hear music when he did it.
“If we’re going, let’s go.”
He looked at the TV, and then went to turn it off.
“I’m going,” she said.
She closed the magazine and got up. She left the room and went to the back.
He followed her to make sure the back door was locked and also that the porch light was on. Then he stood waiting and waiting in the living room.
It was a ten-minute drive to the community center, which meant they were going to miss the first game.
* * *
In the place where James always parked, there was an old van with markings on it, so he had to keep going to the end of the block.
“Lots of cars tonight,” Edith said.
He said, “There wouldn’t be so many if we’d been on time.”
“There’d still be as many. It’s just we wouldn’t have seen them.” She pinched his sleeve, teasing.
He said, “Edith, if we’re going to play bingo, we ought to be here on time.”
“Hush,” Edith Packer said.
He found a parking space and turned into it. He switched off the engine and cut the lights. He said, “I don’t know if I feel lucky tonight. I think I felt lucky when I was doing Howard’s taxes. But I don’t think I feel lucky now. It’s not lucky if you have to start out walking half a mile just to play.”
“You stick to me,” Edith Packer said. “You’ll feel lucky.”
“I don’t feel lucky yet,” James said. “Lock your door.”
There was a cold breeze. He zipped the windbreaker to his neck, and she pulled her coat closed. They could hear the surf breaking on the rocks at the bottom of the cliff behind the building.
She said, “I’ll take one of your cigarettes first.”
They stopped under the street lamp at the corner. It was a damaged street lamp, and wires had been added to support it. The wires moved in the wind, made shadows on the pavement.
“When are you going to stop?” he said, lighting his cigarette after he’d lighted hers.
“When you stop,” she said. “I’ll stop when you stop. Just like it was when you stopped drinking. Like that. Like you.”
“I can teach you to do needlework,” he said.
“One needleworker in the house is enough,” she said.
He took her arm and they kept on walking.
When they reached the entrance, she dropped her cigarette and stepped on it. They went up the steps and into the foyer. There was a sofa in the room, a wooden table, folding chairs stacked up. On the walls were hung photographs of fishing boats and naval vessels, one showing a boat that had turned over, a man standing on the keel and waving.
The Packers passed through the foyer, James taking Edith’s arm as they entered the corridor.
Some clubwomen sat to the side of the far doorway signing people in as they entered the assembly hall, where a game was already in progress, the numbers being called by a woman who stood on the stage.
The Packers hurried to their regular table. But a young couple occupied the Packers’ usual places. The girl wore denims, and so did the long-haired man with her. She had rings and bracelets and earrings that made her shiny in the milky light. Just as the Packers came up, the girl turned to the fellow with her and poked her finger at a number on his card. Then she pinched his arm. The fellow had his hair pulled back and tied behind his head, and something else the Packers saw – a tiny gold loop through his earlobe.
James guided Edith to another table, turning to look again before sitting down. First he took off his windbreaker and helped Edith with her coat, and then he stared at the couple who had taken their places. The girl was scanning her cards as the numbers were called, leaning over to check the man’s cards too – as if, James thought, the fellow did not have sense enough to look after his own numbers.
James picked up the stack of bingo cards that had been set out on the table. He gave half to Edith. “Pick some winners,” he said. “Because I’m taking these three on top. It doesn’t matter which ones I pick. Edith, I don’t feel lucky tonight.”
“Don’t you pay it any attention,” she said. “They’re not hurting anybody. They’re just young, that’s all.”
He said, “This is regular Friday night bingo for the people of this community.”
She said, “It’s a free country.”
She handed back the stack of cards. He put them on the other side of the table. Then they served themselves from the bowl of beans.
James peeled a dollar bill from the roll of bills he kept for bingo nights. He put the dollar next to his cards. One of the clubwomen, a thin woman with bluish hair and a spot on her neck – the Packers knew her only as Alice – would presently come by with a coffee can. She would collect the coins and bills, making change from the can. It was this woman or another woman who paid off the wins.
The woman on the stage called “I-25,” and someone in the hall yelled, “Bingo!”
Alice made her way between the tables. She took up the winning card and held it in her hand as the woman on the stage read out the winning numbers.
“It’s a bingo,” Alice confirmed.
“That bingo, ladies and gentlemen, is worth twelve dollars!” the woman on the stage announced. “Congratulations to the winner!”
The Packers played another five games to no effect. James came close once on one of his cards. But then five numbers were called in succession, none of them his, the fifth a number that produced a bingo on somebody else’s card.
“You almost had it that time,” Edith said. “I was watching your card.”
“She was teasing me,” James said.
He tilted the card and let the beans slide into his hand. He closed his hand and made a fist. He shook the beans in his fist. Something came to him about a boy who’d thrown some beans out a window. The memory reached to him from a long way off, and it made him feel lonely.
“Change cards, maybe,” Edith said.
“It isn’t my night,” James said.
He looked over at the young couple again. They were laughing at something the fellow had said. James could see they weren’t paying attention to anyone else in the hall.
Alice came around collecting money for the next game, and just after the first number had been called, James saw the fellow in the denims put down a bean on a card he hadn’t paid for. Another number was called, and James saw the fellow do it again. James was amazed. He could not concentrate on his own cards. He kept looking up to see what the fellow in denim was doing.
“James, look at your cards,” Edith said. “You missed N-34. Pay attention.”
“That fellow over there who has our place is cheating. I can’t believe my eyes,” James said.
“How is he cheating?” Edith said.
“He’s playing a card that he hasn’t paid for,” James said. “Somebody ought to report him.”
“Not you, dear,” Edith said She spoke slowly and tried to keep her eyes on her cards. She dropped a bean on a number.
“The fellow is cheating,” James said.
She extracted a bean from her palm and placed it on a number. “Play your cards,” Edith said.
He looked back at his cards. But he knew he might as well write this game off. There was no telling how many numbers he had missed, how far behind he had fallen. He squeezed the beans in his fist.
The woman on the stage called, “G-60.”
Someone yelled, “Bingo!”
“Christ,” James Packer said.
A ten-minute break was announced. The game after the break would be a Blackout, one dollar a card, winner takes all, this week’s jackpot ninety-eight dollars.
There was whistling and clapping.
James looked at the couple. The fellow was touching the ring in his ear and staring up at the ceiling. The girl had her hand on his leg.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” Edith said. “Give me your cigarettes.”
James said, “And I’ll get us some raisin cookies and coffee.”
“I’ll go to the bathroom,” Edith said.
But James Packer did not go to get cookies and coffee. Instead, he went to stand behind the chair of the fellow in denim.
“I see what you’re doing,” James said.
The man turned around. “Pardon me?” he said and stared. “What am I doing?”
“You know,” James said.
The girl held her cookie in mid-bite.
“A word to the wise,” James said.
He walked back to his table. He was trembling.
When Edith came back, she handed him the cigarettes and sat down, not talking, not being her jovial self.
James looked at her closely. He said, “Edith, has something happened?”
“I’m spotting again,” she said.
“Spotting?” he said. But he knew what she meant. “Spotting,” he said again, very quietly.
“Oh, dear,” Edith Packer said, picking up some cards and sorting through them.
“I think we should go home,” he said.
She kept sorting through the cards. “No, let’s stay,” she said. “It’s just the spotting, is all.”
He touched her hand.
“We’ll stay,” she said. “It’ll be all right.”
“This is the worst bingo night in history,” James Packer said.
They played the Blackout game, James watching the man in denim. The fellow was still at it, still playing a card he hadn’t paid for. From time to time, James checked how Edith was doing. But there was no way of telling. She held her lips pursed together. It could mean anything – resolve, worry, pain. Or maybe she just liked having her lips that way for this particular game.
He had three numbers to go on one card and five numbers on another, and no chance at all on a third card when the girl with the man in denim began shrieking: “Bingo! Bingo! Bingo! I have a bingo!”
The fellow clapped and shouted with her. “She’s got a bingo! She’s got a bingo, folks! A bingo!”
The fellow in denim kept clapping.
It was the woman on the stage herself who went to the girl’s table to check her card against the master list. She said, “This young woman has a bingo, and that’s a ninety-eight-dollar jackpot! Let’s give her a round of applause, people! It’s a bingo here! A Blackout!”
Edith clapped along with the rest. But James kept his hands on the table.
The fellow in denim hugged the girl when the woman from the stage handed over the cash.
“They’ll use it to buy drugs,” James said.
They stayed for the rest of the games. They stayed until the last game was played. It was a game called the Progressive, the jackpot increasing from week to week if no one bingoed before so many numbers were called.
James put his money down and played his cards with no hope of winning. He waited for the fellow in denim to call “Bingo!”
But no one won, and the jackpot would be carried over to the following week, the prize bigger than ever.
“That’s bingo for tonight!” the woman on the stage proclaimed. “Thank you all for coming. God bless you and good night.”
The Packers filed out of the assembly hall along with the rest, somehow managing to fall in behind the fellow in denim and his girl. They saw the girl pat her pocket. They saw the girl put her arm around the fellow’s waist.
“Let those people get ahead of us,” James said into Edith’s ear. “I can’t stand to look at them.”
Edith said nothing in reply. But she hung back a little to give the couple time to move ahead.
Outside, the wind was up. James thought sure he could hear the surf over the sound of engines starting.
He saw the couple stop at the van. Of course. He should have put two and two together.
“The dumbbell,” James Packer said.
* * *
Edith went into the bathroom and shut the door. James took off his windbreaker and put it down on the back of the sofa. He turned on the TV and took up his place and waited.
After a time, Edith came out of the bathroom. James concentrated his attention on the TV. Edith went to the kitchen and ran water. James heard her turn off the faucet. Edith came to the room and said, “I guess I’ll have to see Dr Crawford in the morning. I guess there really is something happening down there.”
“The lousy luck,” James said.
She stood there shaking her head. She covered her eyes and leaned into him when he came to put his arms around her.
“Edith, dearest Edith,” James Packer said.
He felt awkward and terrified. He stood with his arms more or less holding his wife.
She reached for his face and kissed his lips, and then she said good night.
He went to the refrigerator. He stood in front of the open door and drank tomato juice while he studied everything inside. Cold air blew out at him. He looked at the little packages and the containers of foodstuffs on the shelves, a chicken covered in plastic wrap, the neat, protected exhibits.
He shut the door and spit the last of the juice into the sink. Then he rinsed his mouth and made himself a cup of instant coffee. He carried it into the living room. He sat down in front of the TV and lit a cigarette. He understood that it took only one lunatic and a torch to bring everything to ruin.
He smoked and finished the coffee, and then he turned the TV off. He went to the bedroom door and listened for a time. He felt unworthy to be listening, to be standing.
Why not someone else? Why not those people tonight? Why not all those people who sail through life free as birds? Why not them instead of Edith?
He moved away from the bedroom door. He thought about going for a walk. But the wind was wild now, and he could hear the branches whining in the birch tree behind the house.
He sat in front of the TV again. But he did not turn it on. He smoked and thought of that sauntering, arrogant gait as the two of them moved just ahead. If only they knew. If only someone would tell them. Just once!
He closed his eyes. He would get up early and fix breakfast. He would go with her to see Crawford. If only they had to sit with him in the waiting room! He’d tell them what to expect! He’d set those floozies straight! He’d tell them what was waiting for you after the denim and the earrings, after touching each other and cheating at games.
He got up and went into the guest room and turned on the lamp over the bed. He glanced at his papers and at his account books and at the adding machine on his desk. He found a pair of pajamas in one of the drawers. He turned down the covers on the bed. Then he walked back through the house, snapping off lights and checking doors. For a while he stood looking out the kitchen window at the tree shaking under the force of the wind.
He left the porch light on and went back to the guest room. He pushed aside his knitting basket, took up his basket of embroidery and then settled himself in the chair. He raised the lid of the basket and got out the metal hoop. There was fresh white linen stretched across it. Holding the tiny needle to the light, James Packer stabbed at the eye with a length of blue silk thread. Then he set to work – stitch after stitch – making believe he was waving like the man on the keel.