Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [73]
77 Happy Easter
Easter weekend Dr. Sauer and Genevieve flew to New Orleans to amuse themselves, and they did not return to Kansas City until the following Thursday. He telephoned his office Monday morning to cancel the appointments for that day, he telephoned again that night to cancel the Tuesday appointments. He telephoned again to cancel everything on Wednesday.
Mr. Bridge, hearing about this, was exasperated. No professional man was entitled to behave in such a fashion. Nobody with any self-respect could jeopardize his reputation by flying to New Orleans with a woman who was not his wife. If he did, he should be discreet, and he certainly should return in time for his Monday appointments.
Secondly, it was rumored that he had gotten into a card game and had won twelve hundred dollars. Mr. Bridge did not altogether believe this rumor. Very possibly Sauer had gotten into a card game, in fact it was probable. Being as clever as he was, he might well have won some money, but not twelve hundred dollars. Conceivably, he had won fifty dollars or so, and the story had grown as such stories do. Given a little more time, the figure would be twelve thousand.
Mr. Bridge discovered that he was more outraged by the gambling than by the fact that Dr. Sauer had taken the girl along. It was wrong to have taken this girl to New Orleans, it was irresponsible, he should not have done it; but twelve hundred dollars, if true, was as much as some men earned in a year.
Dr. Sauer, like a good gambler, would not say yes nor would he say no when asked about this famous excursion. He laughed and he laughed. Mr. Bridge, listening, glanced across the table at Virgil Barron with a look of inquiry, on the chance that Sauer might have made a large deposit in the bank: very greatly to his astonishment he met the banker’s eye. So it was true. Then Mr. Bridge joined the conversation for the first time.
“Well, Alex, regardless of whether you did or did not win, if you enjoyed yourself, that’s what matters.”
“Jesus Christ, Walter,” the psychiatrist snapped, “you can be so God damned stuffy.”
“My guess is that none of us is quite what he might choose to be. Call it a defect, if you will. It’s simply that I happen to subscribe to certain fundamental truths.”
“Gamblers always lose? Would that be a fundamental truth?”
“In my opinion, sooner or later they do.”
Dr. Sauer reached for the wine bottle and said that in his opinion, the later the better.
“Since I amuse you,” said Mr. Bridge, “go ahead. Gamble at cards or on horses or anything else. Behave as you please. Far be it from me to lay down the law for other men. As far as gambling is concerned, I feel under no compulsion to shut down the card games and racetracks and the rest of it. Free enterprise, even for such a borderline industry, is one of the cornerstones of this country, and it appears to me that a degree of license is advisable. A man ought to be allowed to do as he wills, so long as he does not infringe upon the rights and liberties of others. However, if you gamble, be prepared to accept the consequences. And I do happen to believe you will lose, should you decide to tempt fate again. Assuming you did win a certain amount on your trip to New Orleans, I say more power to you. But you have entered a fool’s paradise. The law of averages exacts its toll. Whoever gambles is a fool—a fool! Make no mistake about it.”
His voice had been rising while he spoke. At nearby tables people were beginning to turn around. He noticed this and stopped. He removed his glasses, polished them on his