Fourteen Points

Bent back and forth, thrown casually from hand to hand, cut round and over; you are shuffled, thrumming with life at the thought of a new hand; in this case four player nomination whist, West to deal, North to lead.

West’s a good dealer, swishing round the table one-two-three-four. You’re the third card he deals to his hand, neatly falling into place; almost as if this were planned.

You are gathered up and sorted, sharing West’s palm with the queen of diamonds and two of your brethren; the four and six of spades.

For maybe half a minute all that can be heard is gentle breathing, the rustle of cards and, somewhere, a dripping tap.

The obligatory question.

“What’s trumps?”

The obligatory answer, coupled with the obligatory sigh.

“The strongest suit in the game.”

A short, annoyed silence.

“It’s spades.”
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The pinnacle of Motorhead’s career.

An endlessly repeated simile.

The “sign of death” in Stevenson’s The Suicide Club.

Cliff Burton’s death sentence.

The beginning of the end in Animal Farm.

Your tracks trace the world’s conscience.
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North bids first.

“Two.”

East and South follow in quick succession.

“Nought.”

“Zero.”

Your East takes a while longer to make his bid. He fingers the cards, running circles of skin over your upper edge. Under his hand you shiver with impatience; just bid.

“…Four.”

An intake of breathe echoes round the table. Bidding for four in a four-card hand…

East’s bid has thrown North; he had placed a card face-down in the centre of the table, but now withdraws it, and flutters his hand back and forth over his cards before playing.

Ace of hearts.

The other two players are surer, less hesitant. It’s not a hard decision; even a fool would play the highest heart in his hand on a nought bid.

West plays the nine, South the five.

East doesn’t hesitate.

Four of spades to take the trick.
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In the early eighteenth century Anne the First, Queen of England, extended stamp duty to playing cards; a law that would only be revoked in 1960, some two and a half centuries later. While in more recent years this was not necessary, in the early stages of the tax a literal stamp was placed on the cards, to affirm that the duty had indeed been paid.

For much of the time, this stamp was placed on you.

Eventually the stamp was no longer required; but the ornate design remained, and even now, you are the most decorated card in the pack.
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For the second hand, your player, West, leads. He thinks for a while before making his selection; his hand hovers over the queen, over you (and you thrill at the thought of being played), coming to rest on the six of spades. You shrill in frustration: he will lose this trick!

But no. North plays his trump, the five; East makes do with a paltry three of hearts; South throws down another three, of spades.

Strange hand. You thought that someone would beat the six; it’s almost like West premeditated the others’ cards…

West gathers up the second trick.
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In the Vietnam War American soldiers thought that you were a symbol of bad luck to the Vietnamese and, accordingly, used you as a weapon. They ordered you en masse, placed you on the bodies, in the mouths, of their dead enemies. They littered you on forest floors, labelled you a “secret weapon”, placed you in their helmets as a sign of war.

But in error.

To the Vietnamese, as to most, you are completely innocuous.
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West throws the queen, leaving you as the last card in his hand. Secure in his knowledge of you, he places you face-down on the table. You cannot see the other cards played; but you hear the gentle thud as they are laid down, and the satisfied click as West aligns the third trick, placing it beside the other two.
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It is not true that you are the highest card in the pack: your worth varies depending on the game.

But it is true that in a game of four-player nomination whist, spades as trumps, West to deal, North to lead, you are the highest card.
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West hovers his hand over you, lazily drawing out the moment.

Then he flips you over.

The others drop their cards on the table; they cannot hope to stand against you. With languid satisfaction West gathers up all four of his tricks and places them on top of the pack.

The scores are reprised.

“North lost his bid, no points. South and I both got nought, ten points each. West, astoundingly enough, got his bid; fourteen points.”

You thrill with the knowledge that you were eleven of those fourteen points.