Just do me a favour, stray to another table."
Eli, returning to our first roulette, is greeted with regal pomp. I
wander to a further board with lower minimum wagers. I squash my way
into a raucous mob. They screech and squeal with every spin. I place
some of my meager funds on red. Despite the tiny sum and nearly equal
chances - I waver nauseous and scared. Until the ball reposes and the
croupier announces black. Twenty eight.
I lost.
Another dose on red, just slightly larger. Another anxious wait while
the croupier employs a silver rake to place the bets. I sneak a peek at
Eli's table. It's hard to tell his state. His body tilts in zealous
inclination, his shaded eyes impale the imperturbable dealer, his
twitchy hands engulf the cards doled out from the "shoe". It's "21" or
Blackjack, a pretty basic card game.
On certain rounds, Eli presents his palm, two of its fingers pointing
at the "shoe". The dealer acknowledges him discreetly and draws the
cards. He lays them gingerly in front of Eli who, exultant, gathers his
winnings and tips the grateful worker. I can relax.
My tiny gains accumulate. The hours pass, the tables empty, it's only I
and the croupier. My capital is nearly doubled.
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