Thus, not long into his life in the new world, our hero had acquired a great debt, which penalty was more prison and therefore more gruel sandwiches. He reasoned that, if fate longed for him to be an adventurer, it would not saddle him with debt. He thus put his heart into absolving himself of it.
Feeling the burden of the world upon his shoulders, our hero first sought recreation. He came upon a crowd of people who seemed to be enjoying themselves. They were watching and waging bets on two men who were dicing.
For men as these, who owned no land, owned precious few things, had no education, and thus very dim command of the language, had no training in any discipline except in hauling goods of other men, they knew neither sport nor art, and understood nothing of why the dice had different faces when rolled, only that they did, and as a result did not understand that they had no control over their futures, and thus came to believe they had some control of their futures by taking the money of their fellow men through the devices of mere chance, which they did not understand. Thus dicing was their sport of choice, and they took it very seriously, as was the case when one of the competitors had been cut, on the reason he was cheating.
A woman, upon seeing our hero hungry, gave him a bit of bread to eat and beer to drink, and nominated him as a challenger. He had been cheered for and given much advice on how to roll the dice.
The advice and encouragement seemed quite effective as he won a number of games.
Our hero was then offered further advice and encouragement, that if he kept winning games, and ruining their bets, one or all five of the fingers of his good hand could be cut off.
Our hero hoped the sweat of his hands would ruin his rolls. But each throw of his was blessed by fortune, such that he had earned four-fifths of the crowd’s paltry earnings, had two men killed, and attracted every man’s ire.
The woman who offered him fare laughed and introduced him to the only other game they played: she flattened his good hand on the ground, brought out a knife, and stabbed at the spaces between his fingers, moving more quickly with each iteration. As seconds became minutes and her hands became hard to see, no eye in the crowd became drawn away from the spectacle. Finally, she rested the knife away from his hand – and then brought it down on his index finger. Our hero screamed, the crowd cheered, the sight of blood shed seemed to calm them from their anger. This respite was the perfect opportunity to leave with the whole pot and their wallets.
Having taken all of his earnings, the businesswoman presented his finger in a cup of ice and directed our hero to the same healer who had cured him earlier, before escaping into the night.
© 2025 François-Marie Lee