Black Chalk

Middle swallowed hard and looked off to the side. ‘It’s a little like Pascal’s Wager, I think. Blaise Pascal suggested that, when it comes to the existence of God, the only rational way to behave is to believe in His existence. He said we are all playing a game, a coin is being thrown and will land heads or tails, existence or non-existence of God, and we have no choice but to play. We must place a wager because we’re engaged in the game whether we like it or not. And the rational choice has to be belief. Because if you win, you win everything. Heaven, eternal life, infinite happiness. And if you lose, you lose nothing, you are the same quality of dead as the atheist.’ Middle began to look tired, as if this speech were an essay he had been writing all night. ‘And the thing is, you could frame the argument just the same way for belief in Hell of course.’

Middle put his hands in his pockets and hugged his elbows to his side. ‘If one of them comes to you,’ he said, ‘if one of them tells you certain things, you might decide the only rational behaviour is to believe them. Because to act any other way is too great a risk.’ And then he became almost enthusiastic. ‘But here’s my take on Pascal’s Wager.’ Yes, it’s a wager. But the thing with wagers is that the true gambler, the purest player of the game, isn’t playing to win. The true gambler plays for the thrill, the sheer ecstasy of taking part. And the purest thrill comes not from the idea of winning but from the fear of defeat, from there being something real and valuable on the line. If there’s nothing to lose, then where’s the thrill? The true gambler does the opposite.’ Middle was gesturing with his fingers, letting them flutter here and there. ‘Yes, the purest lover of the game bets the other way, he goes entirely against the grain. Doesn’t he, Chad?’

Chad gave Emilia a confused look. ‘OK, well, that was fascinating, Middle,’ he said, turning. ‘I’m now feeling highly educated. And we’re both so pleased you came.’ He tried to sound sarcastic but felt as if he were caught suddenly in a spotlight.

Middle looked thrilled now. ‘Chad, you understand every word I just said. But Emilia . . . oh, Emilia, you’re too good for this game. Listen, the only one of you who is safe right now is Mark because he’s out. Get out clean, get out early, because the longer you stay in the more dangerous things become. Run away just as soon as you can. Unless you’re a true gambler that is, unless you actually thrill for the rough stuff.’

‘So what about you?’ said Chad. ‘Are you getting out early enough?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Middle. ‘Like I say, it depends where the truth lies. Maybe not. But I just don’t have the stomach for this any more. Good luck,’ he said. And then Middle turned and started to make his way toward the house. He looked to Chad very much like an old man from behind. The abundance of wool in his jacket and pants, the hunching of his shoulders, heavy press of the years.

Chad looked at Emilia, the sweet confusion on her face, a look that was not so very far from fear. And that’s when Chad realised he had been right. And Middle was right. Emilia didn’t belong in this game. And now it was time for Chad to perform his act of kindness.

XLVI(iii)‘What was that all about, Chad? Did you really understand what he was saying?’

‘The guy’s a freak, Emilia, I honestly have no idea.’

‘Do you think we should tell the others?’

‘Tell them what? The riddle of the sphinx? I say we just ignore the whole thing.’

Chad turned and Emilia followed. They started to make their way back toward the bridge. ‘Let’s just talk about something else,’ said Chad.

‘Like what?’ said Emilia.

‘I don’t know. Riddles. More things the American just doesn’t get?’

‘Shouldn’t we slow down then, Chad? We’ve only got a couple of minutes before we make it back to the lake.’

‘That’s funny, Emilia. No, honestly, you’re a seriously hilarious person.’

‘Oh my God, Chad, you’ve learned sarcasm from Jack. It’s the beginning of the end. Come on then, hit me, something you don’t understand. Although why you’d ask me rather than Jolyon . . .’

Chad’s hands were in his pockets, his shoulders angling forward like a nervous teenager about to ask a girl on a date. But Emilia didn’t notice, she moved breezily as they walked together toward the lake.

‘Actually, Emilia, there’s something about you I don’t understand,’ said Chad. ‘The thing with your dad. The whole miners’ strike thing, why it gets you so angry. I don’t understand it at all.’

‘Why should you, Chad? I doubt it made very big news in the States. Most people in this country have already forgotten.’

‘So tell me what happened.’

Emilia sucked her lips. ‘I don’t think I can give you an especially balanced account,’ she said.

‘But I don’t want a balanced account,’ Chad said. ‘I want your version, Em.’