A short Story: The Table

On New Year’s Eve, gambling was acceptable. As a child, I never connected the dots; I didn’t know what gambling meant and didn’t reflect on its connection to the adults’ table, which exuded seriousness and tension, drawing much attention at the extended family’s end-of-year, longest-night party. The music was usually loud; family members chatted everywhere; kids caught up and got to know their second cousins better. The TV was always on, especially at the moment when one year ended and another began. Cheers, screams, countdowns, hugs, kisses, congratulations, love—but the silent table remained apart from this world. Wives would run to hug their husbands at the table, and kids would rush to wish their dads a happy new year.

While that table was typically dominated by older men, women were welcome to join. They could take over their husband’s cards, start independently with their own money (often taken from their husband’s pockets), or simply sit beside their husbands, observing and supporting. The table, usually enveloped in smoke, wasn’t off-limits to children. I remember enjoying sitting next to my dad, hoping his hidden card was an ace. It was thrilling when Dad—or sometimes Mom—would subtly show me their hidden card, a gesture of respect and trust, fostering a special connection between parent and child… on a poker table, no less.

The stakes weren’t high; the opening bid was usually 5 pence, with an upper limit of 20. But for a kid, it was MONEY. Watching those coins accumulate in front of the night’s luckiest player, especially if it was someone I liked, was so exciting.

I suppose the excitement wasn’t limited to the few dinars lost or won but extended to interpreting the night’s luck as a forecast for the coming year. On the car ride home, exhausted and sleepy in the back seat late at night, I would always check up on our family’s luck.

“So, Dad, did you win tonight?” “I neither lost nor won.” “What about you, Mom?” “I made two dinars!” “And Uncle Jamal?” “Same as me, I guess. Twin brothers share the same luck. But Henriette (his wife) did pretty well… poor Emile (Dad’s cousin) had no luck tonight.”

The next year was usually expected to be the same as the current one; our family’s luck never seemed to change over the years. Time passes quickly; we grow up, and beautiful moments turn into beautiful memories. The hope at the end of every year remains the same: a better year, a better future, more love. The connection with parents is a sacred blessing—in good times or in sin—that subtle showing of the hidden card is the secret of our love.