The Promise Read Online Free

half a point. On the next toss, the five dollars Michael stood to win with the radio became ten dollars, and the cost of each toss went up from fifty cents to one dollar. I felt my annoyance at Michael begin to disappear, and I tossed the balls once again. The ten dollars became twenty dollars, and the one dollar became two dollars.
    Michael put two dollars on the counter next to the lacquered board. I was playing seriously now and I clicked the balls together inside the dice cup and tossed them onto the board, then leaned forward, watching the swift count of the pitchman.
    “Twenty-two,” he announced, nudging the last ball from its hole. He consulted the card, touched his tie, and ran his hand over his black hair. “One point,” he said. He glanced at the radio on top of which there now lay a new twenty-dollar bill. “You got a point and a half to go,” he added unhappily.
    I saw Michael put two more dollars on the counter. There wasa flush on his cheeks and his eyes burned hungrily. Glancing at Michael, I noticed a man standing near the booth, looking at us curiously. He appeared to be in his late sixties or early seventies, and he stood a few feet behind Michael, leaning on a cane and watching us. I clicked the balls together and tossed them onto the board. They scattered wildly across the lacquered surface, some finding holes, some falling against the frame. The pitchman nudged the balls from the holes as he counted, then consulted the card.
    I had made an additional one-half point.
    Michael laughed triumphantly and put two dollars on the counter. I had lost track of how much money he had spent so far, but I did not think it could be anywhere near what he stood to win.
    I tossed the balls again. They added up to nineteen. The pitchman looked at the card.
    “No credit,” he said, looking relieved.
    The three of us stared at him.
    “What do you mean, no credit?” I heard myself say.
    “You want to look at the card?”
    We looked at the card.
    “All right,” I said.
    Rachel put her hand on my arm and shook her head. I put the dice cup on the counter.
    “You quitting?” the pitchman said.
    Rachel ignored him. She looked at Michael. “You are going to stop playing,” she said very quietly in Sephardic Hebrew.
    I saw the old man give her a sudden sharp look.
    “Rachel is right,” I said to Michael, also in Sephardic Hebrew. “You’re spending too much money.”
    “It’s my money,” Michael responded in Hebrew. He put two dollars on the counter.
    “Michael,” Rachel said, very quietly.
    “It’s only one more point,” Michael said, in English now. There was a frantic edge to his thin voice.
    Rachel took her hand from my arm. I had never seen her look so helpless. She was quite a strong-minded girl and I wondered why she didn’t simply grab Michael by the arm and drag him away from there. Instead she looked at the pitchman, as if pleading with him to stop the game. He stood very still behind the counter, saying nothing.
    “Play,” Michael said loudly.
    I had had enough.
    “Reuven,” he said slowly.
    “Play by yourself,” I told him. “And stop glaring. You look silly.”
    He stared at me for a long moment. I saw his fists clenching and unclenching. I just stood there, staring back at him. Then, abruptly, he grabbed the dice cup and turned it over.
    The twenty dollars became forty dollars, and the cost of each toss went up to four dollars.
    Michael stared at the two twenty-dollar bills on top of the radio. He seemed dazed. Rachel said nothing. I felt myself beginning to sweat, felt beads of sweat on my back and beneath my arms. Michael took a five-dollar bill from his pocket and put it on the counter. The pitchman replaced it with a new one-dollar bill which he took from the cigar box on the shelf.
    I looked at Rachel. She seemed unable to speak.
    Michael picked up the dice cup and tossed the balls. The pitchman consulted the card.
    “Double again,” he said, sounding surprised and very