Taking Flight
Short Stories of the Unexpected
by
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It was the end of my first year on my first job after my high school graduation. I had just received an additional month’s salary as a year-end bonus, and to celebrate, I persuaded my friend Eddie to accompany me to the Auberge des Pyramides. The Auberge des Pyramides was Cairo’s trendiest entertainment spot, a place only the rich and the famous could afford. Its restaurant was the best in town, and its unique nightclub featured entertainment from Europe and Latin America. But these were not the reasons I wanted to go to the Auberge. I wanted to go there to visit its casino, well known all over the world. King Farouk used to go there with other royals to have fun and lose some of the vast fortune he had amassed. I wanted to gamble. I had just finished reading Dostoyevsky’s novel The Gambler and could not get it off my mind. I had read many of Dostoyevsky’s books, but The Gambler—which he wrote in twenty-six days to satisfy a ruthless and unscrupulous creditor—seemed more real, more vivid than the others, maybe because it paralleled Dostoyevsky’s own struggles with compulsive gambling. Besides, I sympathized with Alexei, the main character: he was a nice, intelligent man, living from paycheck to paycheck with no prospect of a better future. Maybe I identified with him because I found myself in the same situation. Just once I wanted to feel the same rush of adrenaline, the same heightened anticipation Alexei felt at the roulette table. But win or lose, I knew I would only be a one-night gambler. One early Saturday evening, Eddie and I took a bus to downtown Cairo and from there a taxi to the Auberge des Pyramides. Eddie wore his best suit, and I wore the only suit I had. Fortunately, we were both presentable enough to be admitted at the Auberge’s reception desk. I transferred some of the money I had brought to my jacket’s inside pocket to make sure we had enough to get us back home. We were both excited and nervous. To try to relax, we decided to spend some time walking around and admiring the casino’s luxurious decor. We stopped at the baccarat table and watched older people in tuxedos and glittering evening gowns as they moved large stacks of chips back and forth across the felt surface. We stopped at the blackjack tables, where younger people were dressed more casually and bet more moderately. We finally entered the largest and noisiest room in the casino, which contained the roulette tables. Like Alexei in The Gambler, I felt my stomach cramp when I heard the clicking of the chips and the bouncing of the ball against the wheel. My heart was thundering in my chest. Eddie and I entered the room as inconspicuously as we could. In the process of choosing the table where I would play, I recalled Dostoyevsky’s description of Alexei. I tried to guess who was the one who was most like him—the one who was betting his life and that of his loved one on the spin of the wheel. Eddie and I exchanged our money for chips and chose separate tables. I wanted to be alone—alone with my emotions. I decided to bet on the black 8, between the red 23 and red 30, because 8 was my number on my basketball team. My first bets were shy, just warm-ups. But then I became more daring, hoping that the odds in my favor would increase the longer I played. Every time I lost, I increased my bet, sure that the little ball would stop at the number 8 on the next spin. The urge to continue was irresistible. It never occurred to me to quit. I was certain I would win an enormous sum of money that I’d be proud to show to Eddie, my colleagues at work, and among my basketball teammates. But the number 8 proved elusive. Meanwhile, the pile of chips in front of me was getting smaller. Finally, I put my remaining chips on the number 8 and waited. I was sweating profusely. The croupier had his eyes fixed on me. Why was he observing me so intently? Did he suspect me of cheating? I did not really care; I just wanted the wheel to spin. Finally, the croupier announced, “Rien ne va plus” (No more bets). My head was aching and my eyes were burning, but I managed to see the little ball land on the red 23, right next to my number 8. I looked around, searching for Eddie, hoping he would lend me some money so I could recoup my losses. Then I saw the croupier pointing at me: “Monsieur in the blue shirt, please pick up the chips you won.” I was astonished. The croupier had delivered to my seat a huge number of chips of all shapes and colors, representing a small fortune, many times the amount I had started with.
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About the Book
Avi has had quite a life. He and his wife, Sara, have lived and traveled all over the world, including some exotic—and occasionally less than hospitable—destinations. He’s also met and befriended some colorful characters, including a man who can get you anything (for a price, of course), a tribal chieftain, an enterprising shopkeeper, a father who mourns a daughter lost at sea, a particularly hard-nosed and nosy businesswoman, and a desperate man who threatens to drive Avi off a cliff. In this collection of fanciful and offbeat stories, you’ll also meet the amorous yet devious Lord and Lady Ryweinster, a talking Amazonian parrot, a champion MMA fighter, and an elderly couple who could have been headliners at a Catskills resort. At the heart of the collection, however, is the story of the journey Avi takes to a world beyond this one, a fascinating domain where he reunites with his long-deceased mother and two of his siblings. His otherworldly guides help him learn the rules of this unfamiliar, magical realm, and he is able to spend some meaningful moments with the people who were closest to him in childhood and get a glimpse, perhaps, of what lies ahead for us all.
About the Author
Jacques Sardas was born in Alexandria, Egypt, into a Jewish family of Greek and Turkish heritage. After a long career at Goodyear, during which he held executive positions in Brazil, France, and Ohio, he ran several smaller manufacturing companies until his retirement. He lives with his wife of more than sixty-seven years in Dallas, Texas. His previous book, Without Return: Memoirs of an Egyptian Jew 1930–1957, was called “compellingly and charmingly written” by the Jerusalem Post. Taking Flight is his first work of fiction.