The Farmer’s Wife

A Short Story

Uwg Podsi allowed himself a smile as he shuffled the cards, gazing over a table sagging under all the pomp and ceremony of a generous and well-respected friend and pillar of his community.

Ten years after starting his monthly card game meetups, it still gave him enormous pleasure to host such evenings, which almost inevitably ended up in triumph.Yes, Uwg Podsi had a certain penchant for winning, much to the consternation of his opponents at the card table, not least because the games were played for money, which he would scoop up into his old greedy hands after each victory, chuckling at the crestfallen faces of the other players as they traipsed home into the night with empty pockets. But what game him more pleasure than relieving his card partners of their money was the unanimous acknowledgement of his status as a generous friend and host – that was the biggest prize of all, and a trophy he was happy to have burnished time and time again.

“Have you met Uwg Podsi? You really should! Farmer, friend, real pillar of the community,” newcomers to the village would be told effusively, while Podsi looked on with pride and satisfaction etched into his face, belly puffed out proudly. Such was his status that few eyebrows were raised when he married the beautiful Forja, thirty years his junior, adding a sparkling jewel to his bountiful panoply of riches. She was quiet and docile, happy to bask in the brilliance of her husband, and that suited Uwg Podsi just fine. Here she is now on the Friday evening that our story begins, smiling away as always, as she daintily perches a pyramid of teacups on the carefully ironed tablecloth, and lines up a series of liqueur glasses, which will soon be filled to the brim, poised to inebriate the guests as they succumb to an inevitable loss of money to their friend and host Uwg Podsi.

And at sundown the three card-game regulars duly arrived – Jamus Jastain the wearisome doctor, Pythus Polycog the pedantic teacher, and Banxi Bashot the garrulous butcher. But this time they were accompanied by someone else. Uwg Podsi narrowed his eyes as behind Banxi Bashot came a newcomer dressed in a blue suit with ivory buttons, carrying a whiff of turmeric into his abode. He was introduced as Silko Juskovic, a spice trader hailing from the Caspian Sea. Podsi grunted at this information. He didn’t care much for the sea, nor for spices. And he certainly didn’t like the smell of turmeric. “If you’re a friend of Banxi Bashot, then you’re a friend of mine,” he grimaced through gritted teeth. “Come on in, I’d be delighted to welcome you to our little game.”

As was customary for such evenings, the friends had a cognac toast followed by an invitation from Podsi to make use of his banya before the game began. And as Banxi Bashot thwacked the host with birch twigs, he conspiratorially mentioned that Mr Juskovic was renowned for miraculous and skilled work with his cards. Podsi scoffed, knowing there was not a cat in hell’s chance that he would be beaten by this olive-skinned sea merchant at Quips, the game selected for the evening.

Indeed, as the men sat down at the card table fresh from the banya, the game looked like it might follow its usual course, with an exasperated Jastain being played out swiftly. “I might trust you for medical advice, doctor, but I will never consult you regarding monetary matters” hooted Uwg Podsi, as he pocketed the earnings of the physician.

Podsi then proceeded to defeat a whinnying Polycog, who whimpered that he was sure he’d been cheated, before defeating Bashot, who congratulated Podsi with an amiable slap on the back and a hearty belch, as he romped through another plate of snacks dutifully delivered by Forja to the table.

At this point on a typical evening, Podsi would normally be declared the winner of his little circle of friends and serve out a couple more rounds of cognac before sending them off into the night. But this wasn’t a normal evening. The swarthy stranger Juskovic remained in the game, eyeing his host with a smirk. And through the miasma of sweat and booze Podsi glared back at his guest, who seemed annoyingly unaffected by the heaving amount of alcohol he’d consumed, unlike Bashot, Jastain and Polycog, who were all trolleyed, jostling each other oafishly as they looked on at the two remaining players.

Heated by his animus for his unruffled opponent, Podsi decided to up the stakes. “Okay stranger, you’re all smart and savvy, but if I win the next round, you give me that beautiful pocket watch of yours, okay?” Before Juskovic could answer, the beautiful Forja whirled into the room with a tray of tea and sugared sweets. She carefully poured the tea for Podsi and each of his friends, focusing last on Juskovic, who smiled with undisguised lust at this dazzling Aphrodite.

“I agree to your challenge” said Juskovic primly in answer to Podsi, as Forja waltzed back to the kitchen. “If you win the next round, you take my watch. And if I win the next round…”

He smiled for dramatic effect, took off his glasses and blew on them, giving them a gleaming polish with his handkerchief.

“If I defeat you, you will give me your wife to sleep with as a prize.”

There was a gasp from the assembly of old men, and Podsi began to swell with fury like a puffed up, put out bullfrog. “How dare you! My wife is not some chattel I put up for sale to my dearest friends, let alone some peacock-coloured pretender!” He poured out another cognac to his guests as he continued. “Besides, you would never beat me.” He clicked his fingers, summoning Forja into the room to replenish an empty bowl of sweets, and gave her a loud kiss on the lips, much to her annoyance and pie-eyed cheers from Bashot, Polygog and Jastain.

If this scene had intended to intimidate Juskovic, it failed. He sat Sphinx-like and unperturbed during Podsi’s slobbering display of affection, and once Forja had left the room, he smiled at his host. “I see you are a man of principle, and I respect you for that. But perhaps I can twist your arm yet. How about we raise the stakes further?” He pulled out an embroidered box from which he proceeded to take out an array of jewels and stones the likes of which the village had never seen before – amethysts, rubies, jaspers and topazes of all shapes and sizes so that the table began to resemble an Aladdin’s cave of sparkles and riches.

“Perhaps I’m a fool to place my whole fortune on the table” said Juskovic. “However, I am blinded by the beauty of your wife. Let us play one more round. You win, you take my jewels. I win, your wife is mine tonight.” Podsi’s eyes bulged and glowed with amphibian avarice. Would this buffoon really stake such riches for a night of pleasure with a mortal woman? Idiot. “Done. Let’s play” he grunted, and they proceeded to the final round.

The reason for Podsi’s success as a card player was in no small part down to a spare ace. While resembling an ordinary playing card, it was made of an elastic fabric, and could be balled up for careful concealment at any moment. He hadn’t used it so far this evening, but would do so if needed, having placed it under the sugar bowl before his visitors arrived.

The last round started. Through a thick, chastening fug of cigar smoke, an onlooker would be able to make out three drunk, corpulent men gazing on at an agitated, lobster-faced farmer and an eerily calm merchant slapping cards on the table in an intense flurry of action. “Come on!” ejaculated Bashot, the batrachian butcher with his customarily irritable, gurgling rasp. “Whoever is irritated, that person is a slave. Have patience and let the game take its natural course” cawed Polygog, with a beady-eyed sagacious nod in Bashot’s direction, receiving a withering stare in response.

The time came to reveal the final hand. Podsi was one ace short of a Septic Locus! His fingertips perused the base of the sugar bowl, but the secret card wasn’t there. Where was it? “Come ON, gentlemen” wheezed Bashot excitedly. Podsi’s heart pounded as he revealed his hand. An Artful Toad – three aces and two kings. Juskovic screamed in triumph as he slammed his hand on the table. The Devil’s Clam! A ten, Jack, Queen, King and Ace of spades. “I thank you again for your hospitality Mr Podsi, and call upon you all, friends, to observe that I have triumphed here. Your wife is mine tonight.”

“NO! You DON’T mean” … chorused Podsi’s three friends in horrified unison. Or was it glee? Podsi was too shocked to speak. His jaw dropped like a bag full of grapes falling down a flight of stairs. And then he bowed his head in resignation. All he could do was give his assent to this devilish tryst. A deal was a deal, and the the slippery merchant would be the master of his dear Forja for a night. He ushered Juskovic into his bedroom with a mournful moan that shook every pane of glass in the house. “This is how marriages end, my friend” said Jastain with a wintry smile. “Only if the relevant parties assent, do nuptials meet their end” crowed Polycog with an omniscient smirk, delighted to clarify the situation with his adroit knowledge of arcane marital statutes. Bashot the butcher, for want of anything else to say, chuckled and slapped the disconsolate Podsi on the back.

Forja stood outside the bedroom with her face in her hands, crying and begging not to be dishonoured by the stranger. “It’s just this evening, my dearest flower, but we shall never speak of it again,” stammered Podsi with flailing arms.

“Oh, but you shall!” chorused his jubilant friends with lavish helpings of schadenfreude. “You wait and see! Nobody will forget this in a hurry!”

Podsi blanched. He didn’t have the strength to shoo his three friends home that night, and they seemed perfectly content to perch on the chaise longue on the landing outside the matrimonial bedroom, chortling at their host’s anguished face as he paced up and down the landing, shaking his fist at the door to his bedroom, from which there came unmistakable cries of rapture from Silko Juskovic, and yelps of bliss from Forja as they made frenzied love on the four poster bed.

The next day, once Juskovic had bid a jovial farewell to the house, replete with a laboured doffing of his cap and twirl of his moustache, thanking Podsi for being the most ‘exemplary and munificent of hosts,’ Uwg Podsi sat at his dining room table while his wife poured him coffee. Podsi hadn’t had a wink of sleep and was ravaged and bleary eyed, but his wife was fresh-faced and full of vim. Was she smirking?

She saw her husband scowling at her and broke the silence.

“My dear Uwg, I’m sure I know nothing about your games, but while I was cleaning up your drinks and preparing for tea yesterday, I noticed there was a card stuck under the sugar bowl. I don’t know how these games work, but I knew there must have been some kind of mistake the card being there. You’re always putting things in the wrong place, you silly thing. Losing your spectacles in the latrine, and our keys in the stables. So, I thought this card probably belonged to the pack. Out of hospitality I slipped the card to Mr Juskovic. I hope you don’t mind?” She beamed angelically and skipped out of the room.