A Month in the Heart of the Country
It was that time of your life when you've just left school, finished your exams, reached the legal drinking age and feel like you can do anything and be anybody.
I was eighteen years old, skinny, bookish, shy with girls, a bit lonely, constantly horny. I was inhibited, to the point that after physical education in school I always changed under a towel. I didn't have many friends, and the only thing all my friends had in common is that they were my friends. I hung out with some of the rich guys, some of the weirdos, some of the rebels, some of the hippyish types, and all of them wondered what I saw in the other ones.
So when Chris invited me on a holiday in the country with Steve, Ray, Danny and Peter, I was a bit surprised. The five of them were all among the rich guys. They spent a lot of money on clothes and their taste in music, unlike mine, was dictated by what was fashionable. I was a music geek and I defiantly liked things that were unfashionable. I wasn't sure why Chris was inviting me until he said, "And we were just thinking, it'd be cool to hang out, you know, spend some time out there and be free and do some drinking, and I thought maybe you'd be interested in coming along, because most of us can't cook for shit, so..."
That was why they wanted me: to do the cooking. I smiled to myself, holding the phone receiver in my hand. Of course they didn't want me for my company. But I liked cooking, and I needed practice, and it would be interesting to be the only one out there providing food, and then Chris told me to bring my guitar, so perhaps they also appreciated that I was the only musical one. I told him I'd think about it. I asked my parents if they minded and they said they didn't, so I emailed Chris to say yes.
Chris picked me up in one of his family's cars, a big station wagon, one Saturday morning. Besides my guitar, I had a couple of pots and pans, a good kitchen knife and some herbs and spices, because I was under no illusion that the local shop would have much in the way of exotic ingredients.
Chris was an okay driver who thought he was a great driver. He was selfish and shouted a lot at people who got in his way, which was a lot of people because he drove too fast. We criss-crossed the suburbs that morning, picking up all the other guys, and then at last we had a full load and we headed out of the city into the country.
It was a long drive and I had to tolerate Chris' crappy music selection on the car stereo. All the guys were excited at the prospect of the four weeks ahead. There was a lot of talk about how many girls they were going to pick up and how much drinking they were going to do. I was mostly quiet. I knew better. I suspected that we'd spend most of our time watching DVDs, drinking and getting stoned, and there would be no girls, no sex of any kind, apart from a lot of private masturbation late at night in your own room.
I was wrong about that.
The house was pretty big and a long way away from anywhere. Nobody lived in it, it was owned by Chris's family and rented out for weddings and events. It had a lot of rooms and the other guys were quick to claim the best ones. I had a small room which was almost entirely filled by an oversized bed. It was as if they had a small room and a big bed left over after they'd done all the others, so they just stuck them together.
Once we'd got settled in, we set off for the local pub. We soon realised that we wouldn't be making that trip very often, because the local pub was four miles away down dark winding roads. This was depressing, and as we all sat drinking we were more depressed by the knowledge that we were going to have to walk back. There were some attractive women in the pub, but they were all with men who looked like their husbands or boyfriends, and they were all older than us, most of them looking like they were in their late twenties. Steve made a remark about mothers he'd like to fuck and we all had a laugh about that, but when closing time came we got out and tottered home in a gloomy silence.
We woke up the next day, all a bit hungover, and we planned a shopping trip. We went out and bought staples, plus ingredients for dinner, plus enormous quantities of beer. We sat around reading and looking for porn on the internet and playing Wii. Some of us got stoned - not me, I didn't like smoking.
When evening came round, we realised that our first full day had passed and we'd done precisely none of the cool things we'd come down to do. We had no way of meeting girls short of going to the pub, but the pub was too far away unless we drove, and if we drove one of us had to stay sober, and none of us wanted to stay sober.
Steve said that we had to start thinking of cool things to do, and we all agreed that we would. I would have quite liked to go for walks in the countryside. I liked nature and I was interested in trees and animals and birds, but I knew better than to suggest this. The other guys were all more confident than me, anyway. I was content to do what they wanted to do. In any case, I was reading a good novel and I didn't need constant stimulation the way they did.
All the same, by the Thursday of the first week we were going mad with boredom. We'd read most of what we'd brought with us. We'd played most of the games. We'd watched most of the films. The high, exciting time we'd imagined was not panning out.
And so it was, that Thursday night, after dinner, that Steve came out with the suggestion that would ultimately make that month in the country the most memorable and extraordinary month of my life. It wasn't always the most enjoyable month. Some of it was downright grueling. But we all came away from it changed, me most of all.
It was an innocent enough suggestion to begin with. I had cooked us pasta and we were all feeling content. We had been drinking red wine, which had gone to our heads. We felt like a mafia crew hiding out, we were the guys, we were a unit. My cooking skills had been praised in fake Italian accents.
Steve lit up a joint and passed it around. For once, I had a draw on it. Maybe that's why what happened happened.
"We should play poker," he said.
There wasn't much enthusiasm for this. None of us were much good at cards and we didn't want to gamble for money.
"Here's the kicker," he said. "We'll have a scale of, like, forfeits. We'll work out who won the most, and maybe he doesn't have to do the washing up for a week, or whatever. Next biggest winner doesn't owe a round for two days. Next biggest winner gets a free drink by the rest. And so on down."
"What sort of forfeits?" said Peter.
"I dunno," said Steve.
"I know," said Danny. "The biggest loser has to do whatever we want."
There was silence.
"Like what?" said Chris, looking interested.
"Like, anything," said Danny with an evil grin. "And I mean anything."
"What if he says no?" I asked.
"Then he has to do all the washing up for the entire rest of the holiday," said Steve. That was about the worst thing any of us could think of, and we all laughed.
"I'm in," said Chris.
"Me too," said Peter.
One by one, we all agreed to Danny's suggestion. The unspoken fear was of what, precisely, the biggest loser might be required to do - eat a cowpat? Something more disgusting? Danny had the weirdest imagination of us all, but Chris was naturally the one with the highest status. It would probably be he who would enforce the ruling.
We all started to play. None of us were very good, but I was surprised to find that I was one of the better ones. I didn't win every hand, but I didn't get cleaned out, either.
We all played conservatively, none of us wanting to end up at the bottom of the list. Chris grumbled about the number of folds that we were making, but Danny merely murmured "Remember, anything we want..." and Chris shut up.
As it got closer to midnight, we were all getting impatient for the game to end and a result to happen. Steve suggested that we call the current hand the last one. Peter was the one keeping track of the score. We all agreed.
When I got my two cards, I was delighted to find that I had a great hand: two tens. The next card was another ten, and with three of a kind I was confident that I could beat the others.
I decided to bet high. If I could shut them out, I could do it. It worked. One by one they sighed and threw in their cards.
