FICTION: Amorous Oilman

TAMPICO—Joseph Hergesheimer —Knopf ($2.50). To a forest of oil wells, peopled by Mexican bandits, derelict Yankees, greasy drillers, dollar-brained exploiters and always, always, their perfumes clinging, their bodies twining and hinting as only a close observer of exotic flesh could make them twine and hint, women of extreme temperature waiting in cafes, hotel lobbies and upper chambers, Govett Bradier, oil baron extraordinary, returns to complete the theft of an associate’s wife, Vida Carew. He is convalescent from malaria but chronically passion-ridden. What time he hangs around Tampico, small bright knives slip out of sheer hosiery and into brawny thoraces; frost accumulates on silver buckets and shakers; glasses tink; bottles crash on skulls; one girl smokes cigars, nude; another refuses $100. After many sultry but incessantly swift, surprising events, involving a lot of good Mexican history and accurate swearing, Govett Bradier boards a tanker for the U. S., discouraged with the oil industry and possessed of the illuminating discoveries that all the women who ever appealed to him were alike; that none did him any good.

Author Hergesheimer is repeatedly accused of vulgarity, never of slack workmanship. Hot color, detail as meticulously perfect as a showgirl’s makeup, are his special contribution to serious letters. Sometimes a deep pulse of life makes itself felt, sometimes an incomparable atmosphere passes over the hard surfaces, as in Java Head and The Three Black Pennys. But mostly, labor faithfully though he obviously does, Author Hergesheimer remains a short-range camera, loaded with a thick film. “No Grifolifes”

LENZ ON BRIDGE—Sidney S. Lenz —Simon & Schuster ($2). The famed Messrs. Whitehead, Work and Foster bow unhesitantly to Mr. Sidney Lenz as exalted grand master and court of last resort at the green baize. “He is,” says Mr. Whitehead, “undoubtedly the most remarkable card player the world has ever seen.” Realizing that he can see his championship calibre friends almost any day at the club, Mr. Lenz has written his book for the people that ask who dealt, as well as for dollar-a-pointers. It is complete from cut to shuffle, with an extension course for graduate finessers.

It was Sidney S. Lenz, they say, who brought auction bridge to the Western world. Originally a box-manufacturer in Michigan, he had tried all indoor sports and wearied of them through sheer dexterity. He had bowled and become a champion. The ping and pong of pingpong, in all their manifold trajectories, were so simple to his touch that it became a bore for him to play with most people, unless he had a book to read at the same time. His bureau drawers were cluttered with medals for billiards, his shelves with cups for golf. He went off around the world.

In Darjeeling one day, under mighty Everest and Kangchanjunga, he came upon three disconsolate British officers at a table playing cards. They were whist players, he could see at a glance. Lacking a fourth;* they were playing a makeshift game where the extra hand was called “dummy” and the dealer named his trump, instead of turning one up as in old-time whist. By this means they bridged the tedious hours between lunch and tiffin, tiffin and dinner, breakfast and lunch. Ultimately it became the custom to have a “dummy” even when four players were available.

Mr. Lenz played this new-fangled “bridge” for months that year (1894). Then he sailed from Bombay for Aden. It was one drowsy day on shipboard, he says (though this story is not recorded in his book), that he encountered three more men looking for a fourth at cards. Two were Britishers, the third a tall Parsee with thin lips and long fingers. Running into this blackamoor’s beard from his right eyebrow was a deep scar, made by a scimitar. “I had met the man before,” says Mr. Lenz, “and for no particular reason took a violent dislike to him.”

The Britishers suggested stakes of ten-rupees per hundred points. Politely, precisely the Parsee said: “I never play bridge for less than 30 rupees.”

The rest swallowed their annoyance. Mr. Lenz dealt. His hand contained nine Clubs to the four top honors; the king and queen of Spades; the aces of Hearts and Diamonds. “No Trumps,” said he, and his opponents could but lead or double.

“The Parsee,” relates Mr. Lenz, “at once doubled. Exultantly, I redoubled. After a moment’s hesitation, he again doubled, and I went back at him again and again until the stake was at a fabulous amount. . . .

“Hastily I looked my cards over . . . there was no mistake; the hand was good for at least eleven tricks. … I noticed that the officer’s [partner’s] face was ghastly white, and running over the doubles, I saw that each trick was worth almost $8,000! Although I felt humiliated to give in to this —this—native, I called a halt and waited for him to lead.

“Instead of playing at once he stared at me in a peculiar, penetrating way. I foolishly wondered if the bounder was trying to hypnotize me. I looked away, and at that moment he led!

“The card was an ace—but it wasn’t a Club—or a Spade—or a Heart—or a Diamond! It was a strange, symbolic affair with curious figures of pagan idols, with many radiating arms.

“I was fascinated.

“The dummy put down a perfectly worthless hand and I discarded one of my Clubs.

” ‘No GrifFolifes?’ asked my partner in a wan and miserable voice.

“‘No Griffolifes,’ I repeated hopelessly.

“The Parsee gathered in the trick with exasperating deliberation . . . gloating, malevolent. . . . He proceeded to play nine of those diabolical cards. . . .”

It ran into a grand slam. “For a moment there was deadly silence. Then with a sneering, leering motion, the Parsee brought his evil countenance close to my face and said: ‘Possibly my Yankee friend—’

“That is as far as he got! I was wild with rage and bitterness; I must insult him if it was my last act. I quickly reached up, grabbed hold of his long beard and gave it a violent jerk. To my unutterable horror his head came off in my hands and—I woke up!”*

*It has been said that they could have had a fourth player had they deigned to play with their subalterns. *Other versions of Bridge’s ancient “green suit” story substitute for Mr. Lena’s Parsee a traveling salesman, Pat and Mike, a pink elephant.