Gambler's Chances

Abstract

* Mistral all of a sudden let up on a Saturday afternoon. I had spent the whole entire morning counting my money, making triple sure I had as much as I thought I had. I was right in the middle of checking the insides of my eyelids in the dresser mirror (just pink means anemia, red means good blood-I was O.K.) when the wind went off. I listened a minute to make sure. Mistral wind is a steady nervous sound like a steam whistle and when it finally lets up you go limp as a rag doll. I sat down on the bed and scratched my back with a hairbrush and relaxed myself. My ears popped some like from high pressure or swimming pool water but I finally got all right. Then I got all excited and got up and counted my money again. So I took my guitar and my gear and took off downhill from Cabris, walking, pocket money folded neat in my pocket, change rattling musical against my hip. Felt like Noah right after the flood, or rather, felt like I just got out of the army, or jail. On the road I jumped over tree branches that got blew down in the wind. One time I stopped to try and wash my face in a waterfall, but I got all wet trying. Took me almost all afternoon to walk to Cannes. I kept feeling in my pocket where my money was and humming soft to myself: I'm a rambler and a gambler and a long way from home.