Hustler

   On a recent visit to Venice, I was moving through a crowd in a tourist area, admiring the sunset over the city from a bridge over the Grand Canal. I came upon a cup-and-ball hustler; he was on his knees on a mat, working his little paper boxes rapidly back and forth, and haranguing the crowd with a stream of patter in Italian. We saw him drop the little pea-sized white ball under one of the boxes, then shuffle the boxes rapidly back and forth. It wasn't very hard to follow where the ball would be, and on top of that, at the end he slightly fumbled the box with his finger, so one could briefly catch a glimpse of the ball underneath. A man in the crowd put the toe of his shoe on the wrong box(!), and dropped a €50 bill down on the mat. Of course he lost, and there was a visible reaction through the crowd, as the operator scooped up the bill and rapidly began the game again, haranguing us in his rapid Italian to watch closely and put down our money. I was impressed at how cleverly he once more "accidentally” tipped the box up at the end of his rapid shuffling, to give us just the briefest glance of the ball’s location. Of course I was aware that the “loser” was the man's accomplice, and I was fascinated at how the game would proceed. At this point a man next to me leaned over very friendly, and asked, “Italiano?”
    I answered, “No, Americano.”
    “Oh, I love Americanos!” He put his arm around me and began showering me with blandishments in English, while the game proceeded and another man had just lost his money on an obviously wrong guess. Another accomplice. My new friend was remarking how foolish the man was; “We could see the whole thing, eh?”
    I was highly amused at this point, and I was also tightly clutching my shoulder bag against my body, aware that pickpockets were a serious problem in this area. With the other hand I was holding my beer bottle, which I had bought from a street vendor, and which had no doubt marked me as the patsy for this round. Noticing my hesitation to hazard my own money in the game, the operator paused and looked up at me with a conspiratorial smile, and handed me a €50 note, practically touching me with it. I backed off a step, careful not to bump anybody behind me, and my new friend said, “Take it! Just for the show; for the show!” I adamantly refused, and the game proceeded rapidly; again the slight "accidental” tip-up of the box, revealing the ball’s location. Again, I was handed the €50 note. “Come on!” my friend wheedled, ”Take it, take it! Just for the show, eh? For the show!” Clutching my shoulder bag even tighter against my body, I held up the beer bottle between me and the note. I'm not sure what the game was at that point, only sure that I must not touch their money. And the last thing you want to do in that crowd, is reveal where you keep your own valuables; certainly many sharp eyes will be upon you.
    At that point the operator suddenly swept up his rig, folding it up in the mat, and the whole group rapidly melted away into the crowd. I called out after my new friend, “Good luck!” He paused long enough to look over his shoulder at me with an angry snarl, and growled, “Good luck.”
    My wife had been standing a little apart, and had seen that I was inside a tight crowd, but didn't know what was happening. I told her the whole story and she remarked, “Oh boy. They had no idea who they were picking.”