I was lucky to find a room in an older hotel in Monaco for thirty dollars a night. The room was warm and comfortable, the owners were pleasant, and it was only a few short blocks from the casinos.

I trimmed my beard, put on my tie and jacket, pocketed a wad of my Saudi earnings, and made my way down the quaint little streets to the casinos. I was going to put my fortune to good use.

I would start out small, making fifty dollar bets on the roulette table.

I remembered reading that the author, Dostoyevsky, who had lost huge sums of money on the roulette wheel, had believed that the only true moment of perfection was when a man conceived of the number he was going to bet, and at that moment, within that concept, he existed in a state of perfection, for no one could say what reality would bring.

I bought a scotch and strolled about the casino. I ordered another, a double this time, and neared the roulette wheel. A man and a woman were playing. The limit on the table was equal to two thousand American dollars. I took a deep breath, and studied the wheel, trying to sink into its rhythms. A four appeared. The next number would be a ten. I knew it would be. Nine months in the lonely Arab desert had put me in better touch with my psychic self. The croupier flicked the white ball while at the same time spinning the numbered wheel. Around it went, and with decisive clicks the ball jumped from number to number until it rested in the eleven slot.

Not ten, but close.

My nerves had come alive and were tingling with excitement. All of my attention was focused on the wheel. Here I go, I told myself. There was no sense in waiting any longer. I could bet mentally for the rest of my life, but Id eventually lose my mind.

I went into the restroom and splashed cold water on my face and took several deep breaths. Those were long months in Saudi Arabia, I told my reckless side. You managed to save a thousand dollars during each of those long months, and now you want to lose in an instant what it took you a month to save? But when would I have this much capital again? Eventually Id blow it on rooms and trains anyway. Wouldnt it be better to gain another years worth of work in Saudi Arabia in one night at Monaco? It would be as if I had worked two years down there.

I went back to the tables. The crisp new Franc notes felt dry in my sweaty hands. I cashed in two thousand dollars worth.

My first bet came to mind instantly after I had the chips in my hand. A thousand dollars on black. I wasnt going to waste time making small bets. The chances were fifty fifty that I would hit it. Before I could even think I placed a stack of chips equivalent to one thousand dollars on black. The man and woman who had been the only players looked up at me, nodding respectfully.

The croupier spun the wheel and flicked the ball between his fingers. At the last moment the woman placed a fifty dollar bet near mine on black. The wheel spun; my eyes riveted on its gyrations around the numbers. It clicked, bounced, jumped from red to black, black to red and then rested safely in black.

The woman smiled; the croupier pushed a stack of chips near my bet.

I let the bet ride.

The wheel spun; the ball danced. Again the black came up. The couple at the table smiled and congratulated me.

I was three thousand ahead.

Enough already, I thought, you dont want to lose. Youve paid for your trip out of Saudi, your stay in Egypt and Greece, with plenty to spare, yet three more bets, three more winning bets, and youll match the amount you saved in Saudi. But what if I lose? But youre winning. Why think about losing?

Place your bets, sil vous plait, called the croupier.

I moved my bet to red.

Two more bets to go to match my savings.

Black! A voice screamed within me. I placed my bet back on black. Red! The voice screamed, and I moved my chips to red.

The wheel spun, the ball danced and jumped. I wondered if I could pull my bet. Why not take my earnings and run? It was too late, wasnt it? The game was in progress.

The ball plopped into red.

I scooped up my winnings, left a thousand franks for the croupier, and fled.

I made my way back to Paris, where I stayed a week at the Etna Hotel on the Rue de St. Anne. I caught up on movies, cappuccinos, and croissants.

But, I had a summer school position waiting for me in England, and I craved the companionship of my friends, so I crossed the channel for Folkestone, smiling inwardly. For the time being I was a little ahead of the game. It would be a relaxing summer.