The Game of Mau

The house is so quiet, it’s hard to imagine there are a half a dozen teenagers sprawled all over our living room furniture. I can hear the buzzing of the air-conditioner outside. The long swish-swashes of my paint brush following along the wood grain of the kitchen cabinet. Our guinea pig nibbling his hay.

A silent game of Mau is in progress.  Cards have been passed around, seemingly simple rules -  twos go on twos, fives on fives, reds on reds, matching numbers, matching colors. How difficult can it be??

Then, somebody clears his throat.

Slap! The fist hits the coffee table, with the extra card sliding off the edge.

Penalty for coughing!

What?

Penalty for talking!

Another slap, another card flies across the table.

But…!

Penalty for protesting!!

Yet another card flies accompanied with another slap of the fist on the table.

Everyone bursts into laughter.

Cards fly across the table.

Penalty for laughing. Penalty for laughing…. And penalty for laughing.

The grim-faced Enforcer doles out the penalty cards to everyone, and silence settles again on the room.

I don’t know who invented this game. Mau. 

At the beginning of the game, the only person who knows all the rules is the king Mau. 

It’s a tremendously powerful position to occupy. The king Mau is the ultimate insider. There are few experienced others but king Mau possesses all the key knowledge and sole power to execute punishment. The king Mau is the one (perhaps the only one) having fun.

The rest of the players have to learn the rules by either being penalized for unknowingly breaking them or careful observation of other people’s moves and them being penalized for violating the rules.

Match the number. No talking. Match the color. No coughing. No laughing. No protesting.  Am I allowed to breathe? Is it O.K. to shift my weight, my leg is getting numb?

I marvel at who would invent such a preposterous, even cruel game. And, even more baffling,  

why it is being played at all?!!!  Except, perhaps, that these wild teenagers under my roof must be gluttons for punishment.

My husband says that the game has probably originated from someone who lived in a cross-cultural setting, because that’s how it feels to be an outsider. A misfit. A forever out-of-step newbie speaking with an extraterrestrial accent.

Even if you are fluent in language, you are bound do break some of the billion unspoken rules. Every day. Forced to learn them by being penalized for breaking them. Perhaps not slapped with a penalty card or a fist... but words sting as much, as do the looks.

It takes some time for his comment to sink in. But, slowly, ever so slowly, the game of Mau is beginning to make more sense.  A lot more sense.

Just then there is an uproar in the living room as Collin shoves the coffee table, cards cascading all over the floor.

I quit! I don’t care anymore! This is insane…

The rest of the group burst into laughter, perhaps relieved that the torture is finally over, but I can't help but feel for the boy. Can’t blame him at all. For, once you’ve been a player, you finally begin to understand why some people are tempted to rage-quit a game like that.