Jean was looking at his two grandsons from his cosy armchair by the lit fireplace, but he didn't really see them. He was absorbed in his awful, tormenting thoughts, worried about his son Jake, the boys' father, who was in the hospital, in a coma.
Two long weeks have passed since Jake was sent back from Afghanistan, gravely injured. His injuries were so bad that the hospital specialists opted for a medically induced coma, to help him heal better.
These two weeks were the most agonising days, hours and minutes of Jean's life. Only now he truly understood how his own parents must have felt when he was a young soldier, on duty in the most dangerous places of the world. But, unfortunately, the constant fear was a part of his family's life for a very long time now. Jean descended from a centuries long line of soldiers.
Now, when he grew too old for the service, it was his turn to wait at home, worried. His duty was to look after his grandsons, who were moved to his house while their mother, Yuko, was spending days and nights in the hospital, waiting for Jake, her husband, his own son, to wake up. But as the days passed, it seemed that they were both hoping for a miracle.
The boys' voices, becoming louder and louder, pulled him back to the present moment. Soon, they would start arguing and Jean needed to prevent that. Because once they started, they would shout at each other for a good while and then, at least one of them, would run up the stairs to the bedroom they were sharing in their granddad's house, in tears.
The room that once belonged to their father, who was now fighting for his life... Jean's cruel memory brought back to him scattered images of his past life, a few random snapshots of happy moments, when his wife was still alive and Jake was just a little boy, as old as his sons now. The old man contemplated the warm, cheerful fire, tears threatening. This way of thinking was not helpful at all.
Jean shook his head to disturb the train of thoughts that kept taking him back to his Jake. He had a serious problem to solve right here and now. He needed to restore the peace between his beloved grandsons.
The old man observed the two quietly for a few minutes, to assess the situation. There was a battle going on the old, nearly thread-bare carpet of his living room floor. Plastic toy soldiers in two different colours, which once belonged to their father, were placed strategically all over the place. Looking at the positions the two kids have chosen for their warriors, he nodded in agreement, and a rare smile tugged at the corners of his lips. Jean felt proud of his grandsons. Like himself, and their father, they had the art of war strategy coursing through their veins.
Right now, obviously unable to decide about something in their pretend war, they were playing stone-paper-scissors, but, as usually, it wasn't going too well. None of the two was great at loosing a game. Jean needed to intervene. Fast.
"Hey, boys, what's going on?" he asked, still unable to see the reason of their discord.
"The Silver General, granddad. It was supposed to be mine this time!" the younger one, eight-years-old Jean, his namesake, called, his eyes sparkling with angry, barely supressed tears.
Of course, that was the problem, the General! The only figurine made of shiny, cool, silvery metal, in the sea of red and green plastic soldiers. He noticed it now, laying on the floor between the arguing boys, on a neutral territory. A prize to be won in the game of ro-sham-bo, by one or the other.
"Liar!" Hiro, the other, twelve-years-old boy, or rather a young man, retorted. He looked much more Japanese, with his shock of black hair and dark brown, almond-shaped eyes than his little, blond brother. The name he inherited after his other grandfather from across the ocean suited him perfectly. "Just because you are the baby of the house doesn't mean you always have to have the General!"
"Boys! There's no need to argue," Jean interrupted them.
It was late in the evening. They were tired and nervous, not really in the right mood to play. The stress of the recent days was influencing them, too. The boys haven't really seen their father properly over the last couple of years, and now that he was in the hospital, they were not sure if they would ever see him again.
"Just leave everything out for tomorrow, and come over here," Jean said, inviting them to sit on the sofa, next to his armchair.
Little Jean obliged without any hesitation, joining the old man by the crackling fire, his look following the lively, yellow flames dancing in the grate. "Will you tell us a story, please?" he begged, after a while.
"Sure, Jean. Which one would you like to hear?" The granddad replied, patting the little one on the head affectionately.
"Not the one about the stone- paper-scissors game again. I still remember it, how it was invented in China, then spread to Japan and was brought over here, to America, by our mom's ancestors..." Hiro said, still sitting on the floor, sulking. He was too grown up to listen to his old grandfather retelling the same stories...
"Ok, fine, no problem. A brand new story then. Hmmm..." The old man scratched his forehead, thinking hard. They were not too easy to please, his boys.
After a few moments his bushy, grey eyebrows, as thick and unruly as his hair, shot up, and he exclaimed victoriously, "I know!"
Hiro joined his younger brother on the sofa, and they both looked at their granddad expectantly.
"What is it about, granddad?" Jean asked, his question followed immediately by a huge yawn. He definitely did not seem to be in a condition to hear the story until the end, anyway.
"Well, it's about a general, just like the one you've got there," he said, nodding towards the small, shiny figurine, that now lay abandoned and momentarily forgotten in the middle of the pretend war field. "A French general, whose surname was very similar to ours. A great soldier who might have been one of our ancestors, Jean Baptiste Rochambeau." The old man's serious voice seemed to reverberate off the walls of the room, claiming the boys' complete attention. Old Jean was a skilled storyteller.
"Just because his surname was Rochambeau, and our is Rocham, doesn't mean we are related to him. Like, we are half Japanese." Hiro stated, rolling his eyes at his grandfather.
"And your grandmother was American, yes, I can see your point. But, don't forget that I'm French, even though I grew up here, like you two. That your mom comes from Japan, doesn't mean that you can't be descendants of the great Count Rochambeau."
"Wait, granddad, how did you call him? Ro-sham-bo? Is this another tale about rock-paper-scissors, then?" Hiro asked.
"This story is about the legendary George Washington and his great enemy, british General Lord Cornwallis, who was sent to America by the British King George III, Hiro. Also, it is about a clever French general, Washington's friend, a huge fan of the game of rock-paper-scissors..."
Hiro opened his mouth, ready to contradict again, but little Jean beat him this time. "Be quiet Hiro, I want to hear the story!" he whined.
Hiro only raised his hands in a silent defeat, slumping down against the plump, comfortable cushions of the sofa.
"Come on granddad, you can talk now," Jean prompted him, impatient to hear the new story.
"Once upon a time in France, there was a young boy, like you two. He grew up surrounded by luxury, his family was quite rich and important. But, he was the second son. Do you know what did it mean for him, in France, in the 18th century?"
"Was he supposed to become a priest or something like that?" Hiro asked tentatively.
"Good, Hiro! See, the first son of an important family was to become a soldier, the second was always destined for the Church. So, our Jean Baptiste, because that was his name, was sent to study to a college of the Jesuits. He didn't really mind, most people back then accepted their destiny, their duties, without any complaints.
But soon, his older brother died, and that changed everything. As the only remaining son of his father, who was a lieutenant general of the French army, he had to become a soldier.
So he left the school, and joined the army. The young Count Rochambeau proved to be such an incredibly talented soldier that after a few years of service, the King Louis XVI himself appointed him Governor of Picardy and Artois."
Jean paused, afraid that his story might be too boring for the two kids, but they were sitting still, hanging on his every word, waiting for the story to go on.
"After that, Rochambeau was sent to many different military campaigns, becoming still more famous. When the Colonial War broke out here, and the Americans asked the French to help them against the British, Louis XVI sent him. Count Rochambeau was appointed to the command of the army that was destined to support the American patriots. He obtained from his King permission the increase the number of soldiers to six thousand men. The Count sailed to America with five great ships and landed in Rhode Island in 1780.
Some time later, he joined Washington's army at Phillipsburg. Together, they arrived at Williamsburg in Virginia. There, they planned the following campaign, and the Siege of Yorktown was begun. Count Rochambeau was supposed to help George Washington, and so he did."
Jean paused again, noticing that the younger one of the boys had fallen asleep. He took a blanket, which lay neatly folded on the back of the sofa, and wrapped it around little Jean. The child looked so peaceful and relaxed in his sleep.
"I've heard about this one at school." Hiro stated in a low voice. He didn't want to wake his younger brother up. "This was the decisive battle of the Revolutionary War, against the British army and the King George III."
"Well done Hiro, good knowledge! So you'll also know about the highest ever stakes game of rock-paper-scissors, or ro-sham-bo, as it's sometimes called." Jean continued his story, smiling.
"Never heard of this..." Hiro started saying, but then his eyes widened with a sudden realisation. "Are you suggesting that ro-sham-bo is called after the Count Rochambeau because..."
"...because he came up with the idea that George Washington would play it against the British general Cornwallis, yes. I'm not making this up though, don't look at me like that." Jean said, chuckling. "I've read it somewhere."
"So you are saying that two famous generals, one British and the other American, played a game of rock-paper-scissors during the Siege of Yorktown, beacause Count Rochambeau, another general, thought it was a good idea?" Hiro asked, scrutinizing his granddad, suspecting that he was just being made fun of.
"Yes, that's more less what I've read about this story." Jean answered Hiro's question, looking at the fire again. "See, the loss of lives was great on both sides. Too many soldiers have died already, and many more would die, if the generals could not solve the conflict soon."
"But, a game of rock-paper-scissors? The winner takes it all? Really?" Hiro shook his head. "I can't believe this."
"Why, Hiro?" Jean insisted. "In the past, throughout the history, kingdoms, or even families were lost in games of cards, and wars were fought over women. Why two clever generals, seeing how equal their forces were, and what a disastrous loss of lives the battle had caused, would not try to resolve it in some, any, better way?"
Jean looked at Hiro, who remained silent this time, considering his grandfather's words.
"Let's say they did it then," the boy said finally. They accepted to play a game of ro-sham-bo. What was at stake?"
"The victory of the battle of Yorktown, of course. General Cornwallis lost the game, and he and his troops had to leave Yorktown. But do you know what was the best thing about winning this battle for Washington? That it proved to be a decisive victory for all the Colonial War. After this battle, things started to improve for the Americans, and eventually, they won the war and their independence from the British rulers," Jean explained, his eyes full of excitement. All this war talk was making him feel very enthusiastic and energetic, he imagined himself like a young soldier again.
"Wow!" Hiro exclaimed, appreciating the story. "I bet general Cornwallis would not have agreed to the game so easily, if he had suspected how much his loss would cost George III, his King!"
"I think so, too. But with games of chance, you never know how they will result, and the stakes are usually high. It takes an adventurous soul to take such risks. And once the dice are cast, so to say...well, you just have to accept the outcome, whatever it is," Jean concluded his tale musingly.
"That was a great story granddad, will you please repeat it tomorrow for Jean, once he wakes up? I'm sure he would love it." Hiro asked, looking at the little one sleeping peacefully next to him.
"Sure I will," Jean agreed, pleased, "I just thought you did not like to listen to repeated tales." He smiled and winked at Hiro, who returned his smile.
"You are absolutely right, granddad, but this one was just special. Can I ask you why do you think we might be related to General Rochambeau? He seems to have been quite a cool guy."
This declaration made Jean laugh.
"Well, you see, all my part of our family comes from France, from the region where Rochambeau was born and grew up. Also, our surname is very close to his, and many of our ancestors were brave soldiers. I have never paid much attention to my family tree, but if you are interested, we could do some research together. It could be our little, fun project."
"That sounds great, granddad!" Hiro agreed straight away. "I can't wait to start."
"Fine. But right now it's really late, you need to go to bed. I guess we will just let Jean sleep on the sofa tonight. You go upstairs, I'll join you in a minute." Jean said, standing up from his armchair gingerly and walking to the grate, to make sure the fire was properly out before he went upstairs to sleep.
"Good night, granddad, thanks for the story." Hiro called to him from the bottom of the stairs leading to the bedrooms.
"Night, Hiro," he responded, as his phone buzzed to life. Yuko's name was illuminated against the dark screen.
"Hi there," he said quietly, not wanting to wake up Jean, or alarm Hiro, who stopped in the middle of the staircase watching him, listening.
"Oh, thanks God." He said, after a long while of listening intently to Yuko's words, interrupted often by silent sobs. "Of course, we will see you in the hospital tomorrow. Sleep well my dear. Thank you."
He ended the call and turned to Hiro.
"Your father woke up, Hiro. He is fine, and out of danger now. He wants us all to come and see him in the hospital tomorrow..." Jean couldn't say anything else. His words were replaced by relieving sobs, his eyesight was lost in tears that finally run freely over his wrinkled cheeks.
Hiro run down the stairs, and embraced his grandfather tightly, his own eyes full of tears he didn't mean to shed in front of the old man.
"That's great news, granddad," he whispered, drying his eyes secretly on the sleeve of his grandfather's shirt. "Now let's go to bed, tomorrow will be a long day."
Hiro walked to the sofa to adjust his sleeping brother's blanket, and stroke his hair. Then he took the still crying old man by his arm, and led him up the stairs.
They all needed a good rest.
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It was the highest stakes game of rock-paper-scissors ever played. Tell us about it in 3000 words or less.