LEWISTON – As the cards stopped falling, the chatter grew.

It didn’t last, though.

“North, you’re not keeping your tables quiet,” Lucille Theriault said with the air of a disapproving teacher.

At once, the former classroom hushed. Throats cleared. Talk of the TV, warm weather and grandchildren silenced.

The players began their next hand. The game came first.

For more than 50 years, people from around the region have been gathering for what’s often called the most difficult card game ever: duplicate bridge.

“It’s a hard game to learn,” said Theriault, 75. “You can go your whole life and still have more to learn.

“It keeps the little gray cells moving,” she said.

That’s one of the reasons the Lewiston-Auburn Duplicate Bridge Club has remained active all these years.

The average age is about 65.

Most members are retirees, folks whose daily lives have room for a Tuesday morning or a Wednesday evening card game that typically lasts three and a half hours.

There’s no official membership roster. People who know the game merely show up. Players are charged $3 for the game. The money merely covers expenses.

On this Tuesday, 14 teams of two played at seven card tables.

Positions at the table are divided by the signs of the compass. Teammates face each other at east and west and again at north and south.

First, they bid, silently placing colored cards on the table. Then they take turns dropping playing cards in front of them, stacking them in neat rows.

In this game, 28 different decks are circulated among the teams and the tables. By the end, each team has played with each deck and each person’s hand is already dealt.

By making sure everyone gets the same cards, luck is eliminated. It’s the way the teams play the cards that makes the difference. The subtleties can take a lifetime to maneuver.

“Every hand is a new adventure,” said Betty Sise of Auburn. She’s been playing for years and has yet to play two identical games.

Someone figured the odds once, she said. A million hands would likely pass before one would repeat itself.

Meanwhile, games follow rigid guidelines. The official rule book contains no rules. It calls them laws.

At this game, Theriault doubles as an umpire, settling disputes by following a dog-eared copy of the law book.

Theriault is one of the local club’s 10 or so nationally sanctioned “life masters.” They earn the title by collecting points at the games, some from the American Contact Bridge Club.

“You can go anyplace in the world and make friends,” she said.

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