Pick-a-card-any-card

My uncle was well known for his ideas both preposterous and profound, his favourite among them being that all the world's people are merely appendages of a common soul, like the glittering faces of one giant disco-ball. My mother pronounced his mind to be a ray of light trapped in a box of mirrors; when you caught his eyes just right, you got a glint of something wonderful inside.

And what a deplorable genius he was too, especially at that game of pick-a-card-any-card:

'Jack-of-diamonds...'

...he would declare delightedly to our stares of disbelief.

Cheap parlour trick or not, it didn't matter whether I clutched the thing to my chest, or folded it thrice inside my pocket.

'Eight-of-Spades!'

...he would shout from under his blindfold at the bottom of the garden.

And then, confound his luck...

'...King-of-Hearts!'

On the day of his funeral we all wept bitterly. Even as dusk fell, my tear-drenched eye chanced upon a forgotten deck. It was sitting on top of the old piano. With a rueful smile I began to shuffle one more time...

...It was then that I realised I was being watched by a small boy with gold, voluminous curls. It was my nephew, on my sister's side. How keenly he observed me! I hesitated instinctively, just long enough for the corner of a single card to linger imperceptibly more in my hand than any of the others.

One-of-Diamonds, said the boy quietly.

Our eyes rushed together to the back of the card, which I turned, and there, to our amazement, the little Ace was - right there, in the palm of my hand...