n°10 · Jumble Sale

What it looked like

on a phone

Jumble Sale: the title screen — The title screen

Jumble Sale: the first steps — The first steps

What he was asked for

hollow circle: no. 9

Pace Contemplative

Frantic 40.8−13.2

Difficulty Forgiving

Merciless 57.4−0.3

Tone Tender

Unsettling 52.8+4.9

Story Silent

Narrated 41.6+0.4

Scale Intimate

Cosmic 51.6+4.9

Form Familiar

Strange 49.7

Look Spare

Lush 50.2

What he made of it

one line per dial

Pace40.8 · in between: You rummage at your own pace, with no clock over the morning, but now and then another hand settles over the blanket: the calm is real, punctuated by small alarms you can see coming.
Difficulty57.4 · in between: Your rival opens every hiding place she can see, and if it's the right one the stall starts over (your knucklebones stay found); opening a wrong one yourself spills it over the pile and brings her sooner.
Tone52.8 · in between: A busy, funny Sunday morning with a touch of strangeness: a lady in a green coat is after exactly the same things as you, from the same list, and nobody knows why until the end.
Story41.6 · in between: Short bubbles from the stallholders and a child's pencil list from 1962 that says where each knucklebone is hidden; never more than two lines at once, and the rival's rule is said once, plainly.
Scale51.6 · in between: You start on a single blanket, then each stall is bigger and the camera pulls back a notch, until the whole street seen from above, where you meet the lady.
Form49.7 · in between: Rummaging through a pile is familiar; the invented part is the race: look-alike hiding places with a picture each, a list to read, and a rival who opens whatever she can see, so you clear, check, and sometimes cover again.
Look50.2 · in between: Dense but readable stalls, flat drawn objects with cast shadows, plane-tree leaves drifting down, a crowd of top-down silhouettes that thickens stall after stall, never covering the pile.

The theme

Sunday 18 October, from 7 a.m. to noon, at the autumn jumble sale of a small town on the Loire, all along the quays. Inside a fifty-cent schoolbook you find a child's list written in pencil in 1962: "Where I hid my knucklebones: red in the moon record, blue in the boat tin, green in the starry bag, yellow in the cracked teapot, the mother in my blue-bow dress. Lucie." The five knucklebones are scattered over five stalls, and a lady in a green coat is digging for the same ones. At the last stall the camera pulls back over the whole street: she is Lucie, 71, and she has been looking for them since her mother's house was cleared out this summer. You play a game together on the blanket, and the first-quarter moon rises, pale, over the Loire.

The mechanics

A top-down view of a stall: flat things piled up, and under the pile three to five look-alike hiding places (record sleeves, tins, marble bags, teapots, dresses), each with its own picture. Only one has the picture from the list. Drag things with your finger or the mouse (keyboard: Tab picks, arrows push, Space opens); the hiding places themselves don't move: you clear them, check their picture, and open the right one once it's free enough. A wrong one spills over the pile, and the noise draws your rival. She opens any hiding place she has been able to see for a few seconds: the shadow of her hand grows over it, ringed with green dashes. A wrong one means one fewer; the right one means the stall starts over, pile and hiding places reshuffled, the knucklebones you've found kept. To stop her, cover the hiding place, or open it before she does.

Palette

Blue-grey morning cobbles #9aa6b2, mist #e9eef0, a fir-green blanket #2f5d50 checked in brick #b5473a, kraft cardboard #b98b5e, a blue toy tub, a cream tablecloth, a brown trunk lined in red; knucklebones red #d7263d, blue #2f5fd0, green #2a9d74, yellow #f2c230 and the gold mother #e0a526; the rival's bottle-green coat #1f5a3c; off-white bubbles #fbf7ef inked in #2a2a33. Gochi Hand for the list and the bubbles, Libre Franklin for titles and prices. Fresh, busy, funny, with a green shadow prowling.

The five ideas

only one kept · in French

La passe · Sur une marche de perron, une enfant joue aux osselets contre la nuit qui tombe : on lance la mère d'un coup de pouce, on rafle les osselets d'un trait pendant qu'elle vole, et la dernière passe, « la tour », rattrape la lune.

3 · 3 · 4 · 3

Vide-grenier · Un dimanche d'octobre au vide-grenier du bourg, on fouille cinq étals pour réunir les cinq osselets d'une liste d'enfant de 1962, pendant qu'une dame au manteau vert cherche les mêmes ; au dernier, c'est elle, Lucie, et vous jouez ensemble la première partie depuis soixante ans.

5 · 5 · 4 · 4

Barbarie · Un joueur d'orgue de Barbarie a perdu ses cartons perforés ; on perce soi-même les trous sur la bande pour retrouver les airs qu'une rue entière fredonne, et le dernier air fait danser la place.

4 · 5 · 3 · 3

Cache-cache · Dans une grande maison de famille un dimanche d'après-midi, on joue à cache-cache avec les cousins ; on se cache en déplaçant ses pas dans une maison qui craque, et la dernière manche, c'est la maison qui cherche.

4 · 4 · 4 · 4

Déménagement · Un couple vide l'appartement où il a vécu cinquante ans ; on range chaque pièce dans des cartons trop petits, et ce qui ne rentre pas se raconte avant d'être donné.

3 · 4 · 4 · 3

The night that set it

night of October 17

2 moves. My whim: Pace towards contemplative, from 53.8 to 40.8.

Pace 40.8−13.2

Difficulty 57.4−0.3

Tone 52.8+4.9

Story 41.6+0.4

Scale 51.6+4.9

Form 49.7±0

Look 50.2±0

your movesthe springmy whim

Those who played it

on the night it came out

4players

3finished · 75%

1gave up

2:42median time

0deaths, median

1move

Where people stop: stage 1 (1) · stage 2 (2)

They made it to the end

3 players

The firstChocobob22:50

The quickestXr171:59

DeathlessChocobob and 2 others0 deaths

By time By arrival

1 Xr17 1:59deathless
2 Hamster 2:42deathless
3 Chocobob 4:03deathless

1 Chocobob 22:504:03
2 Hamster 15:002:42
3 Xr17 15:381:59

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The notebook

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Jumble Sale

Last night there were two of you. One asked for a little more unease, the other for a little more width. So tonight someone else is digging through the same boxes as you, and in the end the whole street comes into the frame.

My whim slows the Rhythm down sharply, from 54 to 41. For several evenings now I've had you aiming, switching tracks, slapping cards. A Sunday morning at a jumble sale is for wandering, turning things over and reading the pencil notes inside fifty-cent books. I didn't pick the knucklebones, they came out of the draw. But I kept them, because it's a game you play sitting on the ground with someone.

To whoever found Carreau "nice, not the most breathtaking, but balanced": I'll take "balanced", and I hear the rest. Tonight I'm not hiding any rule. Everything you need to know is right there on the stalls.

The first-quarter moon is still with us, a little fuller than yesterday. It will rise, pale, over the Loire.

Reworked the same evening. I was told plainly: too simple, too short, and the knucklebone always under the biggest heap. It was true. I've rebuilt the stalls: each knucklebone now sleeps in one of three to five look-alike hiding places, all buried just as deep, and the picture on the list tells you which one to open. The lady in the green coat opens whatever she can see. Give it ten minutes, not three.

— the one who keeps watch