by Walter Tevis
***
“Morning, Cracker,” Jolene said softly. Her face was easy.
“Jolene,” Beth said. Jolene stepped closer. There was nobody around, just the two of them. They were in the locker room, after gym.
“What you want?” Jolene said.
“I want to know what a cocksucker is.”
Jolene stared at her a moment. Then she laughed. “Shit,” she said. “You know what a cock is?”
“I don’t think so.”
“That’s what boys have. In the back of the health book. Like a thumb.”
Beth nodded. She knew the picture.
“Well, honey,” Jolene said gravely, “there’s girls likes to suck on that thumb.”
Beth thought about it. “Isn’t that where they pee?” she said.
“I expect it wipes clean,” Jolene said.
Beth walked away feeling shocked. And she was still puzzled. She had heard of murderers and torturers; at home she had seen a neighbor boy beat his dog senseless with a heavy stick; but she did not understand how someone could do what Jolene said.
***
The next Sunday she won five games straight. She had been playing Mr. Shaibel for three months now, and she knew that he could no longer beat her. Not once. She anticipated every feint, every threat that he knew how to make. There was no way he could confuse her with his knights, or keep a piece posted on a dangerous square, or embarrass her by pinning an important piece. She could see it coming and could prevent it while continuing to set up for attack.
When they had finished, he said, “You are eight years old?”
“Nine in November.”
He nodded. “You will be here next Sunday?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Be sure.”
On Sunday there was another man in the basement with Mr. Shaibel. He was thin and wore a striped shirt and tie. “This is Mr. Ganz, from the chess club,” Mr. Shaibel said.
“Chess club?” Beth echoed, looking him over. He seemed a little like Mr. Schell, even though he was smiling.
“We play at a club,” Mr. Shaibel said.
“And I’m coach of the high school team. Duncan High,” Mr. Ganz said. She had never heard of the school.
“Would you like to play me a game?” Mr. Ganz asked.
For an answer Beth seated herself on the milk crate. There was a folding chair set up at the side of the board. Mr. Shaibel eased his heavy body into it, and Mr. Ganz sat on the stool. He reached forward in a quick, nervous movement and picked up two pawns: one white and one black. He cupped his hands around them, shook them together a moment and then extended both arms toward Beth with the fists clenched.
“Choose a hand,” Mr. Shaibel said.
“Why?”
“You play the color you choose.”
“Oh.” She reached out and barely touched Mr. Ganz’s left hand. “This one.”
He opened it. The black pawn lay in his palm. “Sorry,” he said, smiling. His smile made her uncomfortable.
The board already had Black facing Beth. Mr. Ganz put the pawns back on their squares, moved pawn to king four, and Beth relaxed. She had learned every line of the Sicilian from her book. She played the queen bishop’s pawn to its fourth square. When he brought the knight out, she decided to use the Najdorf.
But Mr. Ganz was a bit too smart for that. He was a better player than Mr. Shaibel. Still, she knew after a half dozen moves that he would be easy to beat, and she proceeded to do so, calmly and mercilessly, forcing him to resign after twenty-three moves.
He placed his king on its side on the board. “You certainly know the game, young lady. Do you have a team here?”
She looked at him uncomprehendingly.
“The other girls. Do they have a chess club?”
“No.”
“Then where do you play?”
“Down here.”
“Mr. Shaibel said you played a few games every Sunday. What do you do in between?”
“Nothing.”
“But how do you keep up?”
She did not want to tell him about playing chess in her mind in class and in bed at night. To distract him she said, “Do you want to play another?”
He laughed. “All right. It’s your turn to play White.”
She beat him even more handily, using the Réti Opening. The book had called it a “hypermodern” system; she liked the way it used her king’s bishop. After twenty moves she stopped him to point out her upcoming mate in three. It took him half a minute to see it. He shook his head in disbelief and toppled his king.
“You’re astonishing,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” He stood up and walked over to the furnace, where Beth had noticed a small shopping bag. “I have to go now. But I brought you a present.” He handed her the shopping bag.
She looked inside, hoping to see another chess book. Something was wrapped in pink tissue paper.
“Unwrap it,” Mr. Ganz said, smiling.
She lifted it out and pulled away the loosely wrapped paper. It was a pink doll in a blue print dress, with blond hair and a puckered-up mouth. She held it a moment and looked at it.
“Well?” Mr. Ganz said.
“Do you want another game?” Beth said, holding the doll by its arm.
“I have to go,” Mr. Ganz said. “Maybe I’ll come back next week.”
She nodded.
There was a big oilcan used for trash at the end of the hallway. As she passed it on the way to the Sunday afternoon movie, she dropped the doll into it.
***
During Health class she found the picture in the back of the book. On one page was a woman and on the facing page a man. They were line drawings, with no shading. Both stood with their arms at their sides and the palms of their hands turned out. At the V below her flat belly the woman had a simple, vertical line. The man had no such line, or if he had you couldn’t see it. What he had looked like a little purse with a round thing hanging down in front of it. Jolene said it was like a thumb. That was his cock.
The teacher, Mr. Hume, was saying that you should have green leafy vegetables at least once a day. He began to write the names of vegetables on the board. Outside the big windows on Beth’s left, pink japonica was beginning to bloom. She studied the drawing of a naked man, trying vainly to find some secret.
***
Mr. Ganz was back the next Sunday. He had his own chessboard with him. It had black and white squares, and the pieces were in a wooden box lined with red felt. They were made of polished wood; Beth could see the grain in the white ones. She reached out while Mr. Ganz was setting them up and lifted one of the knights. It was heavier than the ones she had used and had a circle of green felt on the bottom. She had never thought about owning things, but she wanted this chess set.
Mr. Shaibel had set up his board in the usual place and got another milk crate for Mr. Ganz’s board. The two boards were now side by side, with a foot of space between them. It was a sunny day, and bright light came in the window filtered through the short bushes by the walk at the edge of the building. Nobody spoke while the pieces were set up. Mr. Ganz took the knight gently from Beth’s hand and put it on its home square. “We thought you could play us both,” he said.
“At the same time?”
He nodded.
Her milk crate had been put between the boards. She had White for both games, and in both of them she played pawn to king four.
Mr. Shaibel replied with the Sicilian; Mr. Ganz played pawn to king four. She did not even have to pause and think about the continuations. She played both moves and looked out the window.
She beat them both effortlessly. Mr. Ganz set up the pieces, and they started again. This time she moved pawn to queen four on both and followed it with pawn to queen’s bishop four—the Queen’s Gambit. She felt deeply relaxed, almost in a dream. She had taken seven tranquilizers at about midnight, and some of the languor was still in her.
About midway into the games she was staring out the
window at a bush with pink blooms when she heard Mr. Ganz’s voice saying, “Beth, I’ve moved my bishop to bishop five” and she replied dreamily, “Knight to K-5.” The bush seemed to glow in the spring sunlight.
“Bishop to knight four,” Mr. Ganz said.
“Queen to queen four,” Beth replied, still not looking.
“Knight to queen’s bishop three,” Mr. Shaibel said gruffly.
“Bishop to knight five,” Beth said, her eyes on the pink blossoms.
“Pawn to knight three.” Mr. Ganz had a strange softness in his voice.
“Queen to rook four check,” Beth said.
She heard Mr. Ganz inhale sharply. After a second he said, “King to bishop one.”
“That’s mate in three,” Beth said, without turning. “First check is with the knight. The king has the two dark squares, and the bishop checks it. Then the knight mates.”
Mr. Ganz let out his breath slowly. “Jesus Christ!” he said.
TWO
They were watching the Saturday-afternoon movie when Mr. Fergussen came to take her to Mrs. Deardorff’s office. It was a movie about table manners called “How to Act at Dinnertime,” so she didn’t mind leaving. But she was frightened. Had they found out that she never went to chapel? That she saved pills? Her legs trembled and her knees felt funny as Mr. Fergussen, wearing his white pants and white T-shirt, walked her down the long hallway, down the green linoleum with black cracks in it. Her thick brown shoes squeaked on the linoleum, and she squinted her eyes under the bright fluorescent lights. The day before had been her birthday. No one had taken any notice of it. Mr. Fergussen, as usual, had nothing to say: he walked smartly down the hall ahead of her. At the door with the frosted glass panel and the words HELEN DEARDORFF—SUPERINTENDENT he stopped. Beth pushed open the door and went inside.
A secretary in a white blouse told her to go on to the back office. Mrs. Deardorff was expecting her. She pushed open the big wooden door and walked in. In the red armchair sat Mr. Ganz, wearing a brown suit. Mrs. Deardorff was sitting behind a desk. She peered at Beth over tortoise-shell glasses. Mr. Ganz smiled self-consciously and rose halfway from the chair when she came in. Then he sat down again awkwardly.
“Elizabeth,” Mrs. Deardorff said.
She had closed the door behind her and now stood a few feet away from it. She looked at Mrs. Deardorff.
“Elizabeth, Mr. Ganz tells me that you are a”—she adjusted the glasses on her nose—“a gifted child.” Mrs. Deardorff looked at her for a moment as though she were expected to deny it. When Beth said nothing, she went on, “He has an unusual request to make of us. He would like you to be taken to the high school on…” She looked over at Mr. Ganz again.
“On Thursday,” Mr. Ganz said.
“On Thursday. In the afternoon. He maintains that you are a phenomenal chess player. He would like you to perform for the chess club.”
Beth said nothing. She was still frightened.
Mr. Ganz cleared his throat. “We have a dozen members, and I’d like you to play them.”
“Well?” Mrs. Deardorff said. “Would you like to do that? It can be arranged as a field trip.” She smiled grimly at Mr. Ganz. “We like to give our girls a chance for experience outside.” That was the first time Beth had heard of it; she knew of no one who ever went anywhere.
“Yes,” Beth said. “I’d like to.”
“Good,” Mrs. Deardorff said. “It’s settled, then. Mr. Ganz and one of the girls from the high school will pick you up after lunch Thursday.”
Mr. Ganz got up to go, and Beth started to follow, but Mrs. Deardorff called her back.
“Elizabeth,” she said when they were alone, “Mr. Ganz informs me that you have been playing chess with our custodian.”
Beth was uncertain what to say.
“With Mr. Shaibel.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That is very irregular, Elizabeth. Have you gone to the basement?”
For a moment she considered lying. But it would be too easy for Mrs. Deardorff to find out. “Yes, ma’am,” she said again.
Beth expected anger, but Mrs. Deardorff’s voice was surprisingly relaxed. “We can’t have that, Elizabeth,” she said. “as much as Methuen believes in excellence, we can’t have you playing chess in the basement.”
Beth felt her stomach tighten.
“I believe there are chess sets in the game closet,” Mrs. Deardorff continued. “I’ll have Fergussen look into it.”
A phone began ringing in the outer office and a little light on the phone began flashing. “That will be all, Elizabeth. Mind your manners at the high school and be sure your nails are clean.”
***
In “Major Hoople” in the funnies, Major Hoople belonged to the Owl’s Club. It was a place where men sat in big old chairs and drank beer and talked about President Eisenhower and how much money their wives spent on hats. Major Hoople had a huge belly, like Mr. Shaibel, and when he was at the Owl’s Club with a dark beer bottle in his hands, his words came from his mouth with little bubbles. He said things like “Harrumph” and “Egad!” in a balloon on top of the bubbles. That was a “club.” It was like the library reading room at Methuen. Maybe she would play the twelve people in a room like that.
She hadn’t told anyone. Not even Jolene. She lay in bed after lights out and thought about it with an expectant quiver in her stomach. Could she play that many games? She rolled over on her back and nervously felt the pocket of her pajamas. There were two in there. It was six days until Thursday. Maybe Mr. Ganz meant she would play one game with one person and then one game with another, if that was how you did it.
She had looked up “phenomenal.” The dictionary said: “extraordinary; outstanding; remarkable.” She repeated these words silently to herself now: “extraordinary; outstanding; remarkable.” They became a tune in her mind.
She tried to picture twelve chessboards at once, spread out in a row on the ceiling. Only four or five were really clear. She took the black pieces for herself and assigned the whites to “them” and then had “them” move pawn to king four, and she responded with the Sicilian. She found she could keep five games going and concentrate on one at a time while the other four waited for her attention.
From out at the desk down the corridor she heard a voice say, “What time is it now?” and another voice reply, “It’s two-twenty.” Mother used to talk about the “wee, small hours.” This was one of them. Beth kept playing chess, keeping five imaginary games going at once. She had forgotten about the pills in her pocket.
The next morning Mr. Fergussen handed her the little paper cup as usual but when she looked down into it there were two orange vitamin tablets and nothing else. She looked back up at him, behind the little window of the pharmacy.
“That’s it,” he said. “Next.”
She didn’t move, even though the girl behind her was pushing against her. “Where are the green ones?”
“You don’t get them anymore,” Mr. Fergussen said.
Beth stood on tiptoe and looked over the counter. There, behind Mr. Fergussen, stood the big glass jar, still a third full of green pills. There must have been hundreds of them in there, like tiny jellybeans. “There they are,” she said and pointed.
“We’re getting rid of them,” he said. “It’s a new law. No more tranquilizers for kids.”
“It’s my turn,” said Gladys, behind her.
Beth didn’t move. She opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out.
“It’s my turn for vitamins,” Gladys said, louder.
***
There had been nights when she was so involved in chess that she had slept without pills. But this wasn’t one of them. She could not think about chess. There were three pills in her toothbrush holder, and that was it. Several times she decided to take one of them but then decided not to.
***
“I hear tell you going to exhibit yourself,” Jolene said. She giggled, more to herself than to Beth. “Going to p
lay chess in front of people.”
“Who told you?” Beth said. They were in the locker room after volleyball. Jolene’s breasts, not there a year before, jiggled under her gym shirt.
“Child, I just know things,” Jolene said. “Ain’t that where it’s like checkers but the pieces jump around crazy? My Uncle Hubert played that.”
“Did Mrs. Deardorff tell you?”
“Never go near that lady.” Jolene smiled confidentially. “It was Fergussen. He told me you going to the high school downtown. Day after tomorrow.”
Beth looked at her incredulously. The staff didn’t trade confidences with the orphans. “Fergussen…?”
Jolene leaned over and spoke seriously. “He and I been friendly from time to time. Don’t want you talking about it, hear?”
Beth nodded.
Jolene pulled back and went on drying her hair with the white gym towel. After volleyball you could always stretch out the time, showering and getting dressed, before going to study hall.
Beth thought of something. After a moment she spoke in a low voice, “Jolene.”
“Uh huh.”
“Did Fergussen give you green pills? Extra ones?”
Jolene looked at her hard. Then her face softened. “No, honey. I wish he would. But they got the whole state after ’em for what they been doing with those pills.”
“They’re still there. In the big jar.”
“That a fact?” Jolene said. “I ain’t noticed.” She kept looking at Beth. “I noticed you been edgy lately. You having withdraw symptoms?”
Beth had used her last pill the night before. “I don’t know,” she said.
“You look around,” Jolene said. “They’ll be some nervous orphans around here the next few days.” She finished drying her hair and stretched. With the light coming from behind her and with her frizzy hair and her big, wide eyes, Jolene was beautiful. Beth felt ugly, sitting there on the bench beside her. Pale and little and ugly. And she was scared to go to bed tonight without pills. She had been sleeping only two or three hours a night for the past two nights. Her eyes felt gritty and the back of her neck, even right after showering, was sweaty. She kept thinking about that big glass jar behind Fergussen, filled with green pills a third of the way up—enough to fill her toothbrush holder a hundred times.