by Jesse Kraai
Inside, hairy men with enormous black trash bags casually dragged their life’s belongings across broad granite floors. The old socks of homelessness pinched Lisa’s nose as she watched a man play blitz chess on one of the public internet portals. This library wasn’t a temple. It was just another adult scam, like the way they used chess to trick kids into concentrating.
Lisa left the library at 3:30, a half hour before she was supposed to meet with Igor. She was sneaky like that; Igor would never know that she had gone in without his permission. Fooling adults was easy. To kill time, she laid herself out on the Peace Wall as Igor had and did chess problems, using the photocopies Ruth had made for her. Then she walked back to the library, as if she hadn’t already been there, to wait for her teacher.
Igor took the record of her game into his big hands and looked down at her with a questioning smile, as if asking, “Have you failed again?” Lisa knew that Ruth had emailed him and described the game. But he needed to see the moves. Lisa had carefully noted on her scoresheet how much time she and Ruth used on each move. She had tried to follow his principles. In his own world, the Russian softly spoke, “tak, tak, tak,” quickly reconstructing the game in his mind to a metronome beat. Then he looked up at the mountain, his big stone, his personal gym. “We go inside,” he said.
Igor led Lisa up to the third floor of the Berkeley Public Library, the children’s floor. He said they would take advantage of Lisa’s age and use the ample space there. From behind a bookshelf of Dr. Seuss and Where the Wild Things Are, Igor pulled out a magnificent wooden set that he had hidden. Until then, Lisa had never played on anything but plastic. Igor told her the history, how he had the set made after he became a grandmaster, to commemorate his passage. He said it was his one item of physical beauty, of decadence.
For his black pieces and squares, Igor had found a block of Indian rosewood, called sheesham, while playing a tournament in Punjab. Dark swirls wound their way through the wood, like a slowly moving mist that covers a distant light. For his white wood, Igor went back to Cuba. He told Lisa about his fateful tournament there, the Capablanca Memorial, and about his escape in Gander. He told her about the need to go back, to play well. There he had acquired a piece of boxwood, as if it were a trophy. To Lisa, its pure and unchanging light suggested truth.
Igor said that he had packed these two tropical treasures into a deep suitcase, neglecting his clothes, and brought them to the Estonian master carver Kalju Muutnik. Kalju’s hands had only ever known the hearty woods of the coldest north, forests reaching back to the time of Neanderthal spears. There in Estonia, Kalju gave the exotic southern woods an Eastern European modesty and grace.
Igor then told Lisa, laughingly, how he had strapped the board to his back on the day of their first lesson at the library, and how he thought the police might even pull him and his bicycle to the side of the road for a safety violation. But then Igor became suddenly silent, grave. And Lisa was again all alone, left outside of his contemplation.
Finally, he said, “On bicycle, people don’t see squares, I only show other side, piece of wood.”
“Because Jan doesn’t get it?”
“Father not understand. My chess become personal, like board turned inward.”
Lisa imagined herself at Igor’s side; they would march the willing into chess. Those that stayed behind would have nothing. They would not share their board with them.
Igor set up Lisa’s position out of the opening: “You have played well, pieces fight for center and try for sing like choir. I think you this critical position. You white, it your move, what for play?” Lisa contemplated the position. Igor wanted her to see something here, but she didn’t know what it was. Softly, as if he were slipping his thought underneath hers, Igor began, “Yes, now need physical board. Not blind; mind travel down many trail that forget where they start. Many mistake. Need for come back to board for breath and big look. Board like mirror, correct false presumption.
“Lisa materialist. She win games by taking, always taking—take, take, take—never give. Zen Lisa trade off pieces of opponent, until king frightened and lonely. This truth of game Lisa understand without Igor’s help. In Russia we call this method ‘Gang Fight’: If you find self on streets of Moscow with fifty angry men who make fight with forty-five other, it in best interest if mutual bludgeon happen, if fighters trade themselves away. If twenty-five from each side go, ratio go from initial ten-to-nine to five-to-four. Trade fifteen more comrade and force ratio of two-to-one become crushing.
“This Lisa’s method, like capitalist she steal your stuff and then charge interest on losses. Nobody happy. Yes, all chessplayer must first learn to hold onto their stuff before they can let it go. In life same, we must know how for use things—how to make basic survive—before we can ask if anything else is.” Lisa continued to stare into the position without finding a way into it.
“The chess, Lisa,” Igor said, “happen in three dimension. First easy for understand, you know well: material, stuff. Second seem easy, but in fact very complicated: time. Not time on clock, is time on board—tempo. It seem easy for understand because we know that we must use our time for économique, for bring pieces into game. But in fact not so simple, we will see that it require we answer question: ‘time for do what?’ We will see that time more valuable in some circumstance than other. We will see that time speed and slow. Sometime we don’t wish for move at all. Third dimension most difficult. And require big artist for use: quality of position. One quality already see: center. But other qualities need for understand, like space.”
Lisa looked upon the game that had frustrated her so deeply, suddenly seen through Igor’s dimensions and wooden pieces. Her coach continued, “I wish you for feel pain when lose time, same kind of pain when someone take your stuff. You need to feel awkward piece like cramp in leg, loss of central square like toothache. Now, let us look at position in front of us, you had advantage of white pieces and it is your move:
What is material balance?”
“Even.”
“Yes. Who ahead in time?”
“Umm, well we each have three pieces out so it’s even.”
“Nyet, it is your move, so you up one tempo.”
“OK.”
“Who has more central control?”
“Maybe Ruth does? She has three pawns that fight for the four center squares. I only have two. My e5 pawn occupies the center, but it fights for squares that are beyond it.”
“Good. Who has more space?”
“I do.”
“Yes. Good for see, center and space different question. E5 pawn grab position, try to push black pieces back into box, look at king. Now we talk to pieces, which piece feel most unhappy about the life?”
“My knight on d2 is a disaster. She’s blocking my bishop on c1 from coming out to protect my pawn on d4. She’s stumbling over the knight on f3, and she can’t even go to b3 because Ruth could then play pawn c4, and give my bishop and knight the fork, the double-attack, the wham-bam.”
“Good, what about black pieces, which uncomfortable?”
“Well, I guess the bishop on c8 is kinda stuck. But black doesn’t have to do anything like defend a freakin’ center pawn so it doesn’t really make a difference. Look at my pawn on d4! Black’s already clearly better.”
“Perhaps. Do you feel like any of your moves up to this point illogical?”
“Uh, how should I know? I don’t know any openings and I don’t know any theory.”
“I mean logic of control center and pieces strive for harmony. Did you offend these principles?”
“Umm, no—but look where that got me, my position is a mess!”
“It seem you keep advantage in time that you start with as white, you have advantage in space, and communication problem are mirrored in opponent. You should be better.”
“But my pawn!”
“Listen: You have to make mistake before opponent can punish.”
“Well, I’m worse here so
I must have done something wrong earlier.”
“Let us see if we find something here, in this position. In game you play pawn takes c5. And after Ruth take back on c5 with bishop she suddenly ahead in development and your e5 pawn weak. So must unfortunate be.”
“Yes, it was.”
Igor became silent for a moment. As Lisa was thinking, tending her cows on the plain, his voice came in like a gentle wind over her activity, not intruding. He whispered: “I once had bicycle stolen when I your age, communist times. It hurt very much, I walk all over neighborhood for week, trying to find. I think it hurt so much because I identify self with it. When neighborhood kids come together, we compare bike, trying to make big car talk we see in parent. We see selves in stuff we show each other. But thief not only take away identity, he use my identity to make himself bigger.”
Lisa’s thoughts broke in on Igor’s quiet soliloquy: “I guess I have to castle.” Black would win a pawn, and Lisa felt her position tumbling forward into uncertainty, like an inexperienced skier on her first black diamond run: 8. castles Pxd4 9. Pxd4 Nxd4 10. Nxd4 Qxd4 11. Nf3.
“Good. What have you gained for pawn?”
“Well, at least now my d2 knight won’t need therapy.”
“Ha! Is for truth. Knight had issues, he take only bathroom in six person house at eight in morning. Everybody yell at him. What else you see?”
“Ruth’s bishop on c8 is still stuck. And I’ve won some time.”
“How much time you won?”
“Well, I have two more pieces out than black. But since Ruth will now have to move her queen I will gain another move. So I will have three tempi.”
“Good. One rough measure of the material is for say that pawn worth three tempi.”
“Why does it have to be a rough measure?”
“Because value of time change.”
“How can time change? A tempo is a tempo and an hour is an hour.”
“You watch maybe sport on television? Ballgame?
“No!”
“Always same clock make same countdown. Make peoples think that time only one rhythm must have. Is maybe nice world, if you zombie. Clock time not real time! Look for see: Before Ruth steal precious pawn on d4, position closed and pieces feel like Lisa staring at clock with nothing to do. But after she take, then they are pushed out of house. Things begin for move. What ideas now awake in position?”
“Well, my dark-square bishop is now free to come out, even if she can’t threaten anything directly.”
“Good. Whose fate tied to bishop?”
“Umm, well if my bishop comes out, then my rook on a1 can come to the c-file and talk to the awkward bishop on c8.”
“Good. Who else might have thoughts?”
“Well, depending on where the black queen goes my queen could go to c2 and touch h7 and the c-file. Maybe she could also go to a4, pin the d7 knight, and think about sliding over to g4.”
“Good. And what about the black?”
“Ruth needs to think about her own king more than before. And it’s not clear that she will be entirely safe even if she can castle.”
“Good. Pawn structure like social contract that bind. Careers of pieces determined by opportunities they discover in structure. It is when structure open that they can really move. That is when value of time go up. That when revolution happen.”
“But black can play so many different moves. It’s not like I can calculate out what I got for my pawn!”
“But you gain time, knight out of therapy, and opponent with discord?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Learn for trust quality and time as much as you trust in calculation and pawn. Learn for feel them. And when you talk to queen she maybe tell you that she now smell black king blood at thirty part per million, like shark.”
Game Four
From Jan’s SUV, Lisa saw Igor. He sat on one of the oversized concrete blocks in front of the Berkeley Public Library. From his grayed shorts that had once been jeans dangled two legs so thickly knotted with hair that they looked like braids. Worn sandals stood in a careless clump beneath his bare feet. A knight and a bishop merrily danced on his faded T-shirt. Knoxville Open 1988, it still said. Monday afternoon hurried past Lisa’s teacher as he hunched forward, talking to himself, waiting for Lisa to show up.
The rolled-up windows muted the drone of a beggar woman: “Miisterr, can you spare some change??” The university Jan wanted her to attend was close, just a couple blocks away, but this was not it. Lisa got out of the car. She had just made a bargain with Jan, for this.
*
Lisa had entered her game with Ruth the previous Friday as a seeker. She would be like a nineteenth-century physicist who suddenly begins to see space/time bending around the smallest kernels of sand. Her pieces would be supple gymnasts gracefully bounding off the structures that rose about them.
Lisa made a contract with her pieces. They agreed that they were bound to the space/time fluctuation that rippled through the board on every move. They were not separate from the board they wandered over, even if their identities did seem so wooden and fixed. They agreed to give themselves, to sacrifice themselves to alter the flow of energy, when their time came. In return, Lisa would take leave of all the bothersome assumptions of the phony world. Her own failings and petty challenges would forget themselves. Together, they would strive for pure thought.
Against Ruth’s queen pawn, 1. Pd4, Lisa played 1...Nc6. It seemed odd and unconventional, but it followed Igor’s principles—so it had to be good. Ruth’s pawn could come forward to d5 and shove her knight. Ruth would gain space, but her pawn would no longer fight for the four center squares. That d5 pawn could either become a syringe, dripping poison into Lisa’s position, or the advanced troop could become overextended, without a supply line.
Ruth was circumspect and played 2. Pc4. And now Lisa played 2...Pe5, demanding that Ruth advance her pawn. Ruth obliged, and Lisa understood that it was time to reflect. She thought for twenty minutes, until she found her plan: her knight would first go to e7, blocking her dark-square bishop—making a temporary mess of things. But the knight’s path was clear, he would go to g6. Then her other knight would come to f6; her dark square bishop would come out, to c5 or b4, depending on how Ruth played, then she would play d6, freeing her light-square bishop. This was the direction her pieces would follow.
Ruth’s thought met Lisa’s, and they reached the following position:[2]
Lisa began to regret the plan she had felt so proud of. Ruth’s space advantage in the center and on the queenside felt like a four-hundred-pound sumo wrestler, thick folds of skin suffocating her, pushing her off the mat.
Each side was equally developed, but it was her move. One little tempo was all she had, in return, in compensation, for her lack of space. Yet time was receding; the position’s freeways were crowded, and movement was slowing to a long gaseous halt. Lisa felt the solidity of Ruth’s position all around her, constricting her pieces into breathless silence. Yes, Ruth had foreseen this position, Lisa thought. Ruth saw that time would disappear in the thick grasping hands of her spatial advantage. And now she is going to push me off the board.
ensing it would be better to wait for death in a state of contemplation than to hurry it along with moves, Lisa decided to gaze upon the center squares, as a mystic. Maybe she would be able to feel the weight of the squares and the bending of the light.
The center said very little to Lisa. It was locked, as dreary and stubborn as a long school day. But Lisa waited still, she waited for the pieces to speak.
The center began to whisper that it was pointed, that it had direction. Ruth’s two center pawns pointed toward the queenside; Lisa’s pointed to the kingside. Lisa followed this motion to f4, a dark square. An omen: the dark squares were hers. Yes, the dark squares will be the base of my operations. Upon those squares I will slam my siege ladders up against Ruth’s kingside fortress.
Fifty minutes after Ruth played 10. castles, Lisa readied
herself to play 10...Nh5, aiming to plant her knight on the f4 square, supported by her other knight on g6.
But the knight did not want to go there. “No way, lady,” he said. “I will not leave the center.”
Lisa tried to tell him about the dark squares and the pointing.
He responded: “You treated me so badly last time, and now this! It’s even the same square. Can’t you see how embarrassing this is? Just imagine what Igor will say!”
Lisa apologized to the knight. “You are right, the last time you were sent to h5 was a real scandal.” Then she sang him a song: “Mistreated knight, think of h5 as a place to jump off from, just a little stop on the way to a much better life. You will be proud on the f4 outpost.” With great reluctance, the knight trusted Lisa and overcame the trauma of his past.
Ruth had several options now. She played to dominate Lisa’s pieces with 11. Pg3; that pawn controlled the square Lisa’s knight wanted to jump into, and told him that he had no value on that side of the board. And it was true. But in return, Ruth had given Lisa a weakness, in front of the king. And this weakness allowed Lisa to win a tempo by attacking Ruth’s rook with 11...Bh3. The bishop thanked the knight on h5. After the obligatory 12. Re1, Lisa returned the knight to where it had been on f6. But it was not an admission of failure. Now that the rook no longer defended f2, Lisa’s knight now made a threat of going to g4 to attack the weak dark square on f2. This had not been foreseen, but the f2 square’s dark color had been prophesied. And all of Lisa’s pieces were tickled by this geometric initiative.
One hour later, as Lisa’s pieces were surrounding Ruth’s king with thirsty daggers, Ruth whispered, “Lisa, I offer you a draw.” Lisa’s eyes rose up to look at Ruth’s humble apartment as if for the first time. Afghan carpets covered hardwood floors. A framed poster from the Marcel Duchamp exhibit The Art of Chess hung between two bookshelves. Everything here was creased with experience. Quiet comfort and elevation, with a cat’s fur to stroke. Next to Lisa, on top of the same paisley-covered table that Ruth had directed the Girls Championship tournament from, was a signed copy of a book called Chess Bitch. Ruth was giving it to her. The woman on the cover of the book wore a pink wig. She was mysterious, and hot. She had won the US Women’s Championship. Ruth knew her.