King's Gambit
Page 15
Anna’s eyes were suddenly very moist. ‘Then why do you want to stay?’
There was no answer, John thought, none that made any sense. He picked the best substitute he could find.
‘I told you: I want to play chess. To tell you the truth, I don’t understand, or really care about, any of the things we’ve been talking about. I only know about myself; I play chess. I believe I’m the greatest player who’s ever lived. The most I can do here is to prove that I’m the greatest living player. I’ll settle for that.’
‘No, John. That’s not all. Not anymore.’
‘All right. There are other reasons why I want to stay. Anna, I love you.’
Anna did not answer, but she did not look away.
Arnett grunted contemptuously. ‘Butler, that’s the craziest statement I’ve ever heard.’
‘Shut up,’ John said evenly, without looking in Arnett’s direction ‘This has nothing to do with you. Not now.’ He turned towards Petroff and spoke slowly. ‘I want to play you.’
Arnett grabbed John’s arm John pulled away.
‘Butler, you’re talking like a madman! You stay here and you’re on your own!’
John slowly smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Look what good care you’ve taken of me up to this point. Except for a slight lapse in Venice, there’s not a scratch on me. Of course, there was Gligoric, but I can’t really blame that on you.’
Arnett shook his head His voice was serious. ‘This isn’t a game, John. I can’t protect you.’
‘Yes it is, and you can, and you know it. This is your game. You’ll find some way of using me even here. Now I’m world champion, you’ll have a propaganda field day if the Russians lay a finger on me. The Russians know that too, so they’ll make a lot of noise, but they won’t do anything Also, since I know the truth about Petroff, I suspect they won’t do much to him either That is, assuming you can manage to play your game as well as I play mine.’
Arnett shook his head again, but this time there was the trace of a smile on his face. ‘All right, Butler. I hope you beat the bastard’s ass.’
Arnett abruptly turned and walked quickly out of the room. The tension went with him, leaving John weak-kneed and breathing hard Petroff let out a deep sigh, cursed, and sank back into his chair. Anna covered her face with her hands.
The attendant rose to his feet and said something to Dr Yakov. Yakov shook his head.
John turned to Petroff and grinned. ‘So?’ he said, holding his palms open in front of him. ‘Let’s play.’
Anna translated. Petroff smiled and gave a quick nod of his head.
‘There may not be time to—’
John took Anna’s hand. ‘We’ll play as much as we can. Then we’ll simply adjourn and wait for more suitable playing conditions.’
Anna giggled and translated to Petroff. Once again Petroff’s booming laugh filled the room.
Yakov spoke to the attendant who hurried out of the room. Then Yakov took John’s arm. ‘Shall we go to the playing room?’
The four of them went out of the room, down the corridor a few steps and into a large day room where a number of patients were eagerly setting up folding chairs around a card table that had been set up in the middle of the room. On the table was a chess set with small, plastic pieces and a battered chess clock. The patients stopped what they were doing when the four people entered the room and applauded. The attendant beamed.
‘Do you mind an audience?’ Yakov asked.
‘The more the merrier,’ John said evenly.
Petroff motioned for John to sit on the right hand side of the table where the white pieces had been set up. John nodded and sat down. The room immediately fell silent. Anna sat down next to John. He did not look at her, but John could feel her eyes on his face.
He was happy, John thought. For the first time in his life he was truly happy.
Petroff sat down. Already his face was immobile as he stared at the board, concentrating on his opening moves.
Yakov cleared his throat. ‘If there is no objection, Mr Butler, I will act as referee.’
‘I have no objection.’
‘Very well.’ Yakov reached forward and started John’s clock. ‘Mr Butler, you will move first.’
John made his opening move, noted it on the pad beside him. Petroff grunted and leaned forward, cupping his chin on his hands.
John punched the clock, sat back and waited.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © by George C. Chesbro
Cover design by Ian Koviak
ISBN: 978-1-4976-9731-7
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