something precious inside, withholding secrets and offering a defense built entirely on the assumption of common decency and restraint. Clarence crafted a reality in which the details of hand-made paper and a hand-hewn bone button might thwart the ugliness of the world. Punishment for upsetting his eccentric reality was swift and Earth-shattering. It was the thing that Syd feared the most in her lifetime; his disappointment.
Chapter 7
She hardly remembered her uncle when she came to the States to live with him at five. He had been in Argentina with her family when she was a baby, but he left when she was four. She had not seen him since. When she first came to his house, she was frightened and alone, and he scared her most of all. She only vaguely understood the circumstances of her life's upheaval, but she was aware of the tragedy of her parents’ car accident, their deaths, and the untethering of her feelings.
Her uncle spent most of his time up in the winery, smelling like everyone she ever loved. He worked all hours of the day, and when he came back down to the house he barely looked at her. Once, when she first arrived, he sat at the kitchen table with a nearly empty bottle and wept while she spied on him from the darkened doorway. He got up abruptly and strode into to her room, and she scurried ahead of him and jumped into bed. He sat on her bed and hugged her, squeezing so hard that she gasped for air and hit him in the face to make him let go. He pulled away and left, leaving her frightened and alone. He didn't speak a word, and he hardly ever hugged her since.
As time went on, she and her uncle grew comfortable with each other, in spite of their idiosyncrasies. He was quiet and gruff, and he wore his grief like a mantle weighing down his shoulders. She busied herself with information, reading books and gathering erroneous data to keep her mind occupied. She was a precocious five-year-old. She spent her time shadowing Rosa, the nanny he hired to help him with his unexpected parenthood. They shuffled in their individual self-preservation for over a year, until the day Syd pulled out the chessboard in Clarence's office. It had been buried in a cabinet of papers and books.
Clarence taught Syd how to play chess on his lovely reproduction Isle of Lewis Chessmen set, with four queens. He had carved the board as a young man and purchased the set one piece at a time through a monthly subscription service. They were made of fine ivory, though not walrus bone like the 12 th century originals. The board was a work of art as well, with inlaid burled maple and black walnut, made with hand tools over the course of several months. Clarence hand-carved vines along the border that vaguely looked like grapevines. Later he confessed that they were imaginary flora, and not true to any particular species. But they looked like wild grape leaves to Sydney.
Clarence's passion for chess was almost as deep as his passion for wine, although he had laid aside his chess board for years. He had played chess every day with his sister Floy – Sydney’s mother – when they were teenagers. He told Sydney that she was better than he was, and it was true. But she often grew impatient, and he almost always beat her in the long games. Frequently they played with competition timers and she would prevail. But then she would want a slow game and let her mind wander. She was a gifted abstract positional chess player, while he played in more calculated moves. She engineered vast and complicated conundrums for her brother's more methodical defensive playing. Floy never bothered to study opening strategies, controlling the middle of the board, or castling in the first three moves. She had been using black's Grundfeld defense for a decade before she knew it had a name. But Clarence studied and loved the chess games codified in the newspapers. He analyzed their meaning in his own journals. He jotted down her moves and strategies, and tried to capture her
Chapter 7
She hardly remembered her uncle when she came to the States to live with him at five. He had been in Argentina with her family when she was a baby, but he left when she was four. She had not seen him since. When she first came to his house, she was frightened and alone, and he scared her most of all. She only vaguely understood the circumstances of her life's upheaval, but she was aware of the tragedy of her parents’ car accident, their deaths, and the untethering of her feelings.
Her uncle spent most of his time up in the winery, smelling like everyone she ever loved. He worked all hours of the day, and when he came back down to the house he barely looked at her. Once, when she first arrived, he sat at the kitchen table with a nearly empty bottle and wept while she spied on him from the darkened doorway. He got up abruptly and strode into to her room, and she scurried ahead of him and jumped into bed. He sat on her bed and hugged her, squeezing so hard that she gasped for air and hit him in the face to make him let go. He pulled away and left, leaving her frightened and alone. He didn't speak a word, and he hardly ever hugged her since.
As time went on, she and her uncle grew comfortable with each other, in spite of their idiosyncrasies. He was quiet and gruff, and he wore his grief like a mantle weighing down his shoulders. She busied herself with information, reading books and gathering erroneous data to keep her mind occupied. She was a precocious five-year-old. She spent her time shadowing Rosa, the nanny he hired to help him with his unexpected parenthood. They shuffled in their individual self-preservation for over a year, until the day Syd pulled out the chessboard in Clarence's office. It had been buried in a cabinet of papers and books.
Clarence taught Syd how to play chess on his lovely reproduction Isle of Lewis Chessmen set, with four queens. He had carved the board as a young man and purchased the set one piece at a time through a monthly subscription service. They were made of fine ivory, though not walrus bone like the 12 th century originals. The board was a work of art as well, with inlaid burled maple and black walnut, made with hand tools over the course of several months. Clarence hand-carved vines along the border that vaguely looked like grapevines. Later he confessed that they were imaginary flora, and not true to any particular species. But they looked like wild grape leaves to Sydney.
Clarence's passion for chess was almost as deep as his passion for wine, although he had laid aside his chess board for years. He had played chess every day with his sister Floy – Sydney’s mother – when they were teenagers. He told Sydney that she was better than he was, and it was true. But she often grew impatient, and he almost always beat her in the long games. Frequently they played with competition timers and she would prevail. But then she would want a slow game and let her mind wander. She was a gifted abstract positional chess player, while he played in more calculated moves. She engineered vast and complicated conundrums for her brother's more methodical defensive playing. Floy never bothered to study opening strategies, controlling the middle of the board, or castling in the first three moves. She had been using black's Grundfeld defense for a decade before she knew it had a name. But Clarence studied and loved the chess games codified in the newspapers. He analyzed their meaning in his own journals. He jotted down her moves and strategies, and tried to capture her
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