book, even if you can’t appreciate it. And I wasn’t even late—this stupid tournament hasn’t even started because they can’t find Former World Champion Contender Schmuck-a-vich. But other than that, it’s been a real pleasure meeting you, Liu.”
For a heartbeat she looked like she was about to smile. Then she caught herself, and her face tightened in anger. “Don’t try to soften me up by flirting with me,” she said.
“What? I’m not trying to flirt with you.”
“Because I’m going to crush you.”
“Probably,” I nodded. “Who cares?”
“Not me,” she said. “I was supposed to go to a concert with some friends, but my mom made me come.”
“We’re in the same boat,” I told her. “I made my dad come. And now I regret it.” Liu looked intrigued, and I surprised myself by adding: “He may be a grandmaster but he hasn’t played in thirty years.”
A schlubby-looking man in an ill-fitting black suit stumbled out onto the dais from a side door, blinked in the lights, and took the microphone. “I am Shuvalovitch,” he said in heavily accented English. “Welcome, chess players, young and old, fathers and sons. As we say, chess is like a bridge. In order to get to the other side, you need to cross it. I wish good luck to everyone. Start your clocks.”
“Utter nonsense, but what do you expect?” Liu muttered, reaching over to start the clock.
“I understood it clear as a bell,” I told her. “Good luck, Liu. Don’t fall off the bridge.”
She couldn’t help smiling as she reached out to make her first move, and it was an unexpectedly pretty smile. “I won’t,” she said. “I’m going to thrash you.”
10
There is a moment at a chess tournament when the silence takes hold. Background noises continue—cars honk from outside, tournament officials pad up and down the rows, and there’s the steady whap-whap of pieces being slammed down onto new squares. But a few minutes into a tournament, the mass concentration of the participants seems to knit together into a heavy blanket that dampens all peripheral sounds. Four hundred and thirty-two people are thinking deeply and furiously. Minds are going to war with every neuron at their disposal.
Liu moved her queen pawn, and I responded with a slightly obscure variation of the Grunfeld Defense, as my father had suggested. Soon my king was safely castled behind my bishop in a wall-like pawn formation called a fianchetto, and we were moving into the middle game on fairly even terms.
This was one of the stronger games I had ever played. Liu had seen my low rating and was clearly surprised—she wrinkled her nose in frustration and dug her fists into her cheeks, and her black eyes never glanced up from the board. She may have been reading a novel when I walked up, but she was concentrating fiercely on chess now.
You don’t have to stay at your board during a tournament. You can get up and walk around, provided that you don’t give or get advice from anyone. Forty minutes into my game with Liu, I lost a pawn. It didn’t mean that the game was over, but she now had a significant advantage, and she was pressing it mercilessly.
I made a move, stood up, stretched, and headed out for a bathroom break and to regroup. I was sluicing some cold water on my face when I heard two players talking near me. “Did you see what happened on board three?”
“No, what?”
“This grandmaster no one’s ever heard of is self-destructing. He just dropped his rook.”
“You’re kidding? Talk about choking early.”
“The rumor is that he’s some kind of a wacko. Who ever heard of a grandmaster dropping a rook in round one?”
I hurried out and saw that a little crowd had collected on the dais, around my father’s table. I walked up and stood behind him so that I wouldn’t distract him. Dad was sitting with his arms folded tightly, a look of intense ferocity on his face. He wasn’t moving even a muscle, but I could tell how tense he
For a heartbeat she looked like she was about to smile. Then she caught herself, and her face tightened in anger. “Don’t try to soften me up by flirting with me,” she said.
“What? I’m not trying to flirt with you.”
“Because I’m going to crush you.”
“Probably,” I nodded. “Who cares?”
“Not me,” she said. “I was supposed to go to a concert with some friends, but my mom made me come.”
“We’re in the same boat,” I told her. “I made my dad come. And now I regret it.” Liu looked intrigued, and I surprised myself by adding: “He may be a grandmaster but he hasn’t played in thirty years.”
A schlubby-looking man in an ill-fitting black suit stumbled out onto the dais from a side door, blinked in the lights, and took the microphone. “I am Shuvalovitch,” he said in heavily accented English. “Welcome, chess players, young and old, fathers and sons. As we say, chess is like a bridge. In order to get to the other side, you need to cross it. I wish good luck to everyone. Start your clocks.”
“Utter nonsense, but what do you expect?” Liu muttered, reaching over to start the clock.
“I understood it clear as a bell,” I told her. “Good luck, Liu. Don’t fall off the bridge.”
She couldn’t help smiling as she reached out to make her first move, and it was an unexpectedly pretty smile. “I won’t,” she said. “I’m going to thrash you.”
10
There is a moment at a chess tournament when the silence takes hold. Background noises continue—cars honk from outside, tournament officials pad up and down the rows, and there’s the steady whap-whap of pieces being slammed down onto new squares. But a few minutes into a tournament, the mass concentration of the participants seems to knit together into a heavy blanket that dampens all peripheral sounds. Four hundred and thirty-two people are thinking deeply and furiously. Minds are going to war with every neuron at their disposal.
Liu moved her queen pawn, and I responded with a slightly obscure variation of the Grunfeld Defense, as my father had suggested. Soon my king was safely castled behind my bishop in a wall-like pawn formation called a fianchetto, and we were moving into the middle game on fairly even terms.
This was one of the stronger games I had ever played. Liu had seen my low rating and was clearly surprised—she wrinkled her nose in frustration and dug her fists into her cheeks, and her black eyes never glanced up from the board. She may have been reading a novel when I walked up, but she was concentrating fiercely on chess now.
You don’t have to stay at your board during a tournament. You can get up and walk around, provided that you don’t give or get advice from anyone. Forty minutes into my game with Liu, I lost a pawn. It didn’t mean that the game was over, but she now had a significant advantage, and she was pressing it mercilessly.
I made a move, stood up, stretched, and headed out for a bathroom break and to regroup. I was sluicing some cold water on my face when I heard two players talking near me. “Did you see what happened on board three?”
“No, what?”
“This grandmaster no one’s ever heard of is self-destructing. He just dropped his rook.”
“You’re kidding? Talk about choking early.”
“The rumor is that he’s some kind of a wacko. Who ever heard of a grandmaster dropping a rook in round one?”
I hurried out and saw that a little crowd had collected on the dais, around my father’s table. I walked up and stood behind him so that I wouldn’t distract him. Dad was sitting with his arms folded tightly, a look of intense ferocity on his face. He wasn’t moving even a muscle, but I could tell how tense he
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