Joshua Gayou - Commune - Book One

Billy reached out and captured a bishop with his knight in a seeming sacrifice of the knight (one of Jake’s pawns was guarding the bishop). Rather than capturing the knight, Jake ignored it and moved his own bishop from its starting position out to the middle of the board on Billy’s right side. Shrugging, Billy pulled his knight back out of harm’s way. Jake responded by moving his own remaining knight forward into the middle of the board in support of his bishop, which Billy promptly captured with his queen. He grunted when he did so, mildly surprising me. Both of Jake’s knights were captured, and now Billy’s queen was out in play, threatening to make an even worse mess of Jake’s defenses.

I feel like I need to explain something about Jake at this point. Thinking back on the game he played with Billy, I don’t believe there was a single instance where he wasn’t in complete control—of either himself or the game. I honestly believe that the entire game went exactly as he wanted, including every piece he lost. Even when it looked like he was being beaten, I really think it was by his design. At no point throughout all of this did he betray a single ounce of emotion or indecision. I would call it a poker face, but this was something else entirely. It’s a misconception that high stakes poker players show no expression or emotion during play—they show plenty of both, realizing that a complete absence of any human behavior is unnatural, cannot be maintained indefinitely, and betrays just as much about the player as any number of tells or ticks. Due to this understanding, the poker face of a high stakes player is really just an exquisitely practiced performance of choreographed expressions, positions, and statements that are in line with the player’s own normal behavior. The trick for them is not to hide all emotion; the goal is only to camouflage deeper intent.

Jake was no poker player and had no poker face at all. In situations such as these, you could feel his insides thrumming. He became a package of hyperactivity concealed in an unmoving shell. His face, already muted in expression in his everyday life, became barren of all expression and articulation. Not a single muscle on his face twitched or moved unnecessarily. His eyelids even ceased to blink as though their only purpose had become the accumulation of data and blinking would create intolerable gaps in the stream of input. At no point throughout the entire game did he ever show signs of satisfaction, annoyance, confusion, or uncertainty. There was never a time where any of us could tell if he was winning or losing—there was simply no way to gauge if the game was going the way he desired or if his plans were being thwarted irrevocably. He only absorbed information and produced none. I am exaggerating in no way when I say the man was a void.

We all sat around the table wondering what he would do next when he reached out, took his queen, and moved it all the way across the board into Billy’s back rank and said, “Check.”

Billy froze in place, staring at what had just happened. He reached out toward the board, stopped, and pulled his hand back. Finally, he moved his king over a space to get it out of danger. Jake’s bishop came forward, flattening a pawn at its final destination.

“Check.”

Billy shook his head and moved the King again.

Jake moved his queen, to which Billy responded by growling, “Son of a…”

“Check.”

Billy sat now for a long time staring at the board. He leaned in several directions looking at things from all angles, agonizing over what he would do next. I couldn’t see what the big deal was; it seemed clear to me that he had to move his king again. It took me perhaps two minutes or more while Billy deliberated before I realized the problem: both Billy’s king and queen were now threatened by Jake’s queen. Billy couldn’t capture the queen with his king because Jake’s queen was guarded by a pawn deep in Billy’s territory as well as a rook all the way across the board in Jake’s area—Billy would have been moving his king into check, which is illegal. If Billy captured the queen with his own queen, his piece would be lost. He finally muttered, “Damn it…” and captured Jake’s queen with his own, which Jake promptly captured with the rook.

“Check.”

Billy sighed and shook his head, clearly disgusted with the entire situation. He moved his king out of check. Jake pushed the rook to the final rank, trapping the enemy king behind a wall of its own pawns.

“Mate,” said Jake.

Billy sat back in his chair. “What happened to you liking your knights more than your queen?”

“Nothing. I still do,” said Jake. “But you were also in the room when I said that.”

“What‽”

“You heard me say that I would take two knights over one queen so I figured you would go after them. You did, but you developed a case of tunnel vision while you pursued them, sacrificing good formation of your pieces to capture them both. Your desire to get my knights caused you to rush the opening, resulting in many of your pieces remaining underdeveloped. I helped this along by bringing both knights out to attack the center early instead of pushing more pawns to support d5, leaving the knights vulnerable. You were so focused on getting those knights that you didn’t see the check and subsequent king/queen fork coming.”

“Jesus,” said Billy. “You’re one of those guys, aren’t you? All Bobby Fischer and calculating fifteen moves ahead and everything?”

“Thinking that many moves ahead is a pointless exercise,” said Jake. “All it takes to wreck a sequence of that length is a single move. I never think ahead more than four.”

“But you literally went into the game knowing he would go after your knights,” I said. “You set that up, it happened, and you used it to win. That whole game was a lot longer than four moves.”

“I had a general plan,” replied Jake. “I knew what situation I wanted to create and waited for opportunities to do so. Not the same.”

“So next time, don’t go straight for his knights, Billy,” said Elizabeth.

“Except next time I’ll know that we had this experience and adjust my plans accordingly,” Jake told her.

Billy was waving a finger at Jake and laughing. “You’re a dirty player, Whitey.”

Jake raised his eyebrows. “Have you ever heard the expression ‘play the board’?”

Billy nodded, “Sure. It means you make your best poker hand without using any of the hole cards.”

Jake nodded. “It means something different in Chess. It refers to planning your strategy based only on the position of the pieces rather than what the opponent is likely to do. It’s how you want to learn to play when you’re a beginner. Later on, as you better understand the game, you play the player. The pieces on the board are only an expression of your opponent’s personality; therefore the opponent is your problem. The pieces on the board are only incidental.”

The time we spent together at the cabin includes some of my happiest memories since the world toppled over. As I mentioned, there were times during this period in which I experienced discontent with bouts of depression, however Lizzy, Jake, and Billy were always there for me when I needed them or ready to back away when I needed my own space. Even my daughter, who was so young at the time, could tell that I needed the leeway to work through the dark things inside of me, displaying the poise and the wisdom beyond her years to grant it. My family circle, which had collapsed under the weight of the Plague, had expanded again to include Jake and Billy, who transcended the position of simple friendship. They became necessary.