Уолтер Тевис - The Queen's Gambit

Benny did not hesitate; he took her queen with his and punched the clock smartly. He did not even say “Check.” She took with her king as she had to, and he pushed up the other bishop pawn to protect his king pawn. It was a simple defensive move, but something in her exulted when he did it. She felt naked with no queen this early in the game, yet she was beginning to feel strong without it. She already had the initiative, and she knew it. She pushed her pawn to king four. It was not an obvious move at this stage, and the soundness of it warmed her. It opened up the diagonal for her queen bishop and held his king pawn to the fourth rank. She looked up from the board and around her. All the other games were intently in progress; the spectators were hushed, watching. There were more people standing, and they were standing where they could see the game she was playing with Benny. The director came by and made the move on the display board in front of their table, pushing the king pawn to king four. The spectators began to take that in. She looked to the other side of the room and out the window. It was a beautiful day, with fresh leaves on the trees and an impeccably blue sky. She felt herself expand, relax, open up. She was going to beat him. She was going to beat him soundly.

The continuation she found on the nineteenth move was a beautiful and subtle wonder. It sprang to her mind full-blown, with half a dozen moves as clear as if they were projected on a screen in front of her, her rook, bishop and knight dancing together down in his king’s corner of the board. Yet there was no checkmate in it or even an advantage in material. After her knight came to queen five on the twenty-fifth move and Benny was forced merely to push a pawn because he could do nothing to defend, she traded rook and knight for rook and knight and brought her king to queen three. Although the pieces and pawns were equal, it was only a matter of counting moves. It would take twelve for him to get a pawn to the eighth rank and queen it, while she could do it in ten.

Benny made a few moves, bringing his king out in the hopeless attempt to take off her pawns before she took away his, but even his arm as it moved the king was listless. And when she took his queen bishop pawn, he reached out and toppled his king. There was silence and then quiet applause. She had won in thirty moves.

As they were leaving the room Benny said to her, “I never thought you’d let me trade queens.”

“I didn’t either,” she said.

After the ceremony Saturday evening, benny took her to a bar in town. They sat in a back booth and Beth drank her first beer and ordered another. They both tasted delicious. “Easy,” Benny said. “Easy.” He had not finished his first.

“You’re right,” she said and slowed down. She felt high enough already. No losses. No draws. Her last two opponents had offered draws in midgame, and she had refused.

“A perfect score,” Benny said.

“It feels good,” she said, meaning the victory, but the beer felt good too. She looked at him more closely. “I appreciate the way you’re taking it.”

“A mask,” he said. “I’m raging inwardly.”

“It doesn’t show.”

“I should not have played that goddamned bishop pawn.”

They sat silently for a while. He took a thoughtful sip of beer and asked, “What are you going to do about Borgov?”

“When I go to Paris? I don’t even have a passport.”

“When you go to Moscow.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t they deliver the mail in Kentucky?”

“Of course they do.”

“The Moscow Invitational. The U.S. winner is invited.”

“I want another beer,” she said.

“You didn’t know that?” Benny looked shocked.

“I’ll get the beer myself.”

“Go ahead.”

She went up to the bar and ordered another bottle. She had heard of the Moscow Invitational but knew nothing about it. The bartender brought her the beer, and she told him to get another. When she came back to the table, Benny said, “That’s too much beer.”

“Probably.” She waited for the foam to settle and took a swallow. “How do I get to Moscow if I go?”

“When I went, the Federation bought my ticket and a church group put up the rest.”

“Did you have a second?”

“Barnes.”

“ Barnes? ” She stared at him.

“It would be tough to be in Russia alone.” He frowned. “You shouldn’t drink beer like that. You’ll be washed up at twenty-one.”

She set down the glass. “Who else will be playing in Moscow?”

“Four other countries and the four top Russians.”

That would mean Luchenko and Borgov. Possibly Shapkin. She did not want to think about it. She looked at him quietly for a minute. “Benny, I like the way your hair looks.”

He stared at her. “Sure you do,” he said. “What about Russia?”

She took another drink of beer. She did like Benny’s hair and his blue eyes. She had never thought of him sexually before, but she was thinking that way now. “Four Russian chessplayers,” she said, “is a lot of Russian chess players.”

“Murderous.” He raised his glass and finished off his beer. He had drunk only the one. “Beth,” he said, “you’re the only American I know who might do it.”

“I went to pieces with Borgov in Mexico City…”

“When do you go to Paris?” Benny said.

“In five weeks.”

“Then get your life organized around that and study. Get a trainer.”

“What about you?”

He thought a moment. “Can you come to New York?”

“I don’t know.”

“You can sleep in my living room, and leave for Paris from there.”

The idea shocked her. “I’ve got a house to take care of, in Kentucky.”

“Let the fucking house fall down.”

“I’m not ready…”

“When will you be? Next year? Ten years?”

“I don’t know.”

He leaned forward and said slowly, “If you don’t do it, you’ll drink your talent away. It’ll go down the drain.”

“Borgov made me look like a fool.”

“ You weren’t ready. ”

“I don’t know how good I really am.”

“ I know,” he said. “You’re the best there is.”

She took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll come to New York.”

“You can come with me from here,” he said. “I’ll drive us.”

“When?” This was happening too fast. She felt frightened.

“Tomorrow afternoon, when everything here’s finished. Whenever we can get away.” He stood up. “And about sex…”

She looked up at him.

“Forget it,” he said.

“Spring,” Benny said, “is first class. Absolutely first class.”

“How can you tell?” Beth asked. They were driving along a gray asphalt section of the Pennsylvania Turnpike, pounding along the gritty road with semis and dusty passenger cars.

“It’s out there somewhere. Up in the hills. It’s even in New York.”

“Ohio was pleasant,” Beth said. But she didn’t like this discussion. Weather did not interest her. She had made no arrangements for the house in Lexington, had not been able to get the lawyer on the telephone and did not know what to expect in New York. She did not like Benny’s insouciance in the face of her uncertainty, the kind of sunny blankness that suffused his face from time to time. He had looked that way during the awards ceremony and during the time she did her interviews and signed autographs and thanked the officials and the USCF people who had come down from upstate New York to talk about the importance of chess. His face was blank now. She turned her eyes to the road.

After a while he spoke up. “When you go to Russia I want to go with you.”