Уолтер Тевис: The Queen's Gambit

But Mr. Ganz was a bit too smart for that. He was a better player than Mr. Shaibel. Still, she knew after a half dozen moves that he would be easy to beat, and she proceeded to do so, calmly and mercilessly, forcing him to resign after twenty-three moves.

He placed his king on its side on the board. “You certainly know the game, young lady. Do you have a team here?”

She looked at him uncomprehendingly.

“The other girls. Do they have a chess club?”

“No.”

“Then where do you play?”

“Down here.”

“Mr. Shaibel said you played a few games every Sunday. What do you do in between?”

“Nothing.”

“But how do you keep up?”

She did not want to tell him about playing chess in her mind in class and in bed at night. To distract him she said, “Do you want to play another?”

He laughed. “All right. It’s your turn to play White.”

She beat him even more handily, using the Réti Opening. The book had called it a “hypermodern” system; she liked the way it used her king’s bishop. After twenty moves she stopped him to point out her upcoming mate in three. It took him half a minute to see it. He shook his head in disbelief and toppled his king.

“You’re astonishing,” he said. “I’ve never seen anything like it.” He stood up and walked over to the furnace, where Beth had noticed a small shopping bag. “I have to go now. But I brought you a present.” He handed her the shopping bag.

She looked inside, hoping to see another chess book. Something was wrapped in pink tissue paper.

“Unwrap it,” Mr. Ganz said, smiling.

She lifted it out and pulled away the loosely wrapped paper. It was a pink doll in a blue print dress, with blond hair and a puckered-up mouth. She held it a moment and looked at it.

“Well?” Mr. Ganz said.

“Do you want another game?” Beth said, holding the doll by its arm.

“I have to go,” Mr. Ganz said. “Maybe I’ll come back next week.”

She nodded.

There was a big oilcan used for trash at the end of the hallway. As she passed it on the way to the Sunday afternoon movie, she dropped the doll into it.

During Health class she found the picture in the back of the book. On one page was a woman and on the facing page a man. They were line drawings, with no shading. Both stood with their arms at their sides and the palms of their hands turned out. At the V below her flat belly the woman had a simple, vertical line. The man had no such line, or if he had you couldn’t see it. What he had looked like a little purse with a round thing hanging down in front of it. Jolene said it was like a thumb. That was his cock.

The teacher, Mr. Hume, was saying that you should have green leafy vegetables at least once a day. He began to write the names of vegetables on the board. Outside the big windows on Beth’s left, pink japonica was beginning to bloom. She studied the drawing of a naked man, trying vainly to find some secret.

Mr. Ganz was back the next Sunday. He had his own chessboard with him. It had black and white squares, and the pieces were in a wooden box lined with red felt. They were made of polished wood; Beth could see the grain in the white ones. She reached out while Mr. Ganz was setting them up and lifted one of the knights. It was heavier than the ones she had used and had a circle of green felt on the bottom. She had never thought about owning things, but she wanted this chess set.

Mr. Shaibel had set up his board in the usual place and got another milk crate for Mr. Ganz’s board. The two boards were now side by side, with a foot of space between them. It was a sunny day, and bright light came in the window filtered through the short bushes by the walk at the edge of the building. Nobody spoke while the pieces were set up. Mr. Ganz took the knight gently from Beth’s hand and put it on its home square. “We thought you could play us both,” he said.

“At the same time?”

He nodded.

Her milk crate had been put between the boards. She had White for both games, and in both of them she played pawn to king four.

Mr. Shaibel replied with the Sicilian; Mr. Ganz played pawn to king four. She did not even have to pause and think about the continuations. She played both moves and looked out the window.

She beat them both effortlessly. Mr. Ganz set up the pieces, and they started again. This time she moved pawn to queen four on both and followed it with pawn to queen’s bishop four—the Queen’s Gambit. She felt deeply relaxed, almost in a dream. She had taken seven tranquilizers at about midnight, and some of the languor was still in her.

About midway into the games she was staring out the window at a bush with pink blooms when she heard Mr. Ganz’s voice saying, “Beth, I’ve moved my bishop to bishop five” and she replied dreamily, “Knight to K-5.” The bush seemed to glow in the spring sunlight.

“Bishop to knight four,” Mr. Ganz said.

“Queen to queen four,” Beth replied, still not looking.

“Knight to queen’s bishop three,” Mr. Shaibel said gruffly.

“Bishop to knight five,” Beth said, her eyes on the pink blossoms.

“Pawn to knight three.” Mr. Ganz had a strange softness in his voice.

“Queen to rook four check,” Beth said.

She heard Mr. Ganz inhale sharply. After a second he said, “King to bishop one.”

“That’s mate in three,” Beth said, without turning. “First check is with the knight. The king has the two dark squares, and the bishop checks it. Then the knight mates.”

Mr. Ganz let out his breath slowly. “Jesus Christ!” he said.

They were watching the Saturday-afternoon movie when Mr. Fergussen came to take her to Mrs. Deardorff’s office. It was a movie about table manners called “How to Act at Dinnertime,” so she didn’t mind leaving. But she was frightened. Had they found out that she never went to chapel? That she saved pills? Her legs trembled and her knees felt funny as Mr. Fergussen, wearing his white pants and white T-shirt, walked her down the long hallway, down the green linoleum with black cracks in it. Her thick brown shoes squeaked on the linoleum, and she squinted her eyes under the bright fluorescent lights. The day before had been her birthday. No one had taken any notice of it. Mr. Fergussen, as usual, had nothing to say: he walked smartly down the hall ahead of her. At the door with the frosted glass panel and the words HELEN DEARDORFF—SUPERINTENDENT he stopped. Beth pushed open the door and went inside.

A secretary in a white blouse told her to go on to the back office. Mrs. Deardorff was expecting her. She pushed open the big wooden door and walked in. In the red armchair sat Mr. Ganz, wearing a brown suit. Mrs. Deardorff was sitting behind a desk. She peered at Beth over tortoise-shell glasses. Mr. Ganz smiled self-consciously and rose halfway from the chair when she came in. Then he sat down again awkwardly.

“Elizabeth,” Mrs. Deardorff said.

She had closed the door behind her and now stood a few feet away from it. She looked at Mrs. Deardorff.

“Elizabeth, Mr. Ganz tells me that you are a”—she adjusted the glasses on her nose—“a gifted child.” Mrs. Deardorff looked at her for a moment as though she were expected to deny it. When Beth said nothing, she went on, “He has an unusual request to make of us. He would like you to be taken to the high school on…” She looked over at Mr. Ganz again.

“On Thursday,” Mr. Ganz said.

“On Thursday. In the afternoon. He maintains that you are a phenomenal chess player. He would like you to perform for the chess club.”

Beth said nothing. She was still frightened.

Mr. Ganz cleared his throat. “We have a dozen members, and I’d like you to play them.”