Jesse Ball: The Lesson

— I will find my own way out, said Loring.

was such that Loring was entirely exhausted by the time she reached the grave. She had to pick her way carefully. That night happened to be extremely dark. There was no moon and the clouds were sufficient to dull any impression of stars. She sat on the ground there and sank her fingers in the earth.

— My love, she said.

It will perhaps confuse you if I explain that as she sat there, she heard in her head the playing of a concert they once saw in Munich, in their middle age. Young people always assume that such things require great powers of memory or concentration, but of course, all things come with time and chance, and all things that come of their own accord are in that way blessed with great strength. So it is that one may suddenly be visited by a memory with great presence, whether it is that of music, or the feeling of a day, or a sight seen from afar, a face, a sense of a period of one’s life as though a foot is dipped into a pool of water — yes, you see what I mean. What she heard was not the music itself; that would be absurd. Instead, for her there: what she felt to hear that music, and the sense of the music happening. Do not believe, oh my friends, that this is counterfeit, either. It is what we have. The sense of music swelling up into the broad night, with little fists of stone graves littered on the hill around…

So, she sat there awhile in the night until she was too tired to sit, and then she lay down, and soon fell asleep. When she woke it was the morning, and at least ten birds were in the tree above her head.

They were doing that bird thing that involves sleeping with the head under one wing. Another way of writing the above sentence would be, when she woke it was the morning, and ten headless birds were draped throughout the tree above her head. Of course, that would be misleading in the extreme, as when she woke, they woke too, and one after another beheld the glittering day. For them it was a moment of true significance, and having no shame, they sounded their horns, and climbed about on the shoulders of the branches with great impetuousness.

For Loring, it was a matter of sitting up again, and maneuvering to the tree, and sitting with her back to it. The gravestone was to her left, the greater part of the cemetery to her right. That there had been clouds in the sky the night before would in no way be evident any longer, as the endless blue whirling of the sky set about this way and that, and Loring closed her eyes again, and slept for another hour before the sun was full in her face, and drove her all the way home, though she went haltingly, weakly, and stopped often for rest. It is a difficulty, one might say, that the old who are strong willed do themselves harm with this will, for they never cease to demand too much until they no longer can and are swept away.

Loring went to the door and opened it. Indeed, it was not Stan at all, but the town doctor, Matthews, with whom we have previously been concerned. It had become his habit, every now and then, to stop by and play a game of chess with Loring. Of course, she would always give him odds, pawn and move, or even knight odds, depending on her mood. Nonetheless, he was an excellent player, and a discreet one. His manners were impeccable.

— John, why, hello.

— Hello, Loring. Have you time for a game or two? I was just passing this way.

— Yes, yes. A student is coming by, but that will be all right. Come in.

She welcomed Dr. Matthews into the house, and took his heavy coat, which he wore, even in the summer heat, being a very superstitious man. One somehow assumes that by their nature doctors, scientist, etc., would be immune to such nonsense, but of course it isn’t the case at all. One might imagine a world of reason where all things fit into proper compartments, and then another, a hazy place of indistinct longings and infrequent arrivals — the first like a counting house, and the second like a train station during a land invasion. Is this hard to see — I am taking back my calling Dr. Matthew’s superstition nonsense. Superstitions may be quite useful.

— You are looking well.

Loring was wearing an outfit that resembled nothing so much as a canvas sack with holes for the head and arms. To say that she had never troubled herself much over her appearance would be an understatement of the gravest sort. She had at one time had a great deal of youthful charm and exuberance. Now, in her latter days, utility was the matter foremost in her mind concerning clothing, and she would, in winter, wear as many as three dresses at the same time.

— Thank you, John.

They went into the parlor and sat down. The pieces were set up and Loring removed her queen’s knight.

— Have you been playing much? she inquired.

— Oh, a game here or there.

They continued on and he soon blundered one piece and then another. He pushed his king over and smiled at her.

— Again?

And so they began again. The doctor loved to play in the romantic style of the nineteenth century. While such a style is delightful, scintillating, etc., it is generally effective only against weaker opponents. One must however appreciate that the character of their visits was enlivened by his archaic gambits, and she appreciated them in the spirit in which they were given.

Midway through the third game, a loud knock. The boy had arrived.

What did that meeting look like? The boy came in, wearing even then the sort of clothes a boy would wear to school; perhaps his parents were preparing him for that day which loomed in the near future, or perhaps all the clothes he owned were stiff and proper. In any case, he looked a boy with everything well in order. The doctor, of course, having delivered him, knew him well.

— Why, Stan, he said, are you a chess player?

Stan smiled.

— Dr. Matthews, it doesn’t look like you’re doing very well.

— She is relentless, said Matthews, grimacing. Don’t you think?

— Oh, no, said Stan. She is very kind and helpful. A good teacher.

— Well, perhaps that is the problem, said the doctor. I come here for beatings and not for lessons. One of these days, Loring, you should give me some advice instead of spotting me a knight and beating the side of my head in.

— I will consider it, she said.

As the doctor’s eyes passed across the parlor, from the boy to the chess board, they lit on the photograph of Ezra and his eyes narrowed. He looked at the boy and again at the picture and then at Loring. She did not see him, for she was busy staring at the board.

— Mate in five, she said. Unavoidable.

Stan came over to the board.

— Ah, said the doctor sadly. I see it now. My bishop here will fall when the rooks trade off, because of this intermediate queen check. At that point, it won’t be protected. After that, there’s nothing to be done. I can move this pawn, but, well…

Stan patted the doctor on the shoulder. Matthews was staring at him very carefully. He said nothing.

— Well, I am going to have to begin Stan’s lesson now, so if you don’t mind my kicking you out without tea…

The doctor got to his feet.

— I see, I see, he said. It’s no trouble. Thank you for the games.

— I will see you to the door, said Loring.

She fetched his coat, and together they stepped out into the street. The boy was still by the chessboard. The doctor motioned that she should shut the door.

— Do you know, he said. Do you know how old that boy is?

— Five years old.

— Five years, four months, two days.

Loring looked at him.

— What do you mean?