rather than retreat his queen, moved out his
knight. If Alexander took the queen, Roland would fork king and queen.
Alexander chewed his lower lip and prudently moved his queen. Roland checked
with his knight, and on the next move won a pawn that Alexander’s retreat had
left unguarded. The crisis eased. Roland was a pawn up, but the advantage was
balanced by Alexander’s king’s rook, which had seized an open file.
Jehane, in her
room, tried to read. The words blurred. Her ears strained for sounds from the
living room. She went back out on the deck. From what she could see of the
board, the game seemed even. Looking down at the two men, she felt a great pity
for both. Each in his own way was a helpless child, as helpless as one of the
pieces on the chessboard, which now breathed such a defiant imitation of life.
She wandered
down into the living room just in time to see Roland move a pawn forward and
lean back in his chair, tension gone.
Alexander stared
down at the board. He reached, his hand heavy. When he moved, Roland almost
casually nudged his queen forward. Alexander’s jaw dropped; he glanced at
Roland in utter disbelief. He took the queen with a pawn, and Roland moved a
knight. “Check.” The black king fled. Another knight’s move. “Check.” The black
king stood at bay, isolated from its queen by the pawn that had captured the
white queen. The black king backed into the rook’s square, and again the white
knight loped forward.
“Checkmate.”
Alexander’s face
was a pale mask of fury. He seized the black king and hurled it across the
room. Then he jumped to his feet and turned on Jehane. “Pack your clothes,” he
snarled. “I’ve lost the game.”
Jehane, standing
in the shadow, shook her head. She spoke in a slow, calm voice. The words
seemed to hang in mid-air. “I’m not yours to give. If either of you had asked
me, this silliness would never have been played out.”
Nothing more was
said. Jehane’s husband sat stunned; her lover seemed exhausted. Cypriano slowly
packed the chessmen into their compartments. He picked up the black king,
brushed it with his sleeve and stowed it away with the others. Then he shut the
case and handed it to Roland.
Roland took the
case, expressionless. He went to the door, where he turned. He then tore the
mortgage into eight pieces and laid the scraps gently on a table. And departed.
Alexander
Cypriano from that moment had played no more chess. “And,” said Jehane, “never
again did I set eyes on Roland.”
CHAPTER 7
“That,” said
Jehane, “is the story of what happened to the mortgage. I’m sorry it took so
long, but I could hardly explain it any other way. . . . If you will examine
the black king, you’ll notice that the crown is bent.”
“I noticed,” said
Ann.
Jehane made a
gesture toward their glasses. “Sherry?”
Ann and Tarr
both accepted.
“Roland was a
strange man,” said Jehane. “I’m sure I did what was right. Neither of us would
have gained—though Roland might still be alive, which I suppose could be
considered a gain. Things happened as they had to happen. Now that he’s dead, I
notice the gap he leaves, but I feel no grief. Certainly not as much as Pearl
would have felt.”
“Out of sheer
curiosity, Mrs. Cypriano,” asked Tarr in a peculiarly respectful voice, “what
are your plans?”
Jehane smiled. “Perhaps
you’ll think me perverse, but I have an urge to go to Ireland. I don’t know
what I’ll find there, but I think I’ll be going soon.”
“With your
husband?” asked Ann.
“No.”
Ann rose. “Thank
you for being so honest.”
“I had no
choice. You would have thought us thieves otherwise.”
In San Rafael,
Tarr lured Ann into a coffee shop. He ordered two hamburgers and a milkshake,
explaining that he had not yet had lunch. Ann ordered coffee, in spite of Tarr’s
insistence that she eat. “Have a sandwich, or a sundae, or pie. Shoot the
works. It’s on me.”
“No, thanks. I’m
not
knight. If Alexander took the queen, Roland would fork king and queen.
Alexander chewed his lower lip and prudently moved his queen. Roland checked
with his knight, and on the next move won a pawn that Alexander’s retreat had
left unguarded. The crisis eased. Roland was a pawn up, but the advantage was
balanced by Alexander’s king’s rook, which had seized an open file.
Jehane, in her
room, tried to read. The words blurred. Her ears strained for sounds from the
living room. She went back out on the deck. From what she could see of the
board, the game seemed even. Looking down at the two men, she felt a great pity
for both. Each in his own way was a helpless child, as helpless as one of the
pieces on the chessboard, which now breathed such a defiant imitation of life.
She wandered
down into the living room just in time to see Roland move a pawn forward and
lean back in his chair, tension gone.
Alexander stared
down at the board. He reached, his hand heavy. When he moved, Roland almost
casually nudged his queen forward. Alexander’s jaw dropped; he glanced at
Roland in utter disbelief. He took the queen with a pawn, and Roland moved a
knight. “Check.” The black king fled. Another knight’s move. “Check.” The black
king stood at bay, isolated from its queen by the pawn that had captured the
white queen. The black king backed into the rook’s square, and again the white
knight loped forward.
“Checkmate.”
Alexander’s face
was a pale mask of fury. He seized the black king and hurled it across the
room. Then he jumped to his feet and turned on Jehane. “Pack your clothes,” he
snarled. “I’ve lost the game.”
Jehane, standing
in the shadow, shook her head. She spoke in a slow, calm voice. The words
seemed to hang in mid-air. “I’m not yours to give. If either of you had asked
me, this silliness would never have been played out.”
Nothing more was
said. Jehane’s husband sat stunned; her lover seemed exhausted. Cypriano slowly
packed the chessmen into their compartments. He picked up the black king,
brushed it with his sleeve and stowed it away with the others. Then he shut the
case and handed it to Roland.
Roland took the
case, expressionless. He went to the door, where he turned. He then tore the
mortgage into eight pieces and laid the scraps gently on a table. And departed.
Alexander
Cypriano from that moment had played no more chess. “And,” said Jehane, “never
again did I set eyes on Roland.”
CHAPTER 7
“That,” said
Jehane, “is the story of what happened to the mortgage. I’m sorry it took so
long, but I could hardly explain it any other way. . . . If you will examine
the black king, you’ll notice that the crown is bent.”
“I noticed,” said
Ann.
Jehane made a
gesture toward their glasses. “Sherry?”
Ann and Tarr
both accepted.
“Roland was a
strange man,” said Jehane. “I’m sure I did what was right. Neither of us would
have gained—though Roland might still be alive, which I suppose could be
considered a gain. Things happened as they had to happen. Now that he’s dead, I
notice the gap he leaves, but I feel no grief. Certainly not as much as Pearl
would have felt.”
“Out of sheer
curiosity, Mrs. Cypriano,” asked Tarr in a peculiarly respectful voice, “what
are your plans?”
Jehane smiled. “Perhaps
you’ll think me perverse, but I have an urge to go to Ireland. I don’t know
what I’ll find there, but I think I’ll be going soon.”
“With your
husband?” asked Ann.
“No.”
Ann rose. “Thank
you for being so honest.”
“I had no
choice. You would have thought us thieves otherwise.”
In San Rafael,
Tarr lured Ann into a coffee shop. He ordered two hamburgers and a milkshake,
explaining that he had not yet had lunch. Ann ordered coffee, in spite of Tarr’s
insistence that she eat. “Have a sandwich, or a sundae, or pie. Shoot the
works. It’s on me.”
“No, thanks. I’m
not
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