Colin joined the chess club after his daughter gave him a wooden chess set for his birthday.
He knew how every piece moved. What he didn’t know was why the other person was allowed to move immediately afterward.
At his first beginner’s evening, the organizer paired him with a quiet woman called Mavis.
“Take your time,” she said.
Colin took nineteen minutes over his first move.
He had watched several instructional videos, each promising an opening that would surprise his opponent. Unfortunately, the videos disagreed about which opening was best. He eventually moved a pawn two squares and tried to look as if the next twelve moves were settled.
Mavis moved a knight.
Colin frowned. None of the videos had begun quite like that.
“Interesting,” he said.
Mavis waited.
“Very interesting.”
“Would you like some tea?”
Colin said yes, grateful for additional thinking time. Mavis made two cups, helped someone find a missing bishop, and came back before he had moved.
By the end of the evening, Colin had lost. Mavis pointed out a few things he could try next time. He wrote them in a notebook. Then he asked how she’d known what he was planning.
“You kept looking at the square.”
Colin went home and practiced looking at different squares.
The following week he wore sunglasses. The organizer asked whether the lights were bothering him. Colin said he was concentrating. Mavis took his queen while he was concentrating on not looking at it.
He tried talking during the next match. He described his holiday, his garden, and a television program about bridges. Mavis listened politely and won before he reached the program’s second episode.
“I think talking distracts me,” he admitted.
“It doesn’t seem to distract your opponent,” she said.
Colin studied harder. He bought a book. He replayed old matches. He put a little clock beside the board at home so he wouldn’t spend all evening choosing a pawn. At the club he began making better moves, though not necessarily in a useful order.
The club had narrow tables, so Colin put his coat on the spare chair and balanced his notebook beside the board. Mavis suggested moving the notebook out of his elbow’s path. He moved it closer instead.
“I need to consult my strategy.”
“Does it require both pages?”
“I’m still finding out.”
They played for forty minutes. Then he leaned across to make a move, caught his sleeve on the notebook, and spent a moment straightening everything.
Mavis paused.
Colin sat very still. He’d steered his pieces into something from the book. He couldn’t remember the name of it, but he remembered that the author had used an exclamation mark.
Mavis studied the board. She leaned back. She leaned forward again. Colin felt his first real surge of confidence.
“Would you like tea?” he asked.
“No, thank you.”
He tried not to smile.
Across the room, the organizer noticed that Mavis hadn’t moved. He came over and looked at the position.
“Trouble?” he asked.
“A little,” Mavis said.
Colin’s notebook lay open beside the board. The organizer glanced at it and then at Colin, who gave him a modest nod.
Mavis reached for her king, stopped, and put it back.
Colin could bear it no longer.
“Have I finally put you in check?”
“No,” Mavis said.
“Is it a trap?”
“Not for me.”
He looked at the board. Then he followed her gaze to the chair beside him. His coat was draped across it, and one wooden piece sat on the sleeve.
Mavis pointed.
“Before I make a move,” she said, “could you put your king back?”