our suite and heard the lowing. It was a low mooing chant that repeated itself over and over, and even though there were no words I could tell it was my father’s voice. It was coming from his bedroom. “Dad?”
The lowing stopped. “Daniel? Is that you?”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Fine. Come in.”
I walked into his bedroom. My father was lying on the rug on his back. He was wearing one of the hotel’s white terry cloth robes and he had a white towel over his eyes.
“What was that sound?” I asked. “It sounded like someone was strangling a cow in here.”
“That was a deep breathing exercise. It helps relieve tension and stabilize the heart rate. How did your game go?”
“Lost it,” I told him. “She was really strong. But I think I played well. What’s the matter with your heart?”
“Nothing. I just checked my blood pressure and it’s barely elevated. But when I play chess I can’t stop myself from getting tense.” He removed the towel from his eyes and looked up at me. “Did you save the score sheet from your game?”
I dug it out of my pocket. When you play a tournament game, you have to record all the moves using an algebraic shorthand, which they taught us in chess club. That way, if a disagreement breaks out about a position, the tournament referee can use the score sheets to settle the matter. Also, if you write your moves down, you can replay the game later and analyze it. “When you’re done relaxing, I’ll set up the pieces and let’s play it through,” I suggested.
“Hand it over.”
I gave him the score sheet, and he read it while lying flat on his back, his eyes flicking down the column of moves. “Good start,” he muttered. “Here’s where you went wrong. You should have challenged her for control of the center. Whoever controls the center of the battlefield makes his opponent fight on the wings.”
“Can you really play the whole game out in your head?” I asked, amazed.
“What’s so hard about visualizing a chessboard? There are only sixty-four squares.” He finished scanning the sheet and handed it back. “Not bad, Daniel. I’m impressed. Next time you drop a pawn in the middle game, counterattack. When you’re playing a good player and they get an advantage, you have to shake things up. Otherwise they’ll just trade pieces and grind you down.”
“I saw the end of your game,” I told him. “Two guys were talking about you in the bathroom. They thought you had blundered away your rook. They didn’t realize it was a brilliant sacrifice.”
“I don’t know about brilliant, but it got the job done.” He studied my face for a moment and then he asked, “What else did they say about me?”
“Nothing.” I looked down at the plush carpeting.
“Come on,” he said. “Out with it.”
I met his eyes. “One of them said he’d heard that you were a wacko grandmaster from long ago.”
“Wacko, huh?” Dad sat up.
“They were just a couple of fools gossiping in a bathroom. Anyway, you showed them a flash of genius.”
“‘Genius,’” he repeated softly. “‘Brilliant.’ Daniel, these are lovely words you’re coming up with lately … that you haven’t attributed to your father before.”
“Well, I never saw you play chess before,” I pointed out, my voice practically glowing with pride and excitement. “You really played like a grandmaster! That supernerd expert was going right for your jugular. He thought he had you cooked. And all the time you were waiting to spring your devious trap. It was just … so cool to watch.”
Dad stood up and nodded, looking grateful but also oddly sad. “Strange—I guess I never realized how important it was for you to see me do really well at something.”
“I did feel very proud,” I told him. “Is that a bad thing? I mean, I know you’re a good accountant, but I can’t really watch you do that.”
“I’m a better than average accountant,” he said. “But I was a very good chess
The lowing stopped. “Daniel? Is that you?”
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Fine. Come in.”
I walked into his bedroom. My father was lying on the rug on his back. He was wearing one of the hotel’s white terry cloth robes and he had a white towel over his eyes.
“What was that sound?” I asked. “It sounded like someone was strangling a cow in here.”
“That was a deep breathing exercise. It helps relieve tension and stabilize the heart rate. How did your game go?”
“Lost it,” I told him. “She was really strong. But I think I played well. What’s the matter with your heart?”
“Nothing. I just checked my blood pressure and it’s barely elevated. But when I play chess I can’t stop myself from getting tense.” He removed the towel from his eyes and looked up at me. “Did you save the score sheet from your game?”
I dug it out of my pocket. When you play a tournament game, you have to record all the moves using an algebraic shorthand, which they taught us in chess club. That way, if a disagreement breaks out about a position, the tournament referee can use the score sheets to settle the matter. Also, if you write your moves down, you can replay the game later and analyze it. “When you’re done relaxing, I’ll set up the pieces and let’s play it through,” I suggested.
“Hand it over.”
I gave him the score sheet, and he read it while lying flat on his back, his eyes flicking down the column of moves. “Good start,” he muttered. “Here’s where you went wrong. You should have challenged her for control of the center. Whoever controls the center of the battlefield makes his opponent fight on the wings.”
“Can you really play the whole game out in your head?” I asked, amazed.
“What’s so hard about visualizing a chessboard? There are only sixty-four squares.” He finished scanning the sheet and handed it back. “Not bad, Daniel. I’m impressed. Next time you drop a pawn in the middle game, counterattack. When you’re playing a good player and they get an advantage, you have to shake things up. Otherwise they’ll just trade pieces and grind you down.”
“I saw the end of your game,” I told him. “Two guys were talking about you in the bathroom. They thought you had blundered away your rook. They didn’t realize it was a brilliant sacrifice.”
“I don’t know about brilliant, but it got the job done.” He studied my face for a moment and then he asked, “What else did they say about me?”
“Nothing.” I looked down at the plush carpeting.
“Come on,” he said. “Out with it.”
I met his eyes. “One of them said he’d heard that you were a wacko grandmaster from long ago.”
“Wacko, huh?” Dad sat up.
“They were just a couple of fools gossiping in a bathroom. Anyway, you showed them a flash of genius.”
“‘Genius,’” he repeated softly. “‘Brilliant.’ Daniel, these are lovely words you’re coming up with lately … that you haven’t attributed to your father before.”
“Well, I never saw you play chess before,” I pointed out, my voice practically glowing with pride and excitement. “You really played like a grandmaster! That supernerd expert was going right for your jugular. He thought he had you cooked. And all the time you were waiting to spring your devious trap. It was just … so cool to watch.”
Dad stood up and nodded, looking grateful but also oddly sad. “Strange—I guess I never realized how important it was for you to see me do really well at something.”
“I did feel very proud,” I told him. “Is that a bad thing? I mean, I know you’re a good accountant, but I can’t really watch you do that.”
“I’m a better than average accountant,” he said. “But I was a very good chess
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