“But where will you go? What will you do?” said Talleyrand. “You are a young woman alone, with no family.…”
“I’ve given that a good deal of thought since yesterday,” Mireille said. “I have unfinished business to conduct before I can return to France. I am in danger—until I can understand the secret of these pieces. And there is only one way to understand it. That is to go to their place of origin.”
“Good God,” fumed Talleyrand. “You’ve told me they were given to Charlemagne by the Moorish governor of Barcelona! But that was nearly a thousand years ago. I should think the trail would be a bit cold by now. And Barcelona is scarcely in the outskirts of Paris! I’ll not have you running about Europe by yourself!”
“I do not plan to go to a country in Europe.” Mireille smiled. “The Moors did not come from Europe, they came from Mauretania, from the bottom of the Sahara Desert. One must always begin at the source in order to find the meaning.…” She looked at Talleyrand with her fathomless green eyes, and he looked back in amazement.
“I shall go to Algeria,” she said. “For that is where the Sahara begins.”
THE CENTER BOARD
Skeletons of mice are often to be found in coconuts, for it is easier to get in, slim and greedy, than to get out, appeased but fat.
—Chess Is My Life
Viktor Korchnoi (Russian GM)
Tactics is knowing what to do when there is something to do. Strategy is knowing what to do when there is nothing to do.
—Savielly Tartakover (Polish GM)
In the cab, en route to Harry’s, I was more confused than ever. Mordecai’s statement that I’d been present on both funereal occasions only reinforced the sickening feeling that this circus had something to do with me. Why had Solarin and the fortune-teller both warned me? Why had I painted a man on a bicycle, and why was he making guest appearances in real life?
I wished I’d asked Mordecai further questions; it seemed he knew more than he was letting on. For example, he’d admitted he had met Solarin years earlier. How did we know he and Solarin hadn’t remained in contact?
When we arrived at Harry’s, the doorman raced out to open the front door for us. We had barely spoken on our trip over. Going up in the elevator, Lily finally said, “Mordecai seemed quite taken with you.”
“A very complex person.”
“You’ve no idea,” she said as the doors swished open on her floor. “Even when I beat him at chess, I always wonder what combinations he might have played. I trust him more than anyone, but he’s always had a secretive side. Speaking of secretive, don’t mention Saul’s death until we know more about it.”
“I really should go to the police,” I said.
“They’re going to wonder why it took you so long to get around to mentioning it,” Lily pointed out. “You may delay your trip to Algiers with a ten-year prison sentence.”
“Surely they wouldn’t think that I …”
“Why not?” she said as we reached Harry’s door.
“There they are!” cried Llewellyn from the living room as Lily and I came into the large marble foyer and handed the maid our coats. “Late as usual. Where have you two been? Harry’s having a fit in the kitchen.”
The foyer had a chessboard floor of black-and-white squares. Around the curved walls were marble pillars and Italian landscapes in gray-green tones. At the center splashed a little fountain, surrounded by ivy.
At either side were wide, curving marble steps, scrolled at the edges. Those at the right led down to the formal dining room, where a dark mahogany table was set for five. To the left was the living room, where Blanche was seated in a heavy chair of deep red brocade. A hideous Chinese chest, lacquered in red with gold handles, dominated the far end of the room. The overblown, costly dregs of Llewellyn’s antique shop peppered the rest of the room. Llewellyn himself was crossing the room to greet us.
“Where have you two been?” said Blanche as we descended the stairs. “We were to have cocktails and hors d’oeuvres an hour ago.” Llewellyn gave me a little peck and left to tell Harry we’d arrived.
“We were just chatting,” said Lily, tossing her bulk in another overstuffed chair and picking up a magazine.
Harry came dashing out of the kitchen, bearing aloft a large tray of appetizers. He was wearing a chef’s apron and a big floppy hat. He looked like a gigantic advertisement for self-rising dough.
“I heard you’d arrived,” he said, beaming. “I let most of the staff off so they wouldn’t kibitz while I was cooking. So I brought the hors d’oeuvres myself.”
“Lily said they were chatting all this time, can you imagine?” said Blanche as Harry put the tray down on a side table. “The entire dinner might have been ruined.”
“Let them alone,” Harry said, winking at me, his back to Blanche. “Girls that age should be schmoozing a little.” Harry harbored the delusion that, if exposed to me enough, some of my personality would “rub off” on Lily.
“Now look,” he said, dragging me over to the hors d’oeuvres tray. “This one is caviar and smetana, this one is egg and onion, and this one is my own secret recipe for chopped liver with schmaltz. My mother gave it to me on her deathbed!”
“It smells wonderful,” I told him.
“And this one is lox with cream cheese, in case you shouldn’t care for the caviar. I want half of these gone before I come back. Dinner will be in thirty minutes.” He beamed at me again and breezed out of the room.
“Lox, my God,” said Blanche as if she felt a headache coming on. “Give me one of those.” I handed her one and took some myself.
Lily went over to the hors d’oeuvres tray and wolfed down a few. “Do you want some champagne, Cat? Or can I fix you something else?”
“Champagne is fine,” I told her just as Llewellyn returned.
“I’ll pour,” he said, going behind the bar. “Champagne for Cat, and what will it be for my charming niece?”
“Scotch and soda,” said Lily. “Where’s Carioca?”
“The little darling is tucked away for the evening. No need to have him rummaging about in the hors d’oeuvres.” As Carioca tried to bite Llewellyn on the ankles whenever he saw him, his attitude was understandable. While Lily sulked, Llewellyn handed me a flute of champagne fizzing with bubbles. Then he returned to the bar to mix the Scotch and soda.
After the prescribed half hour and many hors d’oeuvres, Harry came out of the kitchen in a dark brown velvet dinner jacket and motioned us all to be seated. Lily and Llewellyn were at one side of the mahogany table, Blanche and Harry at either end. I had the remaining side to myself. We sat down, and Harry poured the wine.
“Let’s all toast the departure of our beloved friend Cat, for her first long stay away from us since we have known her.” We all clinked glasses back and forth, and Harry continued.
“Before you go, I’ll give you a list of the very best restaurants in Paris. You go to Maxim’s or the Tour d’Argent, mention my name to the maître d’ and you’ll be served like a princess.”
I had to tell him. It was now or never.
“Actually, Harry,” I said, “I’ll only be in Paris for a few days. After that, I’m going to Algiers.”
Harry glanced at me, his wineglass aloft. He put the wineglass down. “Algiers?” he said.
“That’s where I’m going to work,” I explained. “I’ll be there for a year.”
“You’re going to live with the Arabs?”
“Well, I’m going to Algeria,” I said. Everyone at the table was silent, and I frankly appreciated their not trying to intervene on my behalf.
“Why are you going to Algeria? You have suddenly lost your mind? Or is there some other reason that seems to be escaping me?”
“I’m going to develop a computer system for OPEC,” I told him. “It’s an oil consortium. It stands for Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries. They produce and distribute oil, and one of their bases is in Algiers.”
“What kind of oil con
sortium is it,” said Harry, “run by a bunch of people who don’t know how to dig a hole in the ground? For four thousand years the Arabs have been wandering around in the desert letting their camels shit wherever they liked, and producing absolutely nothing! How can you—”
With perfect timing, Valerie the maid came in with a big urn of chicken soup on a little cart. She pushed it over to Blanche and began dishing up.
“Valerie, what are you doing?” said Harry. “Not now!”
“Monsieur Rad,” said Valerie, who was from Marseilles and knew how to handle men, “I have been wiz you for ten years. And in all zat time, I haf never let you tell me when I shall serve the zoup. Why shall I begeen now?” And she kept on ladling with remarkable aplomb.
Valerie had gotten around to me by the time Harry recovered.
“Valerie,” he said, “since you insist on serving the soup, I’d like to hear your opinion on something.”
“Veree well,” she said, pursing her lips and moving around to serve Harry.
“You know Miss Velis here quite well?”
“Quite well,” agreed Valerie.
“Do you know that Miss Velis here just informed me that she is planning to move to Algeria, to live among the Arabs? What do you think of that?”
“Algerie, it is a marvelous country,” said Valerie, moving around to serve Lily. “I have a brozzaire who leeves zaire. I have visite him many times.” She nodded at me across the table. “You weel like eet very much.”
She served Llewellyn and departed.
The table was silent. The sound of soup spoons could be heard scraping across the bottom of bowls. Finally Harry spoke.
“How do you like the soup?” he said.
“It’s wonderful,” I told him.
“You won’t get any soup like this in Algeria, I can tell you that.”
This was Harry’s way of admitting that he had lost. You could hear the relief pass like a heavy sigh around the table.
The dinner was wonderful. Harry had made potato pancakes with homemade applesauce that was just a little sour and tasted of oranges. There was a big roast that crumbled into its own juices; you could cut it with a fork. There was a noodle casserole he called “kugel” that had a crusty top. There were lots of vegetables and four different kinds of bread served with sour cream. For dessert we had the best apple strudel I had ever eaten, thick with raisins and steaming hot.
Blanche, Llewellyn, and Lily had been unusually silent during dinner, making idle chitchat that seemed halfhearted. Finally Harry turned to me, refilling my wineglass, and said, “If you get into trouble, you’ll be sure to call me? I’m concerned for you, darling, with nobody to turn to but some Arabs and those goyim you work for.”
“Thanks,” I said. “But Harry, try to realize that I’m going to a civilized country on business. I mean, it’s not exactly like going on a jungle trek—”
“What do you mean?” Harry interrupted. “The Arabs are still cutting people’s hands off for stealing. Besides, even a civilized country isn’t so safe anymore. I don’t let Lily drive the car herself in New York even, for fear she’ll get mugged. You heard, I suppose, that Saul up and quit? That ingrate.”
Lily and I glanced at each other and looked away again. Harry was still carrying on.
“Lily is still in this meshugge chess tournament, and I have no one to drive her there. I worry myself sick that she’ll be out in the streets.… Now I hear that some player died in the tournament even.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Lily. “This is a very important tournament. If I qualify here, I could play in the interzonals against the biggest players in the world. I’m certainly not going to back out just because some crazy old guy got himself bumped off.”
“Bumped off?!” said Harry, and his glance snapped back to me before I had time to adjust my expression to one of naïveté. “Great! Terrific! Exactly what I’ve been worrying about. Meanwhile, you’re running down to Forty-sixth Street every five minutes to play chess with that doddering old fool. How are you ever going to meet a husband?”
“Are you talking about Mordecai?” I asked Harry.
A deafening silence fell over the table. Harry had turned to stone. Llewellyn had closed his eyes and was toying with his napkin. Blanche was looking at Harry with an unpleasant little smile. Lily was staring at her plate and tapping her spoon on the table.
“Did I say something wrong?” I asked.
“It’s nothing,” Harry mumbled. “Don’t worry about it.” But he said nothing further.
“It’s all right, darling,” said Blanche with forced sweetness. “It’s something we don’t speak about very often, that’s all. Mordecai is Harry’s father. Lily is very fond of him. He taught her to play chess when she was quite young. I believe he did it just to spite me.”
“Mother, that’s ridiculous,” said Lily. “I asked him to teach me. You know that.”
“You were barely out of diapers at the time,” Blanche said, still looking at me. “In my opinion he is a horrible old man. He has not been in this apartment since Harry and I were married twenty-five years ago. I am astounded that Lily would introduce you to him.”
“He’s my grandfather,” said Lily.
“You could have told me first,” Harry chimed in. He looked so thoroughly wounded that for a moment I thought he was going to cry. Those St. Bernard eyes had never been droopier.
“I’m really sorry,” I said. “It was my fault.…”
“It was not your fault,” said Lily. “So just shut up. The problem is that no one here has ever understood that I want to play chess. I do not want to be an actress or marry a rich man. I do not want to mooch off other people as Llewellyn does.…” Llewellyn looked up briefly with a dagger in his eye, then looked back down at the table again.
“I want to play chess, and no one understands that but Mordecai.”
“Every single time that man’s name is mentioned in this house,” said Blanche, sounding slightly shrill for the first time, “it drives this family a little farther apart.”
“I don’t see why I have to sneak downtown like some kind of culprit,” said Lily, “just to see my own—”
“What sneaking?” Harry said. “Have I ever asked you to sneak? I sent you in the car whenever you wanted to go. No one ever said you should sneak anywhere.”
“But perhaps she wanted to sneak,” said Llewellyn, speaking for the first time. “Perhaps our darling Lily wanted to sneak over with Cat to discuss the tournament they attended together last Sunday, the one where Fiske was killed. After all, Mordecai is an old cohort of Grand Master Fiske. Or was, I should say.”
Llewellyn was smiling as if he’d just found a place for his dagger. I wondered how he’d come so close to the mark. I tried a little bluff.
“Don’t be silly. Everyone knows Lily never attends tournaments.”
“Oh, why lie about it?” said Lily. “It was probably in the papers that I was there. There were enough reporters crawling around.”
“Nobody ever tells me anything!” Harry bellowed. His face was very red. “What the hell is going on around here?” He scowled at us all with thunder in his face. I’d never seen him so angry.
“Cat and I went to the tournament on Sunday. Fiske was playing a Russian. Fiske died, and Cat and I left. That’s all there was to it, so don’t make a big production.”
“Who’s making a production?” said Harry. “Now that you’ve explained it, I’m satisfied. Only you could have satisfied me a little earlier, that’s all. But you’re not going to any more tournaments where people are getting bumped off.”
“I’ll try to arrange for everybody to stay alive,” Lily said.
“What did the brilliant Mordecai have to say about Fiske’s death?” asked Llewellyn, unwilling to let it drop. “Surely he had an opinion on the subject. He seems to have an opinion on everything.”
Blanche put her hand on Llewellyn’s arm, as if that were really about enough.
“Mordec
ai thought Fiske was murdered,” Lily said, pushing back her chair and standing up. She dropped her napkin on the table. “Anyone care to move to the drawing room for a little after-dinner arsenic?”
She walked out of the room. There was an uncomfortable silence for a moment, then Harry reached over and patted me on the shoulder.
“I’m sorry, darling. It’s your farewell party, and we’re all screaming at each other like a bunch of yentas. Come, let’s have a cognac and talk about something more cheerful.”
I agreed. We all went to the living room for a nightcap. After a few minutes Blanche complained of a headache and excused herself. Llewellyn took me aside and said, “Do you remember the little proposition I’d made you about Algiers?” I nodded, and he added, “Come into the study for a moment and we’ll discuss it.”
I followed him through the back corridor into the study, which was all done in soft brown plumpy furniture with dim lighting. Llewellyn closed the door behind us.
“Are you willing to do it?” he asked.
“Look, I know it’s important to you,” I told him. “And I’ve thought it over. I’ll try to find these chess pieces for you. But I’m not going to do anything illegal.”
“If I can wire you the money, could you buy them? I mean, I could put you in touch with someone who’d … remove them from the country.”
“Smuggle them, you mean.”
“Why put it that way?” said Llewellyn.
“Let me ask you a question, Llewellyn,” I said. “If you have someone who knows where the pieces are, and you have someone who’ll pay for them, and you have someone else who’ll smuggle them out of the country, what do you need me for?”
Llewellyn was silent for a moment. It was clear he was thinking about how to reply. At last he said, “Why not be honest about it? We’ve tried already. The owner will not sell to my people. Refuses even to meet with them.”
“Then why would he deal with me?” I wanted to know.
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