by Jesse Kraai
Dorsa had also lost her chess practice. Back in Emeryville, on Jan’s computer, Lisa read: “I’ve been studying your book, Lisa, in my quiet room in the suburbs of Tehran. A vase of purple and white fritillaries sits on my window; they bow their heads and smell like wet fur. Behind them I can see the long ridge of Mount Tochal. I understand now how you became so strong. You went up there, with the Russians. And I went after you. Every day I washed away my sweat in the clear mountain streams. And I felt pure. I climbed all the way up to the majesty of Game eleven. But then, sad news. They took the book away from me. They said it was inappropriate, and that I was obsessing over it. I’m so sorry, Lisa. I fear the book and your notes are gone.”
Lisa hadn’t even finished studying all the games from the Tal-Botvinnik match with Igor. Chess never made any sense without him. And jumping in the water alone always seemed so pointlessly cold. She wasn’t making any progress in her swimming—it was always just a quick plunge and then a very long shiver. Cherub didn’t jump anymore. He just came to the rocks and watched his master’s painful routine with an air of grave disappointment.
Lisa decided that she would wander from the library. The gun turret was so close. She would let all her tightness go, and release everything inside her that had ever said no. Getting fucked up with her fellow runaways would be like Russian boys drinking vodka before the final day of the tournament; it would cleanse her. Lisa planned to tell them that her name was January, “Cuz my mom knew I was gonna be a cold cold bitch.” She would show them the cut marks on her arm.
The truants and the loiterers allowed Lisa to enter their circle and participate in their ritual. Her new friends held the false world above their heads as if it were one of Jan’s precious vases. They laughed at it and bonded in their deep hatred of it. Upon the concrete floor they would then dash that stupid world—though it was usually just a beer bottle. Then again, and again.
Afterward they would sit down in a state of drowsy melancholy and startle each other in the spray-painted shadows of the turret. All they had at hand were the shards of the vases and bottles they had broken. Lounging around, they would pick at themselves with those sharp edges. Then they would leave, saying something about getting back to their fifth-period class, and Lisa would again be alone.
*
Jan had no right to compare Jane Austen to chess. She didn’t have access to the three dimensions that flowed through Lisa’s soul. She had no idea how to talk to her pieces, to unroll their fates through time. And she certainly didn’t know anything about the crisp precision of the problem Lisa had solved inside the special UC Berkeley math room.
Lisa decided she would refute Jan, by disproving the life of Emma. Lisa wasn’t sure yet how the proof would go. But it would be conclusive. Lisa scanned the pages of the book for weaknesses and began building a scaffold around Emma’s life. She slithered down the poles and clambered up to the many wooden planks of her construction. It felt great to stick lusty swords and drive long lances deep into Emma’s flesh. The more Emma bled, the freer Lisa became.
The execution gave Lisa something singular to do. And that was a great relief. For there were too many things for her to study. Carl tried to teach her how to play Go. “It’s way deeper than chess,” he said. Clint showed her some chords on the library’s guitar. And she was supposed to be studying chess. But it sucked without Igor.
Lisa’s construction wound itself around Emma like her pieces had once encircled Davidson. She stabbed at Emma and shouted, “You know you’re gonna have to get out of there. Your small talk and small expectations are like Mr. Reese’s math problems. Page after page, like all the stuff Jan wants me to do.”
Emma’s life seemed so thin, as if she couldn’t see the mountains, or seek the ascent. Lisa shouted at her as if she were talking trash in a school yard: “And why do you always have to be such a bitch? Cuz you didn’t have a mommy and a daddy?” Lisa looked around. Cherub wasn’t there, only the sound of the raw wind whistling through the fragile wooden boards of the library.
I’m like Emma, Lisa thought. We both didn’t have a mother or a father. We didn’t have anyone to tell us what was important. So we had to create our own worlds. That’s why everything revolves around us. That’s why everybody thinks we’re arrogant.
*
In early May, the hard rains began to turn into short showers and Lisa took her garbage bags off. The water was a couple degrees warmer and she had worked her way up to a three-quarter mile swim. She was aiming for three miles. That was the distance the guy Igor called Pondboy had walked to escape society. The final swim would feature going around the Berkeley pier, those were the last waters Lisa had seen Igor swim toward.
Lisa had run to and from the library every day. She bought the bags of soft pomegranates, mushy persimmons and brown bananas that sold for ninety-nine cents at Igor’s grocery store. She picked up the apples and plums that dropped into Berkeley streets from the yards of wealthy houses. From dumpsters, Lisa selected the most wonderful pineapples and figs—fruit that was too delicious for rich people. Her tummy was hard; only when she looked close could she see the little lines that had once held her fat. Her mind could now go the distance.
Lisa again won the Northern California Girls Championship, and she got some students. She gave them Ruth’s old photocopies, closed her eyes, and told them to tell her where the pieces were. It was part of her training for the Polgar tournament at the end of the summer. Lisa felt free without the board, like being without a car, a bike or money. Like being in the water. “It is a pleasure,” she told them. Lisa especially liked it when they protested.
In an email titled “The Journal,” Lisa wrote:
“Hey Igor, you always wanted me to tell you something about the feminine tradition of the journal. That was the deal. Back then I selfishly took from you without being able to give you anything in return. I want to try now:
“Journals were created when women were beaten so far back that all they really had was their most private self. That’s where we learned to talk to our pieces. You have to figure out what they really want. But you can only do that by listening to all the pieces around them. Their stories are your stories. Have you ever seen old ladies gossip? It’s kinda like that.
“But let’s look for examples of what we’re talking about, like Arun would want. For the Polgar tournament at the end of the summer I am mostly studying my own games. I get it now, why it’s so hard. You have to look at what you are running away from. Here’s some of my analysis:
–“Mr. Reese is not my enemy. Every day he has to contain the sexualities of thirty-some kids, like the cardboard around a cheap box of wine. His struggle is not mine.
–“Botvinnik is not my enemy! He’s not The Man, as Clint likes to say. Botvinnik’s chess is careful and wise.
–“Vlad is not my enemy. Dr. Frohlich is not my enemy.
–“Not even the men at Chessbabes.com are my enemy. I can hear their girlfriends and mothers say, “You’re a grown man and you still play with dolls?” It always sounds like my mother’s voice. They feel like they have to explain chess. Again and again, these men violate the beautiful, trying to put chess into the words of the chessless. It’s like trying to get past ninth grade. Eventually they give up and walk away. Like wolves without a pack, they mourn their loss in the forests on the edge of town, where the scent of the people they came from mingles with the rawest nature. Or maybe it’s a shack next to some cold-ass water, ha!
“To them, my picture seems like a way back. It’s like I’m whispering: ‘Odysseus, come home. Tell me about your struggle.’ But I can’t bring them home from the edges. Because I’m already there, with them. That’s why my picture makes them so angry.
“But I do have friends. You, Ruth, Saheli, Zarra, Dorsa and hopefully my mom. I know you’re out there, analyzing your games. I’ll be here, whenever you’re ready to come back. —Lisa”
*
Lisa had written this letter out in her chess notebook
, which was also her journal, and she had to type it all into her mother’s computer. Jan was home more often now, as the evening light began to move toward the summer solstice. No one was buying anything until Mother’s Day, still a couple weeks away.
For months, Lisa had imagined sending her mom a letter. She was going to put it on fancy paper and send it in the mail. Because that’s what they did in the Jane Austen novels. But Lisa changed her mind. She would take her mother to the place in the living room that Ted had left empty and read to her aloud, as she once had to Igor.
For the occasion, Lisa got some of Ruth’s Green Snail Tea. She picked out hundreds of pomegranate kernels and made Dorsa’s Ash-e anar soup. Her mother’s tea set, bowls and tray had little scratches and dents. They were the same imperfections that had sent the library’s luxurious chair down toward the water, in whose seat she had spent so much time studying and thinking.
Lisa approached her mother with her journal in her hand. Jan opened her eyes as Lisa led her to their spot on the carpet. Her face reminded Lisa of her own. That’s how I looked right before I studied the Morphy game with Igor, Lisa thought, prepared to attune myself to the choir of the pieces and to then take responsibility for my own moves.
This is what Lisa said:
“Dear Mom: I’ve been trying to come home. I just didn’t know it, even when I stole your Jane Austen collection out from under your bed. Now I think of those books as my inheritance.
“I remembered how you and Ted met at a home show. You had been looking for things to sell at your store. He was looking for things he could put into his hotel rooms, to make travelers feel cozy. He asked you for advice. And then you rehearsed the ancient ritual, from faraway Austen time. You married him. I think you wanted someone to be on your side, maybe even love. But I never let myself see that. I never thought about your pieces. It was always only me, me, me.
“I think I understand why we fought so much over the journal and chess. You saw my journal as a retreat into a private feminine world, where we had to go because we were powerless in the real one. Good for little girls, but not for young women. In a kind of similar way, Domestique wanted to bring the household gods out of their private places and make them the real gods. You never wanted to see us cast aside again, like Grandma Lena was. That’s why you sent me to chess class, to get a piece of the South Bay’s power. You wanted us to have a place in the world, to not have to depend on men.
“A man named Arun is helping me with math. He’s a former chess prodigy who teaches at UC Berkeley. He’s teaching me the fundamentals, no phony bullshit. Remember when you said that you can only see what’s important after you’ve taken something away, like the way Austen took away the world of ships and men? Physics takes the dirt away and pretends that everything is mathematical. That’s how they discovered the bend in space/time. Arun promised I will be able to feel the bend in space/time around a Kleenex tissue in a couple years. My friend Saheli says that I’ll be able to see the bend even sooner than that, but I have to do the problems Arun gives me. It’s the same bend that all good chessplayers know. You know it too. Jane Austen showed me how I bend around you.
“I made sauerkraut in the kitchen. I got the big mason jars at a yard sale, so cheap! Have some. For the slug problem in my new community garden plot I made some beer traps out of plastic yogurt containers. I yelled, “Free beer, boys!” You know, just for old times.
“I’ve got some teaching gigs. Every Saturday I lead a chess workshop for Indian girls down in Fremont. They all think I’m a rock star or something, ha ha! It pays well, but I don’t really need the money. I’m working so you can have health insurance. It’s important to me. Online, it said that it would cost around $400 a month for you to have it. That’s how much money I’ve enclosed. Please take it, for me.
Love,
Lisa Lena Schmied”
* * *
[1]Ivanov-Karpov: 1. Pe4 Pc5 2. Nf3 Pe6. 3. Pd4 Pxd4 4. Nxd4 Pa6 5. Nc3 b5 6. Bd3 Bb7 7. castles Ne7 8. Kh1 Nbc6 9. Nxc6 Nxc6 10. Qg4 Ph5 11. Qe2 Ne5 12. Pf4 Ng4 13. Rf3 Qh4 14. Ph3 Bc5 15. Bd2 Pg6 16. Raf1 Qe7 17. Pa3 Pf5 18. Re1 Qf8 19. Pb4 Bd4 20. Pa4 Rc8 21. Nd1 Qf6 22. Pc3 Ba7 23. Pxb5 Pxb5 24. Pxf5 Pxf5 25. Bxb5 Bxf3 26. Qxf3 Rc7 27 Pc4 Bd4 28. Qd5 Kd8 29 Qd6 Nf2+ 30. Nxf2 Bxf2 31. Be3 Bxe3 32. Rxe3 Qe7 33. Qd2 Ke8 34. Qd4 Rg8 35. Qb6 Qg7 36. Qxe6+ Kd8 37. Qd5 Ra7 38. Rd3 Ra1+ 39. Kh2 Ra2 40. Bc6 Ra7 41. Qc5 Rc7 42. Qb6 Kc8.
black resigns
[2]This position arose after: 1. Pd4 Nc6 2. Pc4 Pe5 3. Pd5 Ne7 4. Pe4 Nf6 5. Nc3 Ng6 6. Pa3 Bc5 7. Be2 Pd6 8. Nf3 castles 9. Pb4 Bb6 10. castles
[3] Tal-Botvinnik, Game One: 1. Pe4 Pe6 2. Pd4 Pd5 3. Nc3 Bb4 4. Pe5 Pc5 5. Pa3 Bxc3 6. Pxc3 Qc7 7. Qg4 Pf5 8. Qg3 Ne7 9. Qxg7
R g8 10. Qxh7 Pxd4 11. Kd1 Bd7 12. Qh5+ Ng6 13. Ne2 Pd3 14. Pxd3 Ba4+ 15. Ke1 Qxe5 16. Bg5 Nc6 17. Pd4 Qc7 18. Ph4 Pe5 19. Rh3 Qf7 20. Pxe5 Ncxe5 21. Re3 Kd7 22. Rb1 Pb6 23. Nf4 Rae8 24. Rb4 Bc6 25. Qd1 Nxf4 26. Rxf4 Ng6 27. Rd4 Rxe3+ 28. Pxe3 Kc7 29. Pc4 Pxc4 30. Bxc4 Qg7 31. Bxg8 Qxg8 32. Ph5 black resigns
[4] This study arose after: 14… Nc6 15. Pf4 castles queenside 16. Ke1 Pd4 17. Pc4 Nge5 18. Pxe5 Nce5 19. Nxd4 Ng4.
[5]Tal-Botvinnik, Game Three: 1. Pe4 Pc6 2. Nc3 Pd5 3. Nf3 Bg4 4. Ph3 Bxf3 5. Pxf3 Pe6 6. Pd4 Nd7 7. Bf4 Bb4 8. Ph4 Ngf6 9. Pe5 Nh5 10. Bg5 Qa5 11. Bd2 Qb6 12. Pa3 Be7 13. Be3 Pg6 14. Na4 Qd8 15. Qd2 Ng7 16. Bg5 Ph6 17. Bxh6 Nf5 18. Bf4 Rxh4 19. Rxh4 Nxh4 20. Castles queenside Pb5 21. Nc5 Nxc5 22. Pxc5 Bxc5 23. Be2 Be7 24. Kb1 Qc7 25 Rh1 castles queenside 26. Bg3 Nf5 27. Rh7 Rf8 28. Bf4 Qd8 29. Bd3 Rh8 30. Rxh8 Qxh8 31. Qa5 Qh1+ 32. Ka2 Qxf3 33. Qa6+ Kb8 34. Qxc6 Qxf4 35. Bxb5 Qxe5 36. Qe8+ Kb7 37. Qc6+ Kb8 draw agreed
[6]Botvinnik-Tal, game twelve: 1. Pc4 Nf6 2. Pd4 Pe6 3. Nf3 Pd5 4. Nc3 Pc5. 5. Pe3 Nc6 6. Pa3 Bd6 7. Pxc5 Bxc5 8. Pb4 Bd6 9. Bb2 castles 10. Pxd5 Pxd5 11. Nb5 Bb8 12. Be2 Pa5 13. Pxa5 Nxa5 14. Castles Ra6 15. Be5 Bxe5 16. Nxe5 Re8 17. Nd3 Ne4 18. Nf4 Re5 19. Rc1 Rh6 20. Nd4 Nc6 21. Pg3 Pg5 22. Nd3 Re8 23. Bg4 Bxg4 24. Qxg4 Nxd4 25. Pxd4 Qf6 26. Ne5 Nd2. 27. Rfd1 Rxe5 28. Rxd2 Re4 29. Qc8+ Kg7 30. Qxb7 Qe6 31. Rf1 Re1 32. Qb5 Qh3 33. Pf3 Qe6 34. Rdf2 Rf6 35. Rxe1 Qxe1+ 36. Kg2 Pg4 37. Qd3 Ph5 38. Rf1 Qe6 39. Pxg4 Rxf1 40. Kxf1 Pxg4 41. Pa4 Qb6 42. Kf2 Qb4 43. Ke3 Qxa4 44. Kf4 Qa2 45. Qe3 Qxh2 46. Qe5+ Kf8 47. Qd6+ Kg7 48. Qxd5 Qf2+ 49. Kxg4 Pf5+ 50. Kg5 Qxg3 51. Kxf5 Qg6+ 52. Kf4 Qf6+ 53. Ke3 Kf8 54. Kd3 Qf1+ 55. Ke4 Qg2+ 56. Ke5 Qg5+ 57. Ke6 Qe7+ 58. Kf5 Qc7 59. Qa8+ Ke7 60. Qe4+ Kd8 61. Qh4+ Kc8 62. Qh8+ Kb7 63. Qe5 Qf7+ 64. Ke4 Qg6+ 65. Qf5 Qd6 66. Qf7+ Kc8 67. Qf5+ Kd8 68. Qa5+ Ke8 69. Pd5 Ke7 70. Qa7+ Kd8 71. Qa8+ Kd7 72. Kf5 Ke7 draw agreed
[7] Morphy vs. The Duke 1. Pe4 Pe5 2. Nf3 Pd6 3. Pd4 Bg4 4. Pxe5 Bxf3 5. Qxf3 Pxe5 6. Bc4 Nf6 7 Qb3 Qe7 8. Nc3 Pc6 9. Bg5 Pb5 10. Nxb5 Pxb5 11. Bxb5 Nbd7 12. castles queenside Rd8 13. Rxd7 Rxd7 14. Rd1 Qe6 15. Bxd7 Nxd7 16. Qb8+ Nxb8 17. Rd8 Mate
* * *
[1]
Table of Contents
The Journal
Gander
Game One
Game Two
Game Three
Game Four
The City
The Talk
Tal and Botvinnik
FRESNO
Lubbock
Emery High
Chalkidiki
Water
