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There
had
been
a
few
times
over
the
past
year
when
she
felt
like
this
,
with
her
mind
not
only
dizzied
but
nearly
terrified
by
the
endlessness
of
chess
.
By
midnight
Mrs
.
Wheatley
had
put
her
book
aside
and
gone
quietly
to
sleep
.
Beth
sat
in
the
green
armchair
for
hours
,
not
hearing
Mrs
.
Wheatley
’
s
gentle
snores
,
not
sensing
the
strange
smell
of
a
Mexican
hotel
in
her
nostrils
,
feeling
somehow
that
she
might
fall
from
a
precipice
,
that
sitting
over
the
chessboard
she
had
bought
at
Purcell
’
s
in
Kentucky
,
she
was
actually
poised
over
an
abyss
,
sustained
there
only
by
the
bizarre
mental
equipment
that
had
fitted
her
for
this
elegant
and
deadly
game
.
On
the
board
there
was
danger
everywhere
.
A
person
could
not
rest
.
She
did
not
go
to
bed
until
after
four
and
,
asleep
,
she
dreamed
of
drowning
.
*
*
*
A
few
people
had
gathered
in
the
ballroom
.
She
recognized
Marenco
,
dressed
in
a
suit
and
tie
now
;
he
waved
at
her
as
she
came
in
,
and
she
forced
herself
to
smile
in
his
direction
.
It
was
frightening
to
see
even
this
player
she
had
already
beaten
.
She
was
jumpy
,
knew
she
was
jumpy
,
and
did
not
know
what
to
do
about
it
.
She
had
showered
at
seven
that
morning
,
unable
to
rid
herself
of
the
tension
she
had
awakened
with
.
She
was
barely
able
to
get
down
her
morning
coffee
in
the
near
-
empty
coffee
shop
and
had
washed
her
face
afterward
,
carefully
,
trying
to
focus
herself
.
Now
she
crossed
the
ballroom
’
s
red
carpet
and
went
to
the
ladies
’
room
and
washed
her
face
again
.
She
dried
carefully
with
paper
towels
and
combed
her
hair
,
watching
herself
in
the
big
mirror
.
Her
movements
seemed
forced
,
and
her
body
looked
impossibly
frail
.
The
expensive
blouse
and
skirt
did
not
fit
right
.
Her
fear
was
as
sharp
as
a
toothache
.
As
she
came
down
the
hallway
,
she
saw
him
.
He
was
standing
there
solidly
with
two
men
she
did
not
recognize
.
All
of
them
wore
dark
suits
.
They
were
close
together
,
talking
softly
,
confidentially
.
She
lowered
her
eyes
and
walked
past
them
into
the
small
room
.
Some
men
were
waiting
there
with
cameras
.
Reporters
.
She
slipped
behind
the
black
pieces
at
Board
One
.
She
stared
at
the
board
for
a
moment
,
heard
the
tournament
director
’
s
voice
saying
,
“
Play
will
begin
in
three
minutes
,
”
and
looked
up
.
Borgov
was
walking
across
the
room
toward
her
.
His
suit
fit
him
well
,
with
the
trouser
legs
draping
neatly
above
the
tops
of
his
shined
black
shoes
.
Beth
turned
her
eyes
back
to
the
board
,
embarrassed
,
feeling
awkward
.
Borgov
had
seated
himself
.
She
heard
the
director
’
s
voice
as
if
from
a
great
distance
,
“
You
may
start
your
opponent
’
s
clock
,
”
and
she
reached
out
,
pressed
the
button
on
the
clock
and
looked
up
.
He
was
sitting
there
solid
,
dark
and
heavy
,
looking
fixedly
at
the
board
,
and
she
watched
as
if
in
a
dream
as
he
reached
out
a
stubby
-
fingered
hand
,
picked
up
the
king
pawn
and
set
it
on
the
fourth
rank
.
Pawn
to
king
four
.
She
stared
at
it
for
a
moment
.
She
always
played
the
Sicilian
to
that
opening
—
the
most
common
opening
for
White
in
the
game
of
chess
.
But
she
hesitated
.
Borgov
had
been
called
“
Master
of
the
Sicilian
”
somewhere
in
a
journal
.
Almost
impulsively
she
played
pawn
to
king
four
herself
,
hoping
to
play
him
on
ground
that
was
fresh
for
both
of
them
,
that
would
not
give
him
the
advantage
of
superior
knowledge
.
He
brought
out
his
king
’
s
knight
to
bishop
three
,
and
she
brought
hers
to
queen
bishop
three
,
protecting
the
pawn
.
And
then
without
hesitation
he
played
his
bishop
to
knight
five
and
her
heart
sank
.
The
Ruy
Lopez
.
She
had
played
it
often
enough
,
but
in
this
game
it
frightened
her
.
