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- Уолтер Тевис
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Her
afternoon
was
free
,
and
she
could
take
a
tour
of
Sverdlov
Square
and
the
Bely
Gorod
and
the
museum
at
St
.
Basil
’
s
,
but
even
though
it
was
a
beautiful
summer
day
,
she
didn
’
t
feel
like
it
.
Maybe
in
a
day
or
two
.
She
was
tired
,
and
she
needed
a
nap
.
She
had
won
her
first
game
with
a
Russian
grandmaster
,
and
that
was
more
important
to
her
than
anything
she
might
see
outside
in
the
huge
city
that
surrounded
her
.
She
would
be
here
eight
days
.
She
could
see
Moscow
another
time
.
It
was
two
in
the
afternoon
when
she
finished
lunch
.
She
would
take
the
elevator
up
to
her
room
and
try
for
a
nap
.
She
found
she
was
too
high
from
beating
Laev
to
sleep
.
She
lay
on
the
huge
soft
bed
staring
at
the
ceiling
for
nearly
an
hour
and
played
the
game
with
him
over
and
over
,
sometimes
looking
for
weakness
in
the
way
she
had
played
it
,
sometimes
luxuriating
over
one
or
another
of
her
moves
.
When
she
came
to
the
place
where
she
had
offered
him
her
bishop
she
would
say
zap
!
aloud
,
or
pow
!
It
was
wonderful
.
She
had
made
no
mistakes
—
or
could
find
none
.
There
were
no
weaknesses
.
He
’
d
had
that
nervous
way
of
drumming
his
fingers
on
the
table
and
scowling
,
but
when
he
resigned
he
looked
only
distant
and
tired
.
Finally
,
rested
a
bit
,
she
got
out
of
bed
,
put
on
jeans
and
her
white
T
-
shirt
,
and
opened
the
heavy
draperies
at
the
window
.
Eight
floors
below
was
some
kind
of
convergence
of
boulevards
with
a
few
cars
dotting
their
emptiness
,
and
beyond
the
boulevards
was
a
park
dense
with
trees
.
She
decided
to
take
a
walk
.
But
when
she
was
putting
on
her
socks
and
shoes
,
she
began
to
think
about
Duhamel
,
whom
she
would
be
playing
White
against
tomorrow
.
She
knew
only
two
of
his
games
,
and
they
went
back
a
few
years
.
There
were
more
recent
ones
in
the
magazines
she
had
brought
;
she
should
go
over
them
now
.
Then
there
was
his
game
with
Luchenko
that
was
still
in
progress
when
she
left
.
It
would
be
printed
up
along
with
the
other
three
and
handed
out
tonight
when
the
players
met
for
an
official
dinner
here
in
the
hotel
.
She
had
better
do
a
few
sit
-
ups
and
knee
bends
now
and
take
a
walk
some
other
time
.
The
dinner
was
a
bore
,
but
more
than
that
,
it
was
infuriating
.
Beth
was
seated
at
one
end
of
the
long
table
with
Duhamel
,
Flento
and
Hellström
;
the
Russian
players
were
at
the
other
end
with
their
wives
.
Borgov
sat
at
the
head
of
the
table
with
the
woman
Beth
had
seen
him
with
at
the
Mexico
City
Zoo
.
The
Russians
laughed
throughout
the
meal
,
drinking
enormous
quantities
of
tea
and
gesturing
broadly
,
while
their
wives
looked
at
them
in
adoring
silence
.
Even
Laev
,
who
had
been
so
withdrawn
at
the
tournament
that
morning
,
was
ebullient
.
All
of
them
seemed
to
be
pointedly
ignoring
Beth
’
s
end
of
the
table
.
She
tried
for
a
while
to
converse
with
Flento
,
but
his
English
was
poor
and
his
fixed
smile
made
her
uncomfortable
.
After
a
few
minutes
of
trying
,
she
concentrated
on
her
meal
and
did
what
she
could
to
tune
out
the
noise
from
the
other
end
of
the
table
.
After
dinner
the
tournament
director
handed
out
printed
sheets
with
the
day
’
s
games
.
In
the
elevator
she
started
going
through
them
,
beginning
with
Borgov
’
s
.
The
other
two
were
draws
,
but
Borgov
had
won
his
.
Decisively
.
*
*
*
The
driver
brought
her
to
the
hall
by
a
different
route
the
next
morning
,
and
this
time
she
could
see
the
huge
crowd
in
the
street
outside
waiting
to
get
in
,
some
of
them
with
dark
umbrellas
against
the
morning
drizzle
.
He
took
her
to
the
same
side
entrance
she
had
used
the
day
before
.
There
were
about
twenty
people
standing
there
.
When
she
got
out
and
hurried
past
them
into
the
building
they
applauded
her
.
Someone
shouted
,
“
Lisabeta
Harmon
!
”
just
before
the
doorman
closed
the
door
behind
her
.
