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On
the
ninth
move
Duhamel
made
an
error
in
judgment
,
and
Beth
pounced
on
it
,
pinning
his
knight
in
front
of
a
rook
.
It
would
cramp
him
for
a
moment
while
she
got
out
her
other
bishop
.
She
knew
from
studying
his
games
that
he
was
cautious
and
strong
at
defense
;
she
had
decided
the
night
before
to
wait
until
she
got
a
chance
and
then
overwhelm
him
.
By
the
fourteenth
move
she
had
both
bishops
aimed
at
his
king
,
and
on
the
eighteenth
she
had
their
diagonals
opened
.
He
hid
from
it
,
using
his
knights
cleverly
to
hold
her
off
,
but
she
brought
out
her
queen
,
and
it
became
too
much
for
him
.
His
twentieth
move
was
a
hopeless
try
at
warding
her
off
.
On
the
twenty
-
second
he
resigned
.
The
game
had
taken
barely
an
hour
.
They
had
played
at
the
far
end
of
the
stage
;
Borgov
,
playing
Flento
,
was
at
the
near
end
.
As
she
walked
past
him
to
the
subdued
applause
the
audience
gave
while
games
were
in
progress
,
he
glanced
up
at
her
briefly
.
It
was
the
first
time
since
Mexico
City
that
he
had
actually
looked
directly
at
her
,
and
the
look
frightened
her
.
On
an
impulse
she
waited
for
a
moment
just
out
of
sight
of
the
playing
area
and
then
came
back
to
the
edge
of
the
curtain
and
looked
across
.
Borgov
’
s
seat
was
empty
.
Over
at
the
other
end
he
was
standing
,
looking
at
the
display
board
with
the
game
Beth
had
just
finished
.
He
had
one
broad
hand
cupped
over
his
jaw
and
the
other
in
his
coat
pocket
.
He
frowned
as
he
studied
the
position
.
Beth
turned
quickly
and
left
.
After
lunch
,
she
walked
across
the
boulevard
and
went
down
a
narrow
street
to
the
park
.
The
boulevard
turned
out
to
be
Sokolniki
Street
,
and
there
was
a
good
deal
of
traffic
on
it
when
she
crossed
in
a
large
crowd
of
pedestrians
.
Some
of
the
people
looked
at
her
and
a
few
smiled
,
but
no
one
spoke
.
The
rain
had
ended
and
it
was
a
pleasant
day
with
the
sun
high
in
the
sky
and
the
enormous
buildings
that
lined
the
street
looking
a
little
less
prisonlike
in
the
sunshine
.
The
park
was
partly
forested
and
had
along
its
lanes
a
great
many
cast
-
iron
benches
with
old
people
sitting
on
them
.
She
walked
along
,
ignoring
the
stares
as
best
she
could
,
going
through
some
places
that
were
dark
with
trees
,
and
abruptly
found
herself
in
a
large
square
with
flowers
growing
in
little
triangles
dotted
here
and
there
.
Under
a
kind
of
roofed
pavilion
in
the
center
,
people
were
seated
in
rows
.
They
were
playing
chess
.
There
must
have
been
forty
boards
going
.
She
had
seen
old
men
playing
in
Central
Park
and
Washington
Square
in
New
York
,
but
only
a
few
at
any
one
time
.
Here
it
was
a
large
crowd
of
men
filling
the
barn
-
sized
pavilion
and
spilling
out
onto
the
steps
of
it
.
She
hesitated
a
moment
at
the
worn
marble
stairs
leading
up
to
the
pavilion
.
Two
old
men
were
playing
on
a
battered
cloth
board
on
the
steps
.
The
older
,
toothless
and
bald
,
was
playing
King
’
s
Gambit
.
The
other
was
using
the
Falkbeer
Counter
Gambit
against
it
.
It
looked
old
-
fashioned
to
Beth
,
but
it
was
clearly
a
sophisticated
game
.
The
men
ignored
her
,
and
she
walked
up
the
steps
and
into
the
shade
of
the
pavilion
itself
.
There
were
four
rows
of
concrete
tables
with
painted
boards
on
their
surfaces
,
and
a
pair
of
chess
players
,
all
men
,
at
each
.
Some
kibitzers
stood
over
the
boards
.
There
was
very
little
talk
.
From
behind
her
came
the
occasional
shouts
of
children
,
which
sounded
exactly
the
same
in
Russian
as
in
any
other
language
.
She
walked
slowly
between
two
rows
of
games
,
smelling
the
strong
tobacco
smoke
from
the
players
’
pipes
.
Some
of
them
looked
up
at
her
as
she
passed
,
and
in
a
few
faces
she
sensed
recognition
,
but
no
one
spoke
to
her
.
They
were
all
old
—
very
old
.
Many
of
them
must
have
seen
the
Revolution
as
boys
.
Generally
their
clothes
were
dark
,
even
the
cotton
shirts
they
were
wearing
in
the
warm
weather
were
gray
;
they
looked
like
old
men
anywhere
,
like
a
multitude
of
incarnations
of
Mr
.
Shaibel
,
playing
out
games
that
no
one
would
ever
pay
attention
to
.
On
several
tables
lay
copies
of
Shakmatni
v
USSR
.
