The Pawns - Part 2

© Alex Shternshain 2003

Part II - Dynamic tension

Click here if you missed the beginning of "The Pawns".

Standing there in the center of the board, I couldn't help but feeling a little exposed under the watchful eyes of the two-hundred-strong audience, who were now beginning to show interest in the game. Yes, I wasn't really exposed - I was wearing my normal clothes - baggy jeans and a "Satan Rules" T-shirt, and above them a white robe, and a small white cap identifying me as a Pawn. But I wasn't used to being in the limelight, and now suddenly all the attention was focused on me - a lonely pawn out there in the open. The little pawn that could, that's me - I chuckled. But my loneliness was short-lived. Already Denisov's massive paw was stretched in the direction of the board; already Mr. McKinley's voice was booming in the speakers again. And before I had any time to even start enjoying my famous solitude, a slim dark figure separated itself from the wall of black Pawns and began walking in my direction, stopping only when she reached e5.

"Hi, I'm Libby" the black-pawn-girl introduced herself with a candid smile that sent my heart to do the hoola-hoop. If it was a cartoon, I would be howling like a wolf and my eyes would pop out of my skull like the cork of a champagne bottle. But since it was not, and people were watching, I limited myself to the polite, if somewhat bland "Hi Libby, I'm Martin", and we exchanged courteous nods. A handshake somehow seemed inappropriate - after all, she was the enemy.

She was in that delicate age in which the first rosebuds of a girl's womanhood start to open - the springtime of life. In other words, she was in the ninth grade. Her straight sun-colored hair was simply done, and adorned with only a thin bow, whose edges were visible from under her black cap. Her face was not the kind that would inspire a Renaissance artist - the cheekbones were probably too round and the chin was a bit too small. But what drew me to her were her eyes. To say that she had big blue eyes would mean nothing. It would be like saying that Bill Gates is rich or the Everest is tall. Red hair and blue eyes, this combination should be outlawed before it kills someone. Probably me. All my fifteen-year-old boyish soul yearned for her.

As I was busy feasting my eyes on my vis-à-vis, more moves were made - a pair of knights came out into the third row, and a bishop followed suit. Both sides were experts of the game, and they made the opening moves very quickly. Libby was looking around with a curios expression in those clear bottomless lakes she had for eyes, and I realized I had to act soon. A pawn's life on the chessboard is a short one, and every minute now, at the whim of Patrick Hoang or his overseas adversary, one of us could be sacrificed or exchanged - and for all I know I may never see her again. As I was suffering from extreme time pressure, plus an acute case of infatuation, I hope the reader will forgive me that all I could come up with was the corniest phrase to ever escape the lips of a man and enter the ears of a woman.

"So, what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?" oh oh. Did I say that? "My brother Will brought me here. There he is," she pointed towards a nerdy-looking kid who was acting the part of a black b-pawn, still on its original square. "He's always trying to convince me chess is fun, but I just don't get it" she sighed. Was she sad at her brother's obstinacy or at her own incompetence? I was just happy that my hackneyed pick-up line didn't draw out any negative response from her. Suddenly I felt invincible. If I got away with this cliché, I can do anything.

"Are you any good at chess?" Libby asked, "Will is on the school's team, you know". I admitted that, no, I was not on the team, and could not hold a candle to her brother's chess-playing ability (let alone the ability of the two intellectual giants on the podium), but I could play, and was good at explaining stuff, and does she mind if I enlighten her a bit about what's going on. She didn't mind. In fact, as she admitted later, she was terrified to miss her cue to move, and was glad to find an ally who could, in a moment of need, to whisper "Psst - it's you - go over there". Little did she know that when I wasn't talking, I was praying to God that her and I would be forgotten on our squares, just left standing there on e4 and e5 for the rest of the game. Actually, God, make it the rest of our lives, will'ya?

My prayers were cut short with a punch to the left side of my back. Sure, everything has been too perfect. The powers that be (in the shape of Patrick Hoang) decided to mess up with my mind a bit and placed Josh within fist-range, on d3. "I got your back covered, buddy!" he beamed, "If anyone dares to capture you - bam, they'll have to deal with me"
"Thank you, Josh. You still owe me that dollar, by the way," we have been best friends for years, and I knew exactly which button I had to push to make him shut up.

I turned forward again, only to discover to my horror that a black pawn appeared out of nowhere on d5, within my striking range. And of course, I was within his. My soul, which was until now playing a heavenly symphony, broke a string. I believe it was Lasker who wrote something about the "dynamic tension" that exists between two central pawns attacking each other, although I don't think it was this kind of tension he meant. If you have a weak heart, don't try this at home. Courting someone whom you just met, and already knowing she is the girl of your dreams, making your best effort to be witty and charming, not to mention charismatic - all that while knowing that your relationship could be broken asunder at the whim of a pawn exchange. That's dynamic tension for you. And it was a very small consolation to know that Josh "had my back covered".

Please return tomorrow for part 3: "Middle game".