The Pawns - The End

© Alex Shternshain 2003

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

Part VI - Epilogue (not really)

The crowd went wild at the win of the local boy. For a moment, one could think that the playing board reverted to its normal role as a football field! The volume of the clapping and cheering was way over field-goal-levels. It was more suitable for touchdown-with-extra-point. Mr. McKinley took the microphone again, and began to sing praise to the "great intellectual battle" we have just been the witnesses (or participants!) of. But all I could think of was one thing.

"Pizza or movie?" I asked, turning to Libby with a triumphant smile.
"Why not both?" She responded with laughter in her eyes.
"You very nice," a gruff voice interfered with our jubilation.
We turned to see Denisov, who, for some reason, decided to drop by with a visit to the field. A general giving pep talk to the foot soldiers? Isn't it a bit too late for that? Isn't the game, like, over? The stands and the playing board were emptying quickly. The survivors of the pitched battle were heading to the showers, and in matter of seconds the three of us were alone.

"You very nice," he repeated with his horrible Russian accent, struggling to find the suitable English word, "Pair. Couple. Yes. Couple. I watch you from there. Not want ... separat?"
"Separate?" I helped him out.
"Yes. Not want separate you. It just game of chess, yes? Win, lose, not matter, yes? For nice couple, worth to lose." After taking another moment to find something suitable to say, he could only repeat: "You very nice couple," and left.

Libby was the first to regain her speech.
"What did you say his name was?" she asked.
"Leonid Denisov."
"Ok, I'll keep that in mind. Let me just apologize to Will, and then we can go have some pizza. And a movie."

Part VII - Epilogue (this time, really)

That was fifteen years ago. And today, I decided to wake up early to make some finishing touches to this story. As I was busy typing on the clunky keyboard of my ancient PC, I didn't hear the door opening behind me, or the sound of the approaching footsteps. Only when my wife's hand landed gently on my shoulder, did I leave my trance-like concentration and became aware of her presence in the room.

"Hi honey, working already?" she said, leaning to kiss me on the cheek.
"Just a few refinements, sweetheart. Almost done. Be with you in a moment." I replied, and she turned to leave, as I noticed a small icon flashing at the bottom corner of the computer screen.

"Libby, wait!" I called and beckoned her to return to the study. There's an email here for you. From work, probably."
"The heck with them, I'm not going to read email on a Sunday morning," she replied with the same open smile that I remembered so well from that day on the football field, and turned to leave yet again - this time also without success, because at that moment our children burst into the room. The studio I built in my narrow basement was clearly too small to contain the volume of sound and kinetic energy created by two children and two adults, so I had to acknowledge defeat. There will be no more work this morning. So be it.

"Come on, come on out. Back up we all go," I ushered my family into the living room, where we began planning our next move. Libby suggested the zoo, while I was not impartial to a drive to the nearby lake. But the children were not to be swayed.
"We want to go to the park!" announced Leo, seven years of age, setting his little foot down to mark the issue closed.
"But honey, we went to the park last time," in spite of all her good measures, my wife sometimes just didn't know when a battle was lost. Has something to do with the red hair, I guess.
"Park, park!" the five-years-old Dennis joined his brother, "We want to go to the big chess game, with the big knights and..." I exchanged amused looks with the love of my life.

"Ok rascals!" I said authoritatively, doing my best to feign dissatisfaction, "to the park we go. But next time...!"
"Park, park! We're going to the big chess game!" Leo and Dennis ran around the room excitedly, bumping into large objects and knocking down smaller ones, as their mother tried to restore order in vain.

After a very short while (which, as you remember, is about fifteen minutes in Thomas Jefferson Junior High-School time) we were all set to go.
"Leo, Dennis, you take the center! Forward, my brave pawns!" I ordered, and the kids were glad to comply and dash ahead.
I extended my hand, "Shall we follow them, my Queen?"
Libby took my hand and cradled it inside a warm pocket made of her own gentle palms and laughed, "Yes, my King."

The End

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