2/24/12

CHECK MATE
By Gil C. Schmidt


I’m a Black Rook standing on King’s Rook 1. No, this isn’t one of those “chess pieces as fantasy heroes” story. I’m real and so is the game, standing under the mild sunshine on a plaza-sized chessboard in Brussels. Thirty-two of us arranged on squares three feet to a side, a checkerboard black-and-white that looks odd at ground level and must look great from the chairs where the capitaines sit. They are the real players: We are just the human pieces.

Every Sunday morning, except when it rains, folks gather here to participate in this life-sized battle of wits. The capitaines are local chess club players who donate money to local charities for the privilege of sitting in the high-backed chair some twenty feet above the plaza. One is painted white, the other black and the edges of the board are bordered in that fabulous red clay brick the Belgians once used for every building.

I volunteered to be a piece and got assigned as a Rook. I barely had time to get to my square when the first move was called out: Pawn to King 4. A smiling young man moved two squares forward, his counterpart did the same and the game was on. I knew it would take some time for me to get involved in the game, so I took in the other players.

That’s when I saw her, the White King’s Rook. She was absolutely stunning, with waist-length black hair, olive skin, a tall lithe figure and a dazzling smile. She was wearing shorts and her lovely legs were tanned. I lost track of the game as I stared at her. She was talking happily with the Pawn in front of her. I would’ve given a year of my life to switch places with that Pawn.

Suddenly I heard “King-side Castle” and when I looked around, a few frowns were aimed my way. The King had already moved and it was my turn to switch places. From there, I kept my mind on the game while my eyes drank in the beautiful Rook, now closer to me. The White capitaine castled to her side and for the first time we locked eyes. The moment was electric, the chess fading as we searched each other’s souls. We laughed at the same time and her face was flushed, her eyes shyly darting down and back to mine. A quick flurry of moves had me advancing to center-board, then away from the White Rook. I didn’t care for that, but I eventually noticed I was “threatening” the White Queen, an imperious-looking older woman who smiled frostily at me. The White Rook smiled at me warmly as I shrugged an “It’s not my fault.”

White pressed his attack and I was forced to retreat. Then it happened: The White Rook was moved to King Bishop’s Six, one square away from me. The vision of beauty moved gracefully through the other pieces and stepped into the square. Her shy smile lit up her green eyes with a quiet fire. I couldn’t speak, so I nodded. She nodded back. We smiled like children.

I looked around and noticed the situation. White was forcing Black to exchange Rooks to gain a positional advantage. Exchange Rooks? That meant I was to “capture” the beautiful girl and she would leave the game. If only “capture” meant I could stay with her! But the game could go on for another hour and what was I going to do if she left? I turned to speak to her, but she interrupted my first words and pointed at the Black capitaine. I knew what she meant: Talking could interrupt his thinking. She was being a good sport and I was getting frantic. I looked around again. White’s pieces were strongly positioned, but not exactly supportive of each other. Forcing my mind to think faster, the solution burst like a flare.

As the Black capitaine spoke his play, I moved down the board, five spaces away to threaten the Queen again. The crowd gasped and the White capitaine asked for the play to be described again. I turned, desperately hoping the Black capitaine would see the play I saw…

His face slowly melted from frown to smile. He called out my play and sat back, knowing the game was his. The White Rook waved at me, I waved back and we smiled together while the game ended within two plays.

Later, I told the White Rook—Sylvia—that I didn’t want to capture her in the game so she could stay close to me.

She smiled and said something marvelous: “I was hoping you would.”

True love can be like that.


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Gil C. Schmidt has been a regular submitter to Yesteryear Fiction since the early days when it was a daily magazine. His story "Initial Quantum State" is also featured in his book "Thirty More Stories." Get "Thirty Stories" and "Thirty More Stories" for free: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/c/gil-c-schmidt or http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/gilthejenius