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Shakmatni v USSR was that he lost so few of them.
But she had the white pieces. She must hang on to that advantage for dear
life. She would play the Queen’s Gambit. Benny and she had discussed that
for hours, months before, and finally agreed that that was the way to go if
she should get White against him. She did not want to play against Borgov’s
Sicilian, much as she knew about the Sicilian, and the Queen’s Gambit was
the best way to avoid it. She could hold him off if she kept her head. The
problem was that he didn’t make mistakes.
When she came across the stage to an auditorium more crowded than she
believed possible, with every inch of the aisles filled and standees packed
behind the back row of seats, and a hush fell over the enormous crowd of
people and she looked over to see Borgov, already seated, waiting for her,
she realized that it wasn’t only his remorseless chess that she had to contend
with. She was terrified of the man. She had been terrified of him ever since
she saw him at the gorilla cage in Mexico City. He was merely looking
down at the untouched black pieces now, but her heart and breath stopped at
the sight of him. There was no sign of weakness in that figure, motionless at
the board, oblivious of her or of the thousands of other people who must be
staring at him. He was like some menacing icon. He could have been
painted on the wall of a cave. She walked slowly over and sat at the whites.
A soft, hushed applause broke out in the audience.
The referee pressed the button, and Beth heard her clock begin ticking.
She moved pawn to queen four, looking down at the pieces. She was not
ready to look at his face. Along the stage the other three games had started.
She heard the movements of players behind her settling in for the morning’s
work, the click of clock buttons being pushed. Then everything was silent.
Watching the board, she saw only the back of his hand, its stubby fingers
with their coarse, black hair above the knuckles, as he moved his pawn to
queen four. She played pawn to queen bishop four, offering the gambit
pawn. The hand declined it, moving pawn to king four. The Albin Counter
Gambit. He was resurrecting an old response, but she knew the Albin. She
took the pawn, glanced briefly at his face and glanced away. He played
pawn to queen five. His face had been impassive and not quite as
frightening as she had feared. She played her king’s knight and he played
his queen’s. The dance was in progress. She felt small and lightweight. She
felt like a little girl. But her mind was clear, and she knew the moves.
His seventh move came as a surprise, and it was clear immediately that it
was something he had saved to spring on her. She gave it twenty minutes,
penetrated it as well as she could, and responded with a complete deviation
from the Albin. She was glad to get out of it and into the open. They would
fight it out from here with their wits.
Borgov’s wits, it turned out, were formidable. By the fourteenth move he
had equality and possibly an edge. She steeled herself, kept her eyes from
his face, and played the best chess she knew, developing her pieces,
defending everywhere, watching every opportunity for an opened file, a
clear diagonal, a doubled pawn, a potential fork or pin or hurdle or skewer.
This time she saw the whole board in her mind and caught every change of
balance in the power that shifted over its surface. Each particle of it was
neutralized by its counter-particle, but each was ready to discharge itself if
allowed and break the structure open. If she let his rook out, it would tear
her apart. If he allowed her queen to move to the bishop file, his king’s
protection would topple. She must not permit his bishop to check. He could
not allow her to raise the rook pawn. For hours she did not look at him or
the audience or even the referee. In the whole of her mind, in the whole of
her attention she saw only those embodiments of danger—knight, bishop,
rook, pawn, king and queen.
It was Borgov who spoke the word “Adjourn.” He said it in English. She
looked at her clock uncomprehendingly before she realized that neither flag
had fallen and that Borgov’s was closer to it than hers. He had seven
minutes left. She had fifteen. She looked at her score sheet. The last move
was number forty. Borgov wanted to adjourn the game. She looked behind
her; the rest of the stage was empty, the other games were over.
Then she looked at Borgov. He had not loosened his tie or taken off his
coat or rumpled his hair. He did not look tired. She turned away. The
moment she saw that blank, quietly hostile face, she was terrified.
***
Booth was in the lobby. This time he was with half a dozen reporters. There
was the man from the New York Times and the woman from the Daily
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