Ход королевы

           Thatafternoon,atBoardFour,shecrushedthedefensesofaseriousyoungmanfromNewYork,playingtheKing’sGambitandsacrificingthebishopthewayPaulMorphyhaddone.

           BennyWattswasinhistwenties,buthelookednearlyasyoungasBeth.Hewasnotmuchtaller,either.Bethsawhimfromtimetotimeduringthetournament.HestartedatBoardOneandstayedthere;peoplesaidhewasthebestAmericanplayersinceMorphy.BethstoodnearhimonceattheCokemachine,buttheydidnotspeak.Hewastalkingtoanothermaleplayerandsmilingalot;theywereamiablydebatingthevirtuesoftheSemi-Slavdefense.BethhadmadeastudyoftheSemi-Slavafewdaysbefore,andshehadagooddealtosayaboutit,butsheremainedsilent,gotherCokeandwalkedaway.Listeningtothetwoofthem,shehadfeltsomethingunpleasantandfamiliar:thesensethatchesswasathingbetweenmen,andshewasanoutsider.Shehatedthefeeling.

           Wattswaswearingawhiteshirtopenatthecollar,withthesleevesrolledup.Hisfacewasbothcheerfulandsly.Withhisflatstraw-coloredhairhelookedasAmericanasHuckleberryFinn,yettherewassomethinguntrustworthyabouthiseyes.He,too,hadbeenachildprodigyandthat,besidesthefactthathewasChampion,madeBethuneasy.SherememberedaWattsgamebookwithadrawagainstBorstmannandacaptionreading“Copenhagen:1948.”ThatmeantBennyhadbeeneightyearsold—theageBethwaswhenshewasplayingMr.Shaibelinthebasement.