Ход королевы

           ***

           TherewereplasticbagsfullofgarbageintheentrywaytoBenny’sapartmentandthelightoverheadwasonlyadirtybarebulb.Itwasawhitetilehallwayandasdepressingatmidnightasthetoiletinabusstation.TherewerethreelocksonBenny’sfrontdoor,whichwaspaintedredandhadsomeimpenetrablewordlike“Bezbo”writtenonitinblackspraypaint.

           Insidewasasmallandclutteredlivingroomwithbookspiledeverywhere.Butthelightingwaspleasantwhenhegotthelampson.Oneendoftheroomwasakitchen,andnearitwasadoorgoingofftothebedroom.Therewasagrassrugandnosofaandchairs—justblackpillowstositonwithlampsbesidethem.

           Thebathroomwasorthodoxenough,withafloormadeofblack-and-whiletileandabrokenhandleonthehot-watertap.Therewasatubandshowerwithablackplasticcurtain.Shewashedherhandsandfaceandcamebackintothelivingroom.Bennyhadgoneintothebedroomtounpack.Herbagwasstillontheliving-roomfloornexttoabookcase.Shewalkedovertoitandlookedwearilyatthebooks.Theywereallonchess—allfiveshelvesofthem.SomewereinRussianandGerman,buttheywereallonchess.Shewalkedacrossthehardlittlerugtotheothersideoftheroomwheretherewasanotherbookcase,thisonemadeofboardsrestingonbricks.Morechess.OnewholeshelfwasShakhmatniByulletengoingbacktothenineteen-fifties.

           “There’sroominthiscloset,”Bennyshoutedfromthebedroom.“Youcanhangupwhenyouwantto.”

           “Okay,”shesaid.Backontheturnpikeshehadthoughttheymightmakelovewhentheygothere.