Ход королевы
Chapter 13
TherewasnoviolationofChristianityinchess,anymorethantherewasaviolationofMarxism.Itwasnonideological.Itwouldn’thavehurtDeardorfftoletherplay—toencouragehertoplay.ItwouldhavebeensomethingforMethuentoboastabout.ShecouldseeDeardorff’sfaceinhermind—thethin,rougedcheeks,thetight,reprovingsmile,thelittlesadisticglintinhereyes.IthadpleasedhertocutBethofffromthegamesheloved.Ithadpleasedher.
“Youwanttogoin?”Joleneasked.
“No.Let’sfindthatmotel.”
Themotelhadasmallpoolonlyafewyardsfromtheroad,withsomeweary-lookingmaplesbesideit.Theeveningwaswarmenoughforaquickswimafterdinner.Joleneturnedouttobeasuperbswimmer,goingbackandforththelengthofthepoolwithhardlyaripple,whileBethtreadedwaterunderthedivingboard.Jolenepulledupnearher.“Wewerechicken,”shesaid.“WeshouldhavegoneintheAdministrationBuilding.Weshouldhavegoneinheroffice.”
ThefuneralwasinthemorningattheLutheranChurch.Therewereadozenpeopleandaclosedcasket.Itwasanordinary-sizedcoffin,andBethwonderedbrieflyhowtheycouldfitamanofShaibel’sgirthintoit.Althoughthechurchwassmaller,itwasmuchlikeMrs.Wheatley’sfuneralinLexington.Afterthefirstfiveminutesofit,shewasboredandrestless,andJolenewasdozing.Aftertheceremonytheyfollowedthesmallprocessiontothegrave.“Iremember,”Jolenesaid,“hescaredshitoutofmeonce,holleringtokeepoffthelibraryfloor.Hejustmoppedit,andMr.Schellsentmeintogetabook.
