“Here we are”, the taxi driver told her as
he braked in front of a tall gate. She paid him and, as she opened the door, he
whispered: “Be careful, kiddo!”
She stood all alone in a dark block, fenced
with huge trees and iron bars that did not let you have a sneak peek inside. A
path was traced from the tall, rusted door and she figured that it led to the
house. The only light came from a pillar in the corner that had gathered in its
bright crown a swarm of hypnotized night insects that flew furiously around it.
She straightened her back and took a deep breath. She wrapped the envelope in
her suit’s pocket and she was about to look for a bell on the front door, when
she saw a shadow coming from the dark path holding a lantern. The figure kept
approaching holding keys that rhythmically tinkled. When he reached her, she
was able to see clearly an old man with a slow step and weary mood. He brought
the lantern to his face to see better under his thick glasses and looked
thoroughly at the girl for a few seconds before he started unlocking the gate.
It opened with a squeak that tore the silence of the night like thin paper.
“Come in, Miss Peterson! He’s waiting for
you in the garden”, were the only words that came out of that tight-lipped man.
He led the way in a stone path that cut a garden with tall trees in two,
leaving a dimly lit block at the back that must have been the house. She only
saw his hunchback in a dark jacket. She followed him and remained silent leaving
the ringing of the keys that he held in his shaky hand give the pace. She filled in the music of absolute silence
by timidly dragging the soles of her flat shoes on the gravel alley. Cypresses,
or at least they looked like them, formed a natural corridor up to the
two-storey house which was fortunately lighted adequately from within. They
went up the stairs that led to the imposing entrance with the black wooden door
with the golden knocker. He bent once more to find the keys. He turned and gave
her an investigative look before opening. His glasses had slipped to his nose
but it didn’t stop him from offering her an enigmatic smile, almost malicious,
that made her freeze.
The hall was minimal with a weary, deep red
carpet on the wooden floor and a huge library that covered the whole wall with
leather bound books neatly arranged on shelves suffocating from time. A crystal chandelier scattered light in a
corridor with many closed doors and the man hastily disappeared behind one. She
assumed that it was the kitchen because sounds of glassware and cupboards
opening and closing reached her ears. She approached the library and had a look
at the book spines with titles in Latin with that suggested terms of psychiatry
and anatomy. She got more confused rather than getting her questions answered.
The old man came out in a hurry from the same door holding a serving tray made
of stannum with a carafe filled with a transparent liquid and two glasses. His
moves were extremely slow because of his age but they hid a precision that
could only be conquered by experience. The young lady craved for some kind of
reassurance with a smile, but his lips remained tight as if someone had sewed
with a needle and thread and condemned them to eternal silence. He made a sign
to follow him through the long corridor with the closed doors. She counted
about eleven doors on both sides as they walked. The only sound was her low
heels on the wooden floor. Her thoughts were thunderous. It looked as if a
whisper of danger came out of the cracks and the keyholes. It was too late to
step back.
“I am delighted to meet you, Miss Peterson.
Thank you so much for coming tonight”, he said in a trembling voice, revealing
his own thrill, and gently kissed her hand. His lips were cold as ice and she
shivered. Like a true gentleman, he served her, raising his glass to make a
toast.
“It is a bit strong, but believe me it’s
appropriate for a cold night like this. Take it with you, give it another try
and follow me to the chessboard”, he said holding her arm as he led her to a
small path behind a huge bush. She was about to say something but hesitated.
She didn’t feel comfortable. His excessive intimacy was disrupted by his
introversion so far and confused her. She followed him in silence and she was
angry with herself for not reacting and for letting herself being taken away to
hidden paths behind bushes by a man unknown (!) and before finishing her inner
monologue she had to firmly grasp his arm in shock.
Behind the large bush was the chessboard. It
was actually a part of the garden with big slabs balancing on the freshly cut
grass, playing the roles of squares, and pieces that were her size. They were tall
figures whose shadows frightened her. She looked at him as they were getting
closer but there was nothing for her to read in his cold eyes. When they got
really close, she screamed. The pawns were anthropomorphic and in most of them,
as much as she could see with the dim light coming from the back side of the
garden, there were female characteristics. The knight had a female torso and a
head with long, dark hair, a female centaur.
The rook resembled a curved, female body with stone features. The
pawns were in both colors petite, girlish figures that stared at her. Now that
she had a closer look at them she could see that, even though they looked still
in their positions, they actually were not. She could sense a reciprocating
movement of breath, a blink. Oh yes, they were alive!
“What’s all this? What kind of a sick game
do you play?” she asked and was about to run away but couldn’t get her arm free
from his tight grasp.
“Oh, come on Miss Peterson! Don’t be so
childish! You have the chance tonight for the most interesting game of your
life! I’ll let you have the white pieces. You can start when you‘re ready, he said in a
strict way loosening his grip. He had been waiting and planning this night for
a decade. There was no way of wasting it. There was no way of letting her go
away.
