“I came third last Sunday. Because I was completely worn out from reading too late the night before. It’s crazy how tiring a big book is! Like climbing the Alps. Literature is hard work.”
“Maybe I’ll come and watch you race next Sunday… I’m quite bored at the moment. I need something to do. Perhaps I could sell chips to the spectators…”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“I don’t want to offend you, but you wouldn’t understand…”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Quite sure. You don’t know the facts.”
“Is it something to do with those photos the other day?”
“Not exactly the photos themselves, but the consequences. Van Gogh really got one over on me, with that stunt. Checkmate. Ah well, I’ll see what can be done with a Nimzo-Indian Defence.”
I waited to see what effect my words would have. Lucky Luke seemed to be mulling them over.
“The what defence? Is that karate?”
“No, of course not. It’s a chess term. A Nimzo-Indian Defence consists in showing your opponent that your understanding of the situation is greater than the dangers presented by the situation.”
I hoped he wouldn’t ask any more questions, because then I’d have been stuck. I’d told him everything I knew about the subject, and I still didn’t get exactly what it meant. But now and then the mist cleared a bit: I was beginning to think that perhaps one day I would understand and that I should trust my Honourable Egyptian.
“Well, anyway, I’ll leave you to get on with your Chinese Defence,” said Lucky Luke.
“Indian, sir, Indian…”
“Whatever.”
At the end of that day, I went to see Haisam in the lodge. He’d missed all the afternoon’s lessons because he and his father had to finish the Moscow 1963 tournament. No one minded, because in any event he already knew everything there was to know. I arrived in the middle of the third game.
“Good timing,” said the Honourable Egyptian, without looking up. “Look at this: Botvinnik proposes exchanging queens on the thirteenth move. A work of art or what?”
“Magnificent,” I said, to avoid upsetting him.
I watched them play for a while. Now and then Haisam would pass me the bowl of sweets. Afterwards I went home to Dad, my spirits sagging softly, just like Turkish delight.