“I knew it. It’s checkmate this time.”

“No, no. It’s the endgame, that’s all. Let’s just say you’ve got a slight handicap. Nimzovich will only be useful to you if you bring in Reshevsky as well. Remember that Reshevsky was the master of the endgame.”

“The Escape Artist?”

“That’s right, the Escape Artist.”

I could sense that my venerable Egyptian was trying to tell me something, in his symbolic language. Understanding the dangers + finding an escape route… I jumped to my feet. The school was still empty, apart from the cleaners pushing their trolleys laden with floor mops that looked like dead jellyfish. At that time in the morning it was fairly easy to slip out of school without anyone noticing. I set off back towards the village and saw her at last, walking towards me in that careful, mechanical way of hers. It was weird, because there were other kids on their way to school and I was running against the current, towards Marie. Seeing her from afar, I realized her posture had got slacker and she was being less careful in her movements. I should have noticed much earlier that to everyone else she was getting to look more and more like a blind person. But because I was with her all the time I obviously saw her in a different light. As I ran, I came up with a psychological theory: it seemed to me that as the weeks had passed, Marie had forgotten how she used to move when she was a seeing person. Now she could no longer replicate her old ways. Without being aware of it, she no longer resembled her old self. She suddenly lifted her face towards me. She didn’t dare say anything because she couldn’t be sure it was me. Yet she never made a mistake: Marie recognized me every time, probably because of her intuition. It’s a particularly female trait, or so I’ve heard.

“Is that you, Victor?”

I always liked to wait a few seconds before replying to see how she’d react. Generally, it didn’t bother her much, because she was very self-confident despite her disability.

“Victor, I know perfectly well it’s you. You don’t frighten me, I can recognize you easily. I waited for you by the church. What are you doing here?”

She pulled a lipstick out of her bag and stretched her lips into a taut, round shape. Like a pale-coloured sweet.

“Listen,” I said, “this is an emergency. I was right, the invitation card was a trap. My Honourable Egyptian told me we’re going to be hauled in. He knows everything that goes on at the school. Caretakers don’t earn much but they pick up on a lot of news. The lodge is like a control tower.”

I paused to see how she was taking it. She seemed very calm, almost relieved.