Yonatan Lifshitz and Azariah Gitlin smoked and played in silence while Rimona sat by the radio with her bag of embroidery unopened in her lap, so intensely absorbed was she in a dream of her own. Yonatan’s eyes kept filling with tears that he neither wiped away nor bothered to explain to his guest. Rimona had still not removed the pine branches from the vase since she had found no flowers to replace them.

After six or seven moves, Azariah blundered. He did his best to come up with a smile, remarking that, even though the game was as good as over almost before it had begun, for him it was no more than a first probe. Yonatan suggested that they begin again.

But Azariah refused. He blamed the thunder rolls outside for his inability to concentrate and, with a kind of irritable sportsmanship, insisted on playing to the bitter end. “He who has never tasted defeat will never know that triumph is sweet.”

At this Rimona pressed her embroidery to her lap and looked up at him only to notice the many tiny, agitated wrinkles that came and went around his eyes. He had already single-handedly eaten every pastry on the large plate except for a sole survivor, a last concession to good manners that he kept absentmindedly picking up and putting down again. Once he even raised it all the way to his lips before giving a last-minute start and gently replacing it. Rimona opened her bag and began to embroider.

“That man you said was killed by the bullet. If he died instantly, that means he didn’t suffer. Did you say his name was Yehoshafat?”

“That’s right,” said Azariah. “But I’m afraid I’ve only made you laugh at me. I always say the opposite of what I should.”

“Your move,” said Yonatan.

With a sudden burst of fervor, Azariah slid his remaining bishop along a diagonal that reached nearly from one end of the board to the other.

“Not bad,” said Yonatan.

“Watch out!” crowed Azariah. “I’m just warming up!”

Indeed, within the space of a few moves, after recklessly sacrificing a knight and two pawns, the young man had reversed an apparently hopeless situation and was even threatening Yonatan’s king.

“Do you see that?” he asked, flushed with success. At that exact moment, however, he seemed to run out of inspiration, unnecessarily losing another pawn and the initiative. Yonatan continued to play patiently, cagily, with calculated precision. Azariah, on the other hand, kept throwing away ingeniously gained advantages and committing mistakes that would have made a beginner blush.