Silbermann nodded amenably, and the other man immediately pulled a small travel set out of his briefcase and began arranging the pieces. This was a novel situation for Silbermann, but he didn’t see any reason not to accept the challenge. Besides, he assumed the game would make him focus on other things, which would be helpful as well as relaxing. It would also occupy the other man enough to keep him from talking.

It soon became clear that Silbermann was by far the better player. For a moment he wondered whether he shouldn’t let the other man win, just for the sake of caution, but in the end he couldn’t bring himself to do it, and after an hour of silent combat he put the other man in checkmate.

“Very nice,” acknowledged the man with the party badge, and began to explain to his wife, who had dozed off during the match but was once again awake and drowsily sizing up Silbermann, why he had lost his king’s pawn and what other mistakes had led to his defeat.

“If I had moved my rook to a3 instead of g4, then you would have … no, I should have castled beforehand, but then you would have taken your knight and, no … obviously I should have first moved my queen back. I have no idea, normally I play much better. But I’m exhausted, that’s what it is.”

Silbermann nodded to everything.

“Your opening impressed me,” the man said, with the authority of an expert. “Oh well, I just wanted … but shall we perhaps play another round?”

It was clear he desperately wanted to make up for his loss.

“I’m not sure we’ll finish before we get to Hamburg,” Silbermann pointed out.

“We can play a blitz game. Incidentally, if I may, my name is Turner.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Silbermann answered dryly.

He now expected the question: And with whom do I have the pleasure?

I’ll just say Silb, he decided.

But the other man didn’t ask, and so they began their second round. This time the man with the party badge tried very hard and managed to gain a slight advantage over Silbermann. But Silbermann also concentrated and played with a dogged earnestness and a fervent inner rage, as if something extraordinary depended on their game.

His opponent’s face reddened, and the man blinked excitedly as he pressed his lips together and kept nudging his wife to call her attention to the various positions. At one point he wanted to take back a move but abandoned the idea when he caught sight of Silbermann’s slightly raised eyebrow. Then he made two different moves than he had intended, and ultimately he lost this match as well.

“You’re a very skillful player,” he said, but this time his voice sounded more reproachful than respectful.