A woman approached the microphone at the front of the room. “Good morning, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the first of what we hope will become an annual event, the Blandsville Chess Tournament. I am Cher Pearson, the coordinator. The committee decided that seeding would be too difficult, so we’ll ask each contestant to please take a number. It will be your table for your first game. Good luck to everyone. And when you have a chance, please look at Mr. King’s fine collection of chess sets on display over there.” The drawing went well, except that contestants confused the 6’s and 9’s, putting four people at one table and none at another, but this problem was quickly solved.
Play began. The room was quiet except for an occasional “Check” or a “Checkmate,” followed by faint applause, like a gentle breeze in tree leaves. Amanda and I watched the defeated players especially carefully, fearing they would be disappointed and might show their bitterness by damaging Mr. King’s sets.
Our task was made harder by the fact that some people picked up pieces and examined them. I must suggest to Mr. King that next time he put up a sign asking people not to touch anything on the display.
Amanda and I tried to watch while not appearing to do so. Then a woman wearing a tee-shirt that said: “I’m not a pawn, so don’t push me around” approached M. King’s sets and surreptitiously picked up a king in one hand while drawing a pallet knife from her pocket with the other. Amanda signaled me with a nod and we closed in on her from two sides. When she saw us, she put the king back onto the board (on the wrong square, I noticed). Thank goodness she didn’t use the knife.
“What are you doing?” Amanda asked.
“Admiring the chess sets,” the woman said, putting the knife back into her pocket.
“And preparing to behead the king?” I suggested.
She paused. “Yes, why not? Chess is a metaphor for our sick society. The king, the male, stands around and does nothing, while the others, especially the queen, serve and protect him. I make him a headless head of state.” She continued her feminist oration, and I must admit she spoke well, enunciating clearly and projecting powerfully. Occasionally a female voice uttered a supportive “Right on, sister” or a deeper male voice booed. I hoped that no contestants were taking advantage of this distraction to sneak a few illegal moves.
Ms. Pearson and Mr. King came over. “We’ve called the police,” whispered Ms. Pearson.
Amanda and I decided that our work was finished; besides, I was afraid that if we stayed, I might start making some impolite or obscene comments, so we left.
We had lunch at Hamburger Heaven, a lunch paid for by my fee, although I hadn’t collected it yet.
“Thank you for your help,” I said.
“It was… interesting. I wonder who won the tournament.”
I suppose women don’t often get dates to chess tournaments. “I’d say our women’s libber won. She had a big audience for her speech and the police probably won’t charge her with anything serious.”
“Maybe disturbing the pieces,” Amanda punned.
