s1e5 fork 
part two :

the pride and sorrow of chess

i poured the canned meatballs into the black skillet i had found under the sink. 

i had also found beltik waiting at my front step as i walked home from the grocery store. this has become normal, though, as we begun to hang out and study more as the summer days dragged on. i was thankful, really.

living in that house alone was dreadful, without the calming presence of mother i was left with my own thoughts. which were never far from dangerous.

even though i was better than him, he offered me insight on what knowledge the russians had. he was, in a way, a secret weapon of mine.

"im moving out of the hotel tomorrow," beltik told me later that night as we played chess outside. the crickets chirped extremely loud, and the porch light provided only enough light to see the board and harry, but nothing beyond him, "into my apartment."

"how far away is it?" we talked as we played.

"new circle road." he muttered as he moved his piece.

my stomach dropped. new circle, the same road my mother drove our vehicle into another, killing herself and leaving me alone.

something told me not to let him move there, maybe it was the feeling in my stomach, or the need not to hear that name ever again.

"you could move in here if you want, for free." i said it casually, but he immediately met my gaze.

"really?"

"yeah," i chuckled, "really."

♖ ♞ ♖ ♞ ♖ ♞

a week later, harry beltik was fully moved into my house. 

he helped me cook and clean, and occasionally with meeting the mortgage. he always did the dishes, though.

"i think theres more to life than chess..." he said as he washed his last plate, "one of my heroes, philidor, a french musician who used to play chess blindfolded. Diderot wrote him a letter, and philidor was doing blind exhibitions and burning out his brain, or whatever it is they thought you did in the 18th century," his voice died out, "anyway. Diderot wrote to him and said something like, "its foolish to run the risk of going mad for vanity's sake." now i think about that sometimes, when im analyzing my chess board and different routes and patterns and moves..." the list went on, and i turned away to put all the dry dishes away. he seemed to stop talking, but i didnt remember a point being said.

"I... um, saw your picture on the cover of Chess Review, and those pictures townes took in las vegas," townes. boy, had i forgotten about him too quickly. it felt nice to hear his name, but then as memories came flooding back to the last time we spoke, the feeling went away.

forget it.

"-they were beautiful."  he continued. and i shut the cabinet door, not knowing what to say. 

"i thought maybe the two of you were-"

"no." i said quickly, not wanting to even address it, "we werent."

there was silence, and something told me i wasnt going to like where this conversation was headed. i continued to face the cabinet doors.

"truth is," he cleared his throat, "i was waiting for you to come back. youre the reason i got my teeth fixed-"

no. this couldnt happen. not right now.

"didnt koltanowski used to play blindfolded all the time?" i asked as quickly as i could, shaming me for my failed attempted at a casual manner, "i mean he wasnt crazy."

he stopped talking, and i saw the words process on his face. not the exact words, but the act in itself, "no, no, no, he's-he's not." he muttered, regaining strength in his voice. 

i couldnt take the tension in the room anymore, and began to walk to the bathroom.

"beth?" his voiced asked, and i stopped.

just turn around and smile.

"yes?"

"lets play chess."

thank goodness.

♖ ♞ ♖ ♞ ♖ ♞

the next day, at the cornerstore down the street, i felt dejavu as my fingers fell upon a Chess Review magazine done on Benny Watts. i remembered wanting one similar when i came here for the first time.

i also remembered getting the chesterfields for mother, now i got them for myself.

"this too." i placed it on the counter.

"are you sure you wouldnt rather just steal it." the man, the same man as when i was younger, said as he side-eyed me. i looked up to meet his glance, but he didnt seem to care anymore.

"you gonna be there? that tournament?" he pointed to the paper as he counted out my change.

i nodded, "yes."

"good luck." he held his hand out with 50 cents, but i shook my head.

"keep it, for the first time." i smirked, and so did he as he watched me walk out.

                                      "youre too sharp for me." harry said a few days later as we played chess. i had been trying to describe my motif to him, but he wasnt getting it as quickly. he got up and walked back inside. his door was shut and his music was blasting for the rest of the night, but i still walking carefully past his room as i headed to bed.

and the next day, i came down to find him standing by the front door.

with his bags.

"i have taught you everything i know. which admittedly is not a lot." he chuckled, "i've got to start studying. im supposed to be an electrician engineer, not a chess bum."

"where are you going to go?" i tried to make my voice sound light and happy, when everything inside of me felt the opposite.

dont leave me. too many people have.

"i'm moving to that apartment. its closer to the university," he put his bags down, reaching in his pocket for what i guessed was money. i needed to speak before he had the chance to offer.

"youre wrong though, youve taught me a lot." we stared at each other, "im really glad you called." 

he smiled, "im glad i could be here with you, you know? after you lost your mom."

"more than that." we took steps toward each other, "you've really helped me." i made sure it sounded like i meant it. i did.

"i guess you've helped me too," i tilted my head, "helped me realize i dont like chess." my eyebrows raised, and i felt something in me fall, "no, its ok," he said, exhaling, "i just dont love it as much as i once did. i'm not obsessed with it the way one has to be to make it far. to win it all." i nodded.

"but you are."

we stared at each other again, but it wasnt awkward.

he reached in his pocket again, and i didnt feel the need to stop him.

"im gonna leave you with this," he pulled out a book, "you have a lot in common." it was a book on Paul Murphy.

"really?" i laughed, "morphy was a lawyer or something."

"look at his games, the way he played." he told me how murphy fell into a massive paranoia and died. how he would stay up all night studying, drinking, talking with strangers. i began to feel uneasy about his correlation between us. i had a feeling this was part two of the philidor insanity conversation from the other night.

"you know what they called him?" i hesitantly shook my head.

"the pride and the sorrow of chess."

i faked a laugh, "you think thats gonna be me-"

"i think that is you." he had said it too seriously, sending the faux smile off my face, "i think maybe... its always been you."

he pulled out a bottle of tranquilizers, and i knew where this was coming from.

he knew. about it all.

i was turning into more than a chess bum. i was turning into obsession, insanity, and worst of all, more and more like mother. and i knew it, too. the chesterfields, the drugs, the obsession. it had all happened too quickly, but even harry beltik had caught on.

"be careful, beth." 

and he left.