Walter Wisby! That’s what my grandfather calls me. He seldom calls me Walter, and never Wisby. My grandfather calls me Walter Wisby because he respects me, and considers me to be a man. My grandfather is eighty-eight years old, while I, Walter Wisby, am but eight. This means that my grandfather, who lives in Cheltenham, is exactly ten times older than me. He is an intelligent man, but for the past few years he has suffered cruelly from Alzheimer’s disease. He speaks to ghosts of the past, or sometimes to himself; he becomes impulsive, and then only a game of chess can calm him. He has not forgotten one iota of chess – not a single stratagem, not a single tactic, as if time itself could not flow across that board. I think that each piece has come to represent someone to him; my grandmother the queen, my father the bishop, and myself – I think – the knight, because I strive forward as I wish like the valiant knights of old. Being a boy of only eight years, chess has helped me mature. As I mentioned, my grandfather is ten times older than me, but already treats me like a man, a fellow strategist and thinker.
This is how chess is played. I learned how to play when I was five, long before my grandfather began to suffer from his illness. And today I have decided I shall beat him. For three years now there has been a chess board in our home. But when my grandfather places his great grey hands on the pawns, something changes. He is my favourite opponent. Mother worries that I will no longer want to play when grandfather leaves us. She is right, no doubt. I sometimes wonder if I really enjoy the game, or simply the pleasure of seeing my grandfather serene and concentrated. Still, I practice in my room to concoct my wily strategies. I picture the games in my head, trying to imagine what move grandpa would make in this or that position. I imagine his smile, his raised eyebrow, his brief titter when I corner his rook.
In a game of chess there are sixty-four squares, thirty-two pieces and a set of rules. It’s not like playing Scrabble, where you have to find the best word to test the strength of your vocabulary. No, this is war, and I am prepared to sacrifice all my soldiers if that’s what it takes to win. To win, you need strategy, the power of thought, and time. The time is counted, by the way. “Make your move, Walter Wisby! Play, Walter Wisby!” my grandfather grumbles when I haven’t moved my piece in over ten minutes. Then he smiles; he is proud of his grandson. Chess has given my life meaning; I am more reflective since I started playing, and I'm better at maths and logic. I’m more patient, too. When I play I feel responsible; one must stay in the game at all costs. In chess, to stay alive you must capture the enemy king. “Check-mate, Walter Wisby!” concludes my grandfather, who has not yet had enough of beating me around the chessboard. Well, I lost. So what? My grandfather has experience; he has the power of reflection, of knowing things before they happen, of predicting the slightest movement. I, Walter Wisby, believe that it is by losing that we learn from our mistakes, so we can come back stronger. Each and every battle tells a unique geometrical story, and that is the beauty of a game of chess.
Alan Alfredo Geday
Comments