'Do you come here often?' and other opening lines.

'Do you come here often' and other opening lines..png
Image created using a CANVA template.

‘Do you come here often?’ was his simple opening line. I’d heard it before, of course, and all of its far-reaching variations; sometimes accompanied by a grin, and at other times, with an offer of a drink. The words were familiar, and I knew exactly where this was leading – to the same place it always had. I smiled, perhaps a little coyly, knowing that this was all part of the ritual; that it was all part of the game. As I moved closer to the questioner, I could see the delight in the twitch of my grandfather’s moustache, whose devotion to my grandfather’s upper lip had meant I’d never seen him without a facial adornment. In his earlier days, it had been neatly trimmed and it had suited the rigidity of his profession. But now, it had become wild – I imagined it taking on its own aggressive persona as it sought to claim new territory, as it twisted and contorted about his nostrils and beyond the sagging skin of his jowls across the years.

I slipped by the slightly bent old man and set about putting the kettle on, while he worked on setting up the chess board on the kitchen table. This table had been the setting for many long-fought conquests; it had seen Kings rise and fall, alongside the slaughter and sacrifice of Queens and her attendants. The table held reminiscences of violent victories and yet other battles of the futility of war and the eventual stalemates of the trenches. The board itself was not antique despite its appearance, and, while it was widely known by the family that it was purchased at a gift shop at Heathrow Airport, family tradition maintained it was owned by the last Raj of India.
I sat the cup down in front of my grandfather, whose mind was already thinking strategic lines of attack. Without glancing down, he picked up the mug by instinct, and took his first slurp. I knew this move; it sought to unsettle an opponent, to rob concentration and focus – it was meant to make me look up from the board and arch my mouth in an indication of being aghast. I knew all his tricks, and in sitting down opposite, I knew he would move his King pawn to E4 after the charade of indecision was complete.

I began to think through what I’d need to pick up at the grocery store on my way home. I couldn’t remember if I needed milk, but to err on the side of caution, decided it could not be forgotten. It had been a long day, and while I didn’t prioritise the wine in my mind in the construction of that list, I knew I’d be holding a bottle of shiraz before the carrots and red onion would find their way into my shopping basket. The white pawn advanced to E4.

In response, my black knight roared into life. The familiarity of the greeting extended to the familiarity of the game. I knew my opponent’s chess lines well, and as my piece landed on F6, I knew the next piece to move would be the white bishop. My grandfather leaned back in his chair, seeking to analyse all possible positions on the board. He cupped his chin between his thumb and his middle finger, allowing his index finger to gently tap the mangle of hair beneath it. A twinkle in his eye, not yet hidden by spectacles, indicated he had encountered brilliance! He aroused his bishop from an imagined prayer and moved him to the left flank. A triumphant ‘Aha!’ flourished the move and invited a quick response.

In sitting back in my chair, I knew how this game would play out. My grandfather’s triumphant gestures would soon be replaced by intense and deliberate slowness of hand, meant to indicate a certain worry and hard resolve to fight. Each week, the script was the same as Rooks were traded and pawn lines broken. Each week, the old man would teeter on the verge of collapse, before I would proffer carelessness in guarding my queen – allowing his knight to create a check fork. Each week, I would reach to my forehead and exclaim surprise! And each week I would promise to give him a challenge the following match.

As the flourishes and exclamations were traded, my grandfather would take to his feet and do up each button in his waist-coast, a regal gesture of formality which he had long associated with the imagined Raj. He would then announce in a small but contented voice, ‘In the service of the King, I believe that’s Checkmate’.

With the kingdom won, the board would be carefully packed away, allowing the pieces to slumber until the charm of the greeting, ‘Do you come here often?’ would conscript them to the battlefield once again.

H2
H3
H4
3 columns
2 columns
1 column
12 Comments
Ecency