Grandmaster by David Klass Page B

asked.
    “That was some rain. I thought we might drown.”
    “We were lucky to find this place,” Dad said. And then he set his whiskey down and picked up the story right where he had left off. “I told you about Fischer and Morphy. Not that I would ever put myself in their company, but you might as well hear about me.”
    He leaned slightly forward and lowered his voice. “There was an attic room in my parents’ house in Hoboken where I used to study chess when everyone had gone to bed. It was very quiet. One small window. A bare overhead lightbulb. Sometimes I spent whole nights there, and then showered and went to school. I replayed the games of the old masters and climbed into Capablanca’s mind, and went to war side by side with Morphy. I was a lonely kid with no friends. That became my real life. And I loved it for a while. But it was taking me to a dangerous and solitary place.”
    He broke off, took a sip of his whiskey, and then finished his tale. “It further isolated me. It unhinged me, and destabilized me. My whole source of pride and self-esteem became chess. I absolutely had to win, to go to war and kill, so badly that … the worst parts of me were taking over … and I couldn’t control it. Everyone was telling me how great I was, and I was starting to travel to international matches … and deep down … I was afraid of what was happening. I could feel myself unraveling…”
    “So you quit to save yourself?” I asked.
    “There were some incidents,” he admitted. “One in particular … that was really bad. I ended up being hospitalized and on medication. When I got out, I quit chess. Cold turkey. The doctors didn’t tell me to do it—I did it myself. I cut the head off the beast. I was never good at sports, but I started speed-walking, and I tried to take better care of my health. I forced myself to come out of my shell, and I finally made a friend or two. I went off to college and majored in business, and met your mother, and I never told her about chess. My parents understood some of what I had gone through and respected my decision to quit, and they never talked about it either.”
    “Okay,” I said, “I understand now. I think you made a wise choice.”
    “I’ve wondered over the years,” he admitted. “I was very strong, Daniel. I could have been a serious chess player. Maybe not a Fischer or a Morphy, but one of the top players of my generation. Instead, I went into a career where things are very steady and there aren’t major surprises. Everybody jokes about accountants being boring, but steady sounded good to me. Plus it pays the bills, and I get to work with people I like. So I never went to that dark place again. Instead I have a wife and a family, and a relatively happy home.” He managed a smile.
    I smiled back at him. “It is a happy home. Except for my nutty sister.”
    “Paul Morphy and Bobby Fischer never experienced that kind of happiness,” he said. “I’ll take what I’ve got…” And his voice trailed off. He turned away, and I saw that he was trembling. I got up and went over to his side of the booth, and I’m not sure how it happened but I kind of put my arms around him and he hugged me back.
    “Sorry I haven’t been a father you could be more proud of,” he whispered. “Someone more involved in your life. One effect of what I went through—I know I’m a little distant, and self-absorbed in my work. It helps me stay on an even keel, but I’m aware of it and I feel bad about it. It’s not because I don’t love you.”
    “This is starting to sound like a soap opera,” I told him. “And I’m really sorry I made you come here and dig this all up again. Anytime you want to quit and go back home, just say the word.”
    The bartender strolled over with a slightly concerned look and asked, “Everything okay here, gentlemen?”
    We released each other and sat there a little awkwardly. “Fine,” Dad said. “We’re just having a father-son