Chapter 8

It was less than two months later, a Monday night, December 21, 2009, 8:13 PM Santiago time. The thunder had been rumbling for hours. It was warm and sticky outside with frequent showers, but delightfully cool and dry in the house with the AC on. I was playing a game of chess with seven-year-old Isabelle in the play room.

I learned chess early in life and loved it. I'm a U.S. rated expert, and played a lot in college. When Isabelle asked me to teach her the game during my engagement with her mother, of course I said yes. I was very impressed how she learned all the piece moves in a single afternoon, and I bought her several books on chess openings and strategy. A few months after the marriage, I was astonished to see her approaching my level of expertise. And then...

I could hear the rain beating against the window as I stared at my current position. Despite my best efforts, Isabelle had me in a vise. She had chosen the Sicilian defense to my pawn-to-king-four opening. My daughter allowed me to get into one of my favorite positions as White, the King's Indian reversed, but then she started doing strange things with her pawns.

Nine moves after she left the book openings, I was staring at a completely unexpected and bizarre tactical battlefield, and a half dozen moves after that all the winning possibilities seemed to lie with Black. I was squeezed in the center and had attack threats coming in from both wings. I moved my queen, protecting against two tactical threats.

Isabelle sighed. "That's going to lead to trouble. You should strive for counter-play by opening the queen-bishop file. Want some help?"

"Uh, no, that's okay..." I glanced up at Isabelle as she sat on the floor with me, her young face intently pondering her next move. She had already taken her shower and was in her pajamas, her bedtime was 8 PM. But her mother was on her way to Spain, traveling with her extended family to visit her parents for Christmas. Isabelle and I would follow in two days, when Isabelle's school program closed for the holidays. I've always been a little more relaxed about bedtimes than Carlotta, and Isabelle knew it.

Isabelle pushed pawn-to-queen-five, looked up at me and smiled.

The tension in the center was crushing White's position. I was sweating a little, but inwardly I smiled. I was so proud of my daughter, I didn't mind at all. I judged I had one tempo left before Isabelle would start to roll me over with her wing attacks. But one tempo can make all the difference in a chess position, and I thought I just might have a saving move. Yes. When she recaptured my knight, I could advance my queen to a commanding position in the center. It would be a tight race between our simultaneous attacks, but I would be one tempo ahead of her. I moved my knight on king-three away from her attacking queen-pawn and captured her knight, releasing the tension she had built in the center.

Isabelle giggled. "Now that's suicidal!" A quick move, bishop-to-queen-six. "Check!"

I gasped. I had two different ways to capture the undefended bishop, and both of them led White into a mating net in three. But there were no other options... "Uh, I'm busted?"

Isabelle nodded once, and then began quickly to reset the board. She was way too polite to gloat. "One more before bedtime? I'll go right to bed after. My teeth are already brushed. Please?"

"Well..."

"Please? I'll let you be White again."

"Hah!" I thought, "As if that makes a difference!" But how could I resist? And why should I ever want to? I spoke out loud, "Okay, but then right to bed, okay?"

"Deal! Thanks daddy! Your move!"

I smiled and pushed P-Q4. The house was very quiet, and the game slowly evolved into a complex strategic variation of the Queen's Gambit declined. I've noticed in recent months that my occasional draws with Isabelle would occur on our last game of the night. She is too much a purist to throw a game, but I also think she feels a faint pang of guilt when she beats me. If I played my best, our final game would evolve into complex and beautiful positional issues.

And that's what was happening now. We were thirty-some moves into the game, and it was past nine o'clock. There was a wonderfully complex strategic puzzle before me. All the deadly tactical fireworks of Isabelle's earlier play were gone. The house was utterly quiet, and as I stared at the position, the board transformed. The White and Black pieces were no longer simply opposing each other. They were also entwined in a strange and wondrous cooperative dance, seeking to balance their oppositional interests. In a burst of inspiration and clarity, I saw the pure brilliance of Isabelle's mind, saw the elegant solution to the deep mathematical puzzle she had created. I could lock the strategic tension into a harmonious equilibrium. I moved my rook and looked at my daughter.

She is so young, and such a master at the game! Lying prone in her pajamas, elbows and knees on the ground, head held in her hands, her bare feet relaxed in the air behind her. She looked up from the board and gazed at me, and then smiled and nodded.

I smiled back, and saw A'moth pop into existence four meters behind Isabelle. I let out an explosive gasp.

Isabelle saw my shock and stare and whipped around to see A'moth. She gave a soft shriek and was in my lap a second later, staring at A'moth in astonishment. A'moth was in a corner of the room, no doors, no closets, all the windows were closed against the heavy rain shower outside. There was no logical place A'moth could have come from, and Isabelle knew it. "Daddy?!" she whispered hysterically. I could feel her trembling in my arms.