My father had taken Mr. Horowitz’s last horse. He looks at me and says that we just retrieved our opponents knight. Mr. Horowitz glances at the board, picks up a castle, and knocks down one of my father’s horses. I ask my father if that makes them tied, but he shakes his head and whispers that now Mr. Horowitz is winning.
His face looks disappointed. I feel nervous for my father. I want him to win, for both of us. His eyes scan the pieces as he readjusts his keffiyah. He isn’t sure what to do next. There are so many white pieces left, and so little black. He moves one of his pawns---I believe that’s what they’re called---in front of Mr. Horowitz’s pawns. Pawns and a king. That’s all he has. That’s all we have.
I ask my father if I can play, but he shakes his head. He says I must learn by observation first. He thinks it’s a game for adults, but I think it’s a game for children, too. So I continue to watch, and I’m distracted by the colors on the board. Black and white, just like my father and Mr. Horowitz. I’ve seen them play several rounds, but it seems like the white pieces always win. The adults continue playing, and the black pieces are becoming more scarce.
Mr. Horowitz smiles at me. He thinks it’s just a game, but my father is clenching his fists under the table. To him, this is not a game. Mr. Horowitz moves one of his pawns to a blank space even though he could take out one my father’s pieces. My father doesn’t notice. He swoops one of his pieces into the pawn, and his eyes begin to glow. He rubs my back excitedly, bouncing me on his leg in triumph. Mr. Horowitz winks at me, and I laugh because I understand. The world isn’t separated into winners and losers. We’re all just playing the same game.
