Do You Play Chess?
by Lee Carrick
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: Some strong ones.
Description: They say chess can help you relax. Not this time.
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“What time is it back home?” I asked Tao. We were sitting on green bean bag chairs facing the ocean at Café Del Mar in the centre of the beach, drinking cold Coronas with lime and being pleasantly cooked by the Indian sun. Our first day on the beach was spent observing our fellow travellers behind the safety of our new sunglasses and drinking beers. “What time is it here?” he replied. I went inside and checked the clock. “It’s almost three o’clock.” “Well, we are 6 and a half hours ahead of home so that makes it around eight thirty in the morning. What day is it today?” he asked. “I’m not sure, Thursday or Friday I think,” I replied. Tao let out a sigh of relief. “If we were at home right now we’d both be in the shop giving our morning briefs to the staff, pretending that we were characters from Boiler Room, smashing tables and demanding that everyone worked their dinner hours to make sure we hit our targets. Can you imagine, man, we’d be talking commission, profit and fucking loss, key performance indicators and average box value while it rained outside? Instead we’re sitting on this beach in the sunshine drinking and not talking much at all.” He looked content. I didn’t reply I just sat back and looked out once again at where we were and wondered what I’d been so afraid of before.
Palolem is a small fishing village with a stunning crescent shaped beach of golden sand and deep blue water in Southern Goa. As the big hotels and package holiday companies moved into Northern Goa, the backpackers, hippies, lost souls and poor tourists had been forced further south to find their piece of paradise. The beach is framed by a layer of palm trees that create a natural barrier between it and the village. On the beach were a plethora of bamboo restaurants and bars that were taken down during the monsoon season, leaving the beach to look like few people had ever been there. However, in the height of the season, around Christmas time, Palolem is packed with backpackers and travellers drinking, partying, chilling out, getting high or going on various jungle tours and excursions. The village streets are littered with clothes stores, convenience stores, bottle shops, trinket stalls and concrete hostels. The surrounding area is thick Goan jungle. It is probably the most popular destination for all backpackers in Goa today. In the palm trees between the beach and the dirt road that leads into the village are the villagers’ homes, some bungalows for rent and a few restaurants, all accessible by dirt tracks that cut through the trees.
A few minutes later we were approached by a man with translucent skin and ginger hair. He was holding a chess board. “Alright, guys, do you mind if I sit down?” he said. “Yeah, man, have a seat,” Tao said. “My name’s Dave.” We all shook hands and introduced ourselves. Dave was from London and had that English accent that you only ever here on the BBC. “So, guys, where are you from?” “Tao’s from Edinburgh and I’m from South Shields,” I told him. “Cool, so what you guys doing in Goa?” he asked. “Just travelling,” Tao said. “Cool, how long have you two been on the road?” “About a month.” “Where have you been?” Dave continued. I was beginning to feel like I was being interrogated, I wasn’t used to this kind of direct questioning from a stranger but my enthusiasm for life, fuelled by the Goan tropics, kept me in the conversation.“ We were in Spain before this. India is our first country outside Europe,” I said. “Cool. Do either of you guys play chess?” A siren in both Tao’s and my head went off. We both hated chess. Unfortunately Tao’s siren was a little faster than mine. “I can’t play chess, but Nicky knows how.” Tao stood up. “I’m going to get another drink.” He left me there with a smiling translucent man. “Super, I’ll get the chessboard,” David said without even asking if I wanted to play. He returned with the chessboard and began to place his pieces in their positions. I copied. He started. I played with no idea of strategy, he beat me very quickly and my day was being stolen away from me. After my third defeat I stood up and scanned the room looking for Tao, he hadn’t returned and I was starting to feel royally betrayed. Although, to be honest, given the chance I would have done the same thing. There he was standing at the bar, he had two beers in his hand and was waiting for the change. I thought, fuck it, at least he’s buying me a beer. The Nepalese bartender gave Tao his change, he turned and walked away but not towards where I was sitting. Instead he sat beside a beautiful, olive skinned Israeli girl who was rolling a joint.
David had set up the chess board once more. “Another few games? I think you’re getting better.” He was full of shit. If anything, the boredom and anger were making me worse. I sat down and we continued to play. Well, he played, I moved the pieces around aimlessly and without care. “What do you do back home?” he asked me without looking up from the black and white plastic chessboard. “I don’t have a job anymore. I quit. But I used to be a mobile phone store manager.” “Oh, you were a salesman then?” He said it like I had just told him I liked to lick the sweat from the backs of dead children. “Yeah, I was a salesman.” “Interesting. I’m an English teacher, I live in Japan, Tokyo actually. Have you ever thought about doing that?” he said. “Not really, I don’t have any teaching experience,” I told him. “That’s no problem, all you need is to be a native English speaker and have a degree. Which university did you go to?” “I didn’t go to university.” David looked up at me, he seemed confused. “You don’t have a degree? Wow, I guess you can’t be an English teacher then. What are your plans?” he asked. “I don’t know, man, I’m short on money but long on time. I’m just going to see what happens,” I said. “You’re the opposite of me then. I have plenty of money but no time, I have to go back to work next month. I think life on the road will be hard for you if you don’t have a degree, maybe you should have went to university before you decided to travel. It’s not too late, I guess.” At this point the black dog appeared and for once he was on my side.
“Nicky, can you hear me, don’t take any more of the arrogant cunt’s shit. Stand up, pick up that chessboard and smash it over the fucker’s head. Who the fuck does he think he is, the ginger prick? Then calmly walk over to the bar, buy a cold beer and sit down beside that Israeli girl. Tao is probably boring the fuck out of her anyway. Go on, man, I’ve got your fucking back. No one talks to us like that.”
I stared down at the chessboard, I imagined driving a pawn into David’s left eye before forcing the queen up his nostril. Instead I tipped over my king in the middle of the game. David looked up. “Sorry, man, I fucking hate chess,” I said.
Swearwords: Some strong ones.
Description: They say chess can help you relax. Not this time.
_____________________________________________________________________
“What time is it back home?” I asked Tao. We were sitting on green bean bag chairs facing the ocean at Café Del Mar in the centre of the beach, drinking cold Coronas with lime and being pleasantly cooked by the Indian sun. Our first day on the beach was spent observing our fellow travellers behind the safety of our new sunglasses and drinking beers. “What time is it here?” he replied. I went inside and checked the clock. “It’s almost three o’clock.” “Well, we are 6 and a half hours ahead of home so that makes it around eight thirty in the morning. What day is it today?” he asked. “I’m not sure, Thursday or Friday I think,” I replied. Tao let out a sigh of relief. “If we were at home right now we’d both be in the shop giving our morning briefs to the staff, pretending that we were characters from Boiler Room, smashing tables and demanding that everyone worked their dinner hours to make sure we hit our targets. Can you imagine, man, we’d be talking commission, profit and fucking loss, key performance indicators and average box value while it rained outside? Instead we’re sitting on this beach in the sunshine drinking and not talking much at all.” He looked content. I didn’t reply I just sat back and looked out once again at where we were and wondered what I’d been so afraid of before.
Palolem is a small fishing village with a stunning crescent shaped beach of golden sand and deep blue water in Southern Goa. As the big hotels and package holiday companies moved into Northern Goa, the backpackers, hippies, lost souls and poor tourists had been forced further south to find their piece of paradise. The beach is framed by a layer of palm trees that create a natural barrier between it and the village. On the beach were a plethora of bamboo restaurants and bars that were taken down during the monsoon season, leaving the beach to look like few people had ever been there. However, in the height of the season, around Christmas time, Palolem is packed with backpackers and travellers drinking, partying, chilling out, getting high or going on various jungle tours and excursions. The village streets are littered with clothes stores, convenience stores, bottle shops, trinket stalls and concrete hostels. The surrounding area is thick Goan jungle. It is probably the most popular destination for all backpackers in Goa today. In the palm trees between the beach and the dirt road that leads into the village are the villagers’ homes, some bungalows for rent and a few restaurants, all accessible by dirt tracks that cut through the trees.
A few minutes later we were approached by a man with translucent skin and ginger hair. He was holding a chess board. “Alright, guys, do you mind if I sit down?” he said. “Yeah, man, have a seat,” Tao said. “My name’s Dave.” We all shook hands and introduced ourselves. Dave was from London and had that English accent that you only ever here on the BBC. “So, guys, where are you from?” “Tao’s from Edinburgh and I’m from South Shields,” I told him. “Cool, so what you guys doing in Goa?” he asked. “Just travelling,” Tao said. “Cool, how long have you two been on the road?” “About a month.” “Where have you been?” Dave continued. I was beginning to feel like I was being interrogated, I wasn’t used to this kind of direct questioning from a stranger but my enthusiasm for life, fuelled by the Goan tropics, kept me in the conversation.“ We were in Spain before this. India is our first country outside Europe,” I said. “Cool. Do either of you guys play chess?” A siren in both Tao’s and my head went off. We both hated chess. Unfortunately Tao’s siren was a little faster than mine. “I can’t play chess, but Nicky knows how.” Tao stood up. “I’m going to get another drink.” He left me there with a smiling translucent man. “Super, I’ll get the chessboard,” David said without even asking if I wanted to play. He returned with the chessboard and began to place his pieces in their positions. I copied. He started. I played with no idea of strategy, he beat me very quickly and my day was being stolen away from me. After my third defeat I stood up and scanned the room looking for Tao, he hadn’t returned and I was starting to feel royally betrayed. Although, to be honest, given the chance I would have done the same thing. There he was standing at the bar, he had two beers in his hand and was waiting for the change. I thought, fuck it, at least he’s buying me a beer. The Nepalese bartender gave Tao his change, he turned and walked away but not towards where I was sitting. Instead he sat beside a beautiful, olive skinned Israeli girl who was rolling a joint.
David had set up the chess board once more. “Another few games? I think you’re getting better.” He was full of shit. If anything, the boredom and anger were making me worse. I sat down and we continued to play. Well, he played, I moved the pieces around aimlessly and without care. “What do you do back home?” he asked me without looking up from the black and white plastic chessboard. “I don’t have a job anymore. I quit. But I used to be a mobile phone store manager.” “Oh, you were a salesman then?” He said it like I had just told him I liked to lick the sweat from the backs of dead children. “Yeah, I was a salesman.” “Interesting. I’m an English teacher, I live in Japan, Tokyo actually. Have you ever thought about doing that?” he said. “Not really, I don’t have any teaching experience,” I told him. “That’s no problem, all you need is to be a native English speaker and have a degree. Which university did you go to?” “I didn’t go to university.” David looked up at me, he seemed confused. “You don’t have a degree? Wow, I guess you can’t be an English teacher then. What are your plans?” he asked. “I don’t know, man, I’m short on money but long on time. I’m just going to see what happens,” I said. “You’re the opposite of me then. I have plenty of money but no time, I have to go back to work next month. I think life on the road will be hard for you if you don’t have a degree, maybe you should have went to university before you decided to travel. It’s not too late, I guess.” At this point the black dog appeared and for once he was on my side.
“Nicky, can you hear me, don’t take any more of the arrogant cunt’s shit. Stand up, pick up that chessboard and smash it over the fucker’s head. Who the fuck does he think he is, the ginger prick? Then calmly walk over to the bar, buy a cold beer and sit down beside that Israeli girl. Tao is probably boring the fuck out of her anyway. Go on, man, I’ve got your fucking back. No one talks to us like that.”
I stared down at the chessboard, I imagined driving a pawn into David’s left eye before forcing the queen up his nostril. Instead I tipped over my king in the middle of the game. David looked up. “Sorry, man, I fucking hate chess,” I said.
About the Author
Originally from South Shields, Lee Carrick is a thirtysomething adopted Scot. His biggest passions in life are writing and travelling, and he likes to combine the two. He has been writing poetry since he was 15, but only recently began to write fiction. He was inspired to write by Ian Banks' The Wasp Factory and Neil Gaiman's Smoke and Mirrors. The Care Home, his first novella, is a McStorytellers publication.
Lee’s full profile can be read on McVoices.
Lee’s full profile can be read on McVoices.