A Partial History of Lost Causes: A Novel: A Novel by Jennifer DuBois

Author:Jennifer DuBois
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Literary, Romance, Contemporary, Historical, Fiction
ISBN: 9780679604747
Publisher: Random House Digital, Inc.
Published: 2012-03-20T23:04:44+00:00

The match resumed, and Aleksandr found himself gripped by caustic paranoia. He began to regard Dmitry with grave suspicion. He watched as Dmitry chewed his lips unconsciously or shaved his stupid face (needlessly, always needlessly) or talked inanities into the telephone—to his tedious girlfriend, allegedly, though Aleksandr no longer felt sure that was the case. There were a few openings in which Rusayev responded a little too quickly, a little too cleanly, and Aleksandr began to wonder whether Dmitry had been bribed to pass on his opening moves to Rusayev. As soon as Aleksandr wondered, he was convinced. The theory moved in his head like a mechanical apparatus. The gears shifted; the pulleys pulled.

When Aleksandr went to the Party doctor—to be weighed and assessed and prodded like a piece of prize cattle—he was asked about his stress level, his nightmares, his anxieties, his fears. Aleksandr sat on the edge of his seat and refused to answer. These questions were too pointed; Aleksandr wouldn’t be surprised if this guy, too, was in on it. No matter: he wasn’t a chess prodigy for nothing. Aleksandr swung his knees and spoke brightly about the satisfactions of the game: the consolations to be found in triumph, the wisdom to be found in loss. The doctor’s mouth went flat as a blade. He made a note on his paper.

In the end, the match took fifty-three games—an unending, unthinkable number. The journalists were alternately awed and gleeful and bored and disbelieving. When the final moves were made—when Aleksandr sacrificed his queen to the ready arms of Rusayev’s waiting bishop—the audience leaned forward, intent, breathless. The cameras snapped like offended turtles. Aleksandr cracked his knuckles and shuffled his fingers. He realigned his shoulders. He was the first to see when Rusayev’s gaze started to swim—not with tears but with the blurry confusion of a child who has been asked to explain how he solved a copied math problem. The audience didn’t see, though, so they hunched forward and held still and wondered collectively at the nature of what they were witnessing—insane, suicidal, miraculous? Out into the universe, the taut figures of Aleksandr and Rusayev were cast on beams of light that dodged checkpoints and disregarded diplomatic protocol. Bits of dust fell from the ceiling and caught the limited glow of the lamps, making the room frosted and dreamlike. Aleksandr drummed his fingers, which he knew was cruel and theatrical. Rusayev’s face hemorrhaged momentary disbelief before easing into the nearly grateful expression of someone whose bitter disappointment is outmatched in the end by his profound fatigue. He had seen. He took his next turn with a resigned graciousness. The rest was ritual, the stately etiquette followed by a retreating army. Rusayev smiled slightly and swallowed. Aleksandr blinked and saw his future flash before his eyes. His hands shook, his head emptied, a cable ran arctic-cold from his throat to his stomach, and he was surprised even then by how the best moment of his professional life could feel so much like absolute terror.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.