Theory of Shadows by Paolo Maurensig

Author:Paolo Maurensig
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux

XIII.

HE HEARD A voice calling him from a distance. When he opened his eyes, he found Neumann’s face flashing before him in a stroboscopic light. He couldn’t make out where he was; the walls of the room were still where they should have been, but someone, meanwhile, seemed to have moved the furniture. Alekhine looked around for his armchair and the coffee table that held his chessboard … He couldn’t understand why they weren’t in their places. Then, piece by piece, he put together the events of the day. Had he slept? He glanced at his wristwatch. It was almost five.

Neumann was urging him to get up.

“Come on, let’s go outside, Alexandre, a little air will do you good.”

For a moment, it seemed odd that Neumann would call him by his first name. Immediately afterward, however, he remembered that he himself had asked the violinist to do so, had insisted on it, in fact; and, all things considered, it did not displease him.

“Oh, leave me be, David. I just want to go back to my room.”

“You can’t go on ruining yourself…”

“No sermons, David, please. I wish I could be somewhere else, somewhere no one knows me. I’m getting scared—I feel as though everyone is staring at me. They all seem convinced that I have committed some kind of terrible crime, but I assure you that it’s not true…”

“Of course, of course … Now, though, you could use a nice breath of fresh air. Nothing better than a brisk walk along the shore to pull yourself together. You have to be in top shape.”

“Why?”

“Because you are the world champion, and will remain so. You haven’t forgotten that, have you?”

“You were right to remind me of it, David,” Alekhine agreed, once again letting himself be lulled by flattery.

* * *

SHORTLY AFTERWARD, THEY walked side by side along the beach, heading toward the lighthouse. The breeze had become stiffer. During the walk, they did not exchange a single word. But among friends, Alekhine thought, it was not strictly necessary to speak. On the way back, the golden hue of the sea had turned a blood red. Alekhine hated the light of sundown, whereas Neumann, for his part, basked in it. From time to time, the violinist stopped to climb up on a rock, entranced by the reflections on the water. Viewed from behind, with his coattails flapping, he looked like the Wanderer Above the Sea of Fog in Caspar David Friedrich’s painting.

When they got back, Alekhine tried to drag him to the bar, but Neumann was adamant: he would have an apéritif with him if and only if Alekhine would drink nothing more than a glass of seltzer. This prospect made Alekhine desist. Although David was at least ten years younger than him, the violinist was behaving like a big brother. Could he, too, be feeling a nascent sense of friendship?

Neumann left him, agreeing to meet again at dinnertime. Alekhine lingered in the lobby to smoke a cigarette. Meanwhile, other guests had arrived; several suitcases were stacked on a cart being pushed by a porter.

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