A dark adolescent shape in bulky, subfusc hooded sweat shirt, red helmet and loose billowing workout pants whooshed swiftly through his neighborhood of droopy lidded windows in its first gradual awakening in the yawning morning shadows.
From awareness and long practice, Rodney Muhammed Jefferson moved expertly through the streets. He smoothly coursed the sidewalks and safely crossed the intersections. He rolled in curving lines around the obstacles – grates, torn-up concrete, bubbling asphalt, clumps of obstinate grass, wine bottles, beer cans, the legs of sleeping homeless, persistent pimps and pushers and prostitutes, gangs of indolent youth – until he reached the park that shimmered beyond the neighborhood like the pennant-streaming pinnacles of Camelot.
Once in the park, he stripped off the loose over-clothes and revealed a light bright red shirt and floppy green shorts and light red shoes that seemed to grip his red skateboard. Then, also, his tight corn-row locks tipped with red and green beads could hang free like banners.
The skateboard was his métier, his Excalibur. On the parabolic plywood fields of the park’s skateboard center, he ruled. Other competitors nicknamed him “Air Rapper” and called him “A-Rap” because his large hang-time loops spoke to them eloquently of lightness and elegance. He and his buddies would gather and spend the day rolling up and zooming down the wooden half-pipe, but when they reached the apex of the wood and launched themselves into the thin oxygen of the sky, Rodney’s skate would rise like a rocket as if his feet were glued to the board and he would soar high above the others, spinning again and again and, like a cat, fall to ground with wheels touching softly on the slope and his legs bent to grace the landing. Then the others would hoot and shout in awe of his expertise.
His fame had echoed beyond the borders of the park and the neighborhood, so sometimes skateboarders from other neighborhoods, Black or Latino, would arrive to challenge him, but he would always vanquish them, and raise his swift steed, its wheels still whirling, above his head in triumph as his friends chanted “A-Rap! A-Rap!” No one could go faster or higher or do more 360s.
One fateful day came a wonder never expected.
A-Rap and his buddies had paused for a snack and a rest and had chosen a mighty oak with benches circled around it where they could relax in the shade. As they lay back noshing and rehashing the skills displayed in each acrobatic maneuver of the day, a breeze stirred and cooled them.
Suddenly, before them stood a white boy encased in silver. His long hair was the color of blanched spaghetti and his eyes were almost invisible they were so light gray and his skin was smooth and ivory. His shirt was cloud white with sparkling silver letters that stated “Albino Roller Coaster.” In his left hand hung a silver helmet. He wore tight silver shorts and silver shoes. Strapped to his back was a silver skateboard. Around his neck hung a silver chain with a silver cross that glittered in the shifting light of wind-sighing leaves. His board was lettered, his shoes were embroidered, and his cross was embossed – all with the silver abbreviation ARC.
His pink lips spoke these words, “I hear you dudes are pretty good.”
Sir Glide, the physically most imposing of the group, rose to the words. He said, “Yeah, we good. How ‘bout you?”
“They call me ARC because my trajectory seems to follow the orbit of the earth. The abbreviation is short for “Albino Roller Coaster” because of my lightness and my thrilling rides. I have a challenge for one of you.”
“What’s that?”
“Choose one to skate against me today. If he wins, then he gets my silver necklace, but he has to return the favor next week. Next week he has to come to my grounds and challenge me there. And he has to bring the sliver necklace and something equally valuable to him. And as I came here alone, he has to go there alone prepared to spend the weekend. Home and away.”
The circle grew tighter. Sir Glide said, “A-Rap, you want to take him on?”
A-Rap stood and announced, “I accept the challenge. My name is Air Rapper.”
ARC said, “I’ve heard of you. Good. Let’s get it on.”
ARC unstrapped his skateboard, buckled his helmet on his head, and he and A-rap led the others back to the gaming center. The boards were cleared for the contest.
Then they rolled, their wheels whirring over the wooden structures. The first rounds they were like twin angels, flying equally high into the sky, their legs bent, their arms spread like wings for balance, their hair streaming like ribbons.
Below them on the solid earth the others stood agape.
Then in the final event A-Rap soared, but ARC hesitated a split-second, lost momentum and could not gain air. His wheels came down while A-Rap’s still rode the air.
The spectators chanted, “A-Rap! A-Rap!”
Graciously, ARC took the silver necklace from around his own neck and rolled to A-Rap. He said, “You win, dude. The silver is yours. Next Friday you have to come to my place.”
“How do I get there?”
ARC handed him a folded piece of paper. “Here’s the address. Bring stuff for the weekend. You’ll be my guest.”
Then he was gone as suddenly as he had come. The others gathered around A-Rap to marvel at the silver cross. Belly Jelly, the fattest of the group, said, “Man, I’d just keep that bling and never go uptown. I mean he don’t know your real name or where you live.”
Sir Glide said, “Belly Jelly, a man can’t do that. A-Rap’s got to honor the agreement. His honor is our honor.”
The others chorused, “That’s right!”
Nick-O-Lo-Deon, who watched a lot of TV, said, “Some of us could go with you. Make sure you safe.”
A-Rap said, “No, I have to go alone.”
* * *
His mother, wearing the purple shirt Rodney had given her that read “Queen-King” in gold because she was both mother and father to him, was a little skeptical even though she had never known Rodney to be dishonest, to lie or to steal. She held the silver necklace and crucifix in her hand. “Looks real dear. Let me see that address.”
Rodney handed her the note, written on white stationery with silver “ARC” curved in the upper right-hand corner. On top of the ARC was a tiny silver skateboard.
“Looks legit. Someone from that address, even a kid, could afford something like this. You sure you want to do this? You’ll be out of your element.”
“Isn’t going beyond your usual boundaries what growth is about?”
She smiled at him and said, “Sweet Rodney, you are my heart and my hope. You’ve always seemed wise beyond your years. I’ve always been able to trust you, so I’m going to trust you in this, too. Ok, go and with my blessing, but you call me every day, so I know you are all right. Now, wait here.”
She went into her bedroom and returned with a heavy gold chain whose links glowed under the incandescent light. “This was your father’s, god rest his restless soul. He had a fancy that investing in gold jewelry was a hedge against inflation. He’d have wanted you to have it. It’s heavier than the silver chain, so it’s probably worth twice as much.”
Rodney held the gold chain and could feel the magnetic earth pulling it down as if his father were grabbing at it from his grave. “It’s real heavy. You sure you want me to take it?”
“It’s yours, Rodney, to use as you see fit. You beat the albino once. You can beat him again. I believe in you, Rodney. Now let’s plan your route.”
* * *
The next Friday morning Rodney set out on a journey that took him farther than he had ever gone before. He wore the dark clothes that made him inconspicuous, and on his back was his red backpack, inside which were the gold and silver chains, a bottle of water and four changes of clothing, and, buckled to the pack, his red helmet. He carried his red skateboard. In his pockets he had his cell phone and $40 that his mother had given him.
He had to descend into the bowels of the municipal dragon, ride the subway rattling through dark tunnels and past lighted platforms where multitudes entered and exited. Neighborhoods, languages, dialects, sounds and smells fluctuated with each stop, so he knew he was moving farther and farther from home. The last stops had fewer riders until the train stopped at the end of the line where he and a few other dark riders got off, but no one got on.
He emerged into a world strange to him. The buildings weren’t so tall, and the streets were clean, every plant neatly trimmed or pruned. He glanced back toward the towers of the city, but they were far away, as if home were but a boyhood memory.
From there he had to catch a bus, which came minutes later. He mounted and the bus surged outward farther away from the city into the exurbs. Soon the buildings were fewer and fewer while trees and fence rails grew in number.
Rodney checked his map that he had printed on his computer. He didn’t want to miss the correct stop: Cornish Lane. When the bus passed Wessex Trail, Rodney knew he was close and stood, gazing ahead to see the next stop. To be safe, he pulled the cord which rang the bell, so the driver would know to stop at the next stop.
Rodney stepped down into a world without buildings, so he was momentarily disoriented. Across the street were a gravel road and a small street sign that read “Cornish Lane.” The road was gated with wrought-iron doors and a white stone and concrete fence ran in either direction as far as the eye could see. He crossed the street and walked up to the gate and saw it had no handles to pull. He looked around and saw an electronic voice box. He pushed the button on the box. A few seconds later a female voice said, “Yes, may I help you.”
“I . . . I’m here to see ARC. . . . He invited me to skate.”
“Your name?”
“A-Rap.”
“One minute.”
A minute later the voice said, “Come up, please.” The gate clicked and the two doors began to part, each moving to opposite sides of Cornish Lane. Rodney stepped in past the gates and began to walk.
Cornish Lane curved ahead, but he could as yet see no house. Lining either side of the road were large trees, stout trunks towering beside the road and bushy heads of green leaves shading the road and tall green hedges that not only added more shade but hid whatever was on either side of the road, so he felt as if he were in a long tunnel.
He walked, his shoes crunching the gravel beneath. Although he couldn’t see beyond the hedges, he could hear animals running and snorting and barking and neighing and people’s voices, shouts and laughter. At one point, he stopped and tried to peer through the hedge, but it was too thick, so all he could distinguish was movement, but no exact forms.
Twenty minutes later he saw at the end of the long curve an immense white house like a chateau with turreted towers and conically capped towers and balconies and bay windows. For a moment he thought about turning back, but his curiosity overcame his intimidation, and he marched ahead until he stood at the apex of the loop of the long drive.
A long concrete walk led to the front door. He strode to the door and pressed the doorbell. Although he heard no ringing or buzzing, a minute later a middle-aged woman dressed in a maid’s blue-aproned uniform opened the door.
She said, “Mister Arapa?” with a slight Latina accent and looked around for a vehicle.
“Yes.”
“Come in. Clay is outside, so let me show you to your room. Follow me.”
He followed her through the foyer lined with art work, paintings on the walls, statues beside the walls, and up a long, curving, carpeted flight of stairs to a third floor. When she reached the last room at the end of the third-floor hall, she stopped, opened the door and said, “This guestroom is yours. Can I get you some iced tea or a soda? That’s a long, hot walk up the drive.”
“Something clear without caffeine?”
“I’ll be back in a moment. Make yourself at home.”
* * * *
By the time the maid had returned with his iced drink, he had surveyed the room, and wondered at the riches that ARC’s family must possess. Each piece of walnut furniture had been carefully selected to match the other pieces. Maybe they had been bought as a set. The lighting fixtures, whether on the ceiling, walls or free-standing lamps, were all shaded with rose glass. The heavy drapes and bedspread and seat covers were a matching burgundy; the deep carpet, sienna. Thus, despite the white walls, his room was rosy and warm. When he held up the clear drink, even it seemed to have turned into rosewater.
He unpacked his backpack and put his clothes neatly into the chest-of-drawers. He set his cell phone and the gold and silver chains on the dresser. He shucked the dark clothes and hung them and his helmet and his backpack in the closet, where he also laid the skateboard.
Then he went to the window and pulled the drapes back, revealing French doors opening onto a small balcony with a wrought-iron railing. He went out and stood on the balcony and looked down. Below was a wide patio and connected to it a large rectangular swimming pool with pale blue water. Beyond the patio in a broad green yard were tennis courts, a basketball court, a soccer field, a putting green and driving range; at the end of the driving range were stables at which he could see people bringing in horses and rubbing them down. To the right was a concrete structure that he recognized immediately: a skateboard park.
He marveled that one family could own all that he saw. How wealthy must they be?
Then he called his mother.
“Mom, I arrived safely. They gave me a real nice room. This place is huge.”
“How do you feel?”
“I’m fine, but I’m getting hungry. Probably should’ve stopped for a sandwich.”
“I’m sure they’ll feed you soon. Where’s your friend?”
“I think he’s outside somewhere . . . maybe riding horses. He may not even know I’m here.”
“Do you still have the money I gave you?”
“Of course, didn’t stop anywhere.”
“Ok, I love you.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye.”
No sooner had he clicked off when he heard people walking down the hall. He looked out of his room and saw ARC and two white girls walking toward him.
“Hey! A-Rap! How are you, dude?” ARC greeted him.
“Fine. I just got here . . . a little while ago.”
“What did you bring to the challenge?”
Rodney took them into his room and showed the gold chain.
“Whoa, dude, that is cool. Must weight a pound,” said ARC as he hefted the necklace. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“Then come with us. Merci’s getting some sandwiches and stuff for us out at the pool. Did you bring swimming trunks?”
“No.”
“No problem. I’ve got some you can wear.” Then ARC introduced the girls. Pointing at the auburn-haired girl, he said, “This is my sister Sam, and this blond cutie here is her best friend Trish. She’s going to be my girl someday, right, Trish?”
“You wish.”
Sam said, “Don’t listen to Clay. We don’t belong to anybody.”
“Glad to meet you. My name’s Rodney.”
They stopped at Clay’s room, which had white drapes and silver carpet and seemed lipid like clear water except for the framed skateboarding posters and photographs. Clay went in and brought out a red bathing suit and handed it to Rodney.
“Here, this should fit and it’s your color.”
“Thanks.”
“You can put it on in the bathhouse by the pool.”
The bathhouse was another marvel containing not only cubicles for changing clothes and restrooms but also showers, a sauna, a hot tub and a whirlpool. When Rodney exited, he dropped his street clothes by an empty lounge chair and then leaped into the pool.
One summer his mother had sent him to a summer camp where all the campers received swimming instruction, but that was several years ago. In all the time since, he had never had the opportunity to swim, and only once been near clean deep water, when he and some friends had gone to the ocean in winter when it was too cold to swim.
He felt water around him again, and it was wonderful – cool and soothing. He went down to the bottom, opened his eyes so he could see the light refracting through the chop, and then pushed up toward the surface. As soon as he broke the surface, he saw three bodies launching themselves into splashes bombarding around him. He laughed, climbed out and returned the action, curling himself into a dark ball that exploded amidst their squeals and laughter.
At the edge of the pool a hand reached out and touched his right shoulder and tugged. Sam pulled herself next to him. Her glistening face, her gleaming smile and her sparkling emerald eyes so close startled him. “You’re cute, Rodney” she said. “Do you like white girls?”
“I don’t know.”
Another rougher hand touched his left shoulder. Rodney turned his head and saw Clay’s face grinning at him. Clay said, “Come on. Let’s get some food.”
Beside the pool on one table a platter was piled with sandwiches; next to it an ice chest brimmed with cold drinks. Varied chips filled other bowls. The blue-aproned Merci had apparently come and gone unnoticed while they had been swimming. Gaily the children gathered and heartily they ate, giggling and telling stories.
Across the table, Sam flashed her eyes at him.
Then Clay said, “Rodney, tomorrow we duke it out for the silver necklace. My chance to win it back. And on Sunday, we’ll duel for the gold necklace.”
“Ok.”
“There’s just one thing you have to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Whatever happens to you here, you have to tell me.”
“No problem, Clay.”
“After we eat, we can play some computer games.”
“Ok.”
The girls disappeared after the meal while Rodney followed Clay inside the house until they had entered a large game room and were standing before a wall-sized video screen. Clay picked up two remote game controls and said, “Try it out.”
The computer game became the first contest. Rodney had played computer games in arcades and had a few games at home, but his mother wouldn’t let him play until his homework and chores were done, and if the weather was good, he went outside to skate. Only the short, cold winter days and long, rainy spring days kept him inside; then he’d pick up a video game and work the buttons against a friend or the computer. He had never played before such an immense screen, so when the game clicked on, he felt as if he were entering the maze that he saw before him.
The game Clay chose, Stronghold, had their avatars dressed in modern combat armor and armed with automatic weapons that were a combination machinegun-rocket launcher-grenade lobber-flame thrower; they also carried various ninja weapons for close combat, including an assortment of knives. The two of them had to work their way through a labyrinth and were beset with a series of encounters with monsters and enemy soldiers. The keys to winning were staying alert, being swift and agile with the buttons, and choosing the right weapon for each particular enemy. The death of an enemy added hundreds to their scores. They had to watch each other’s backs and move cautiously along the corridors. Their goal was to find a treasure, radio for help from gunship helicopters, and hold off their attackers until the treasure could be safely lifted away with their riding the cable along with the treasure until they were free of the stronghold maze.
Actual cash prizes could be won because scores could be downloaded onto the game company’s website. The highest score from any week won $150; from any month, $500; from a year, $6,000. The highest score from a decade won $60,000. Around the world, the company had fifty million players who had each spent $99.95 for the game and twenty-four million who had paid $100 to join the Strongholders Club, so they could compete for the prizes.
“The top gun,” said Clay as they warmed up with a few practice battles, “is somebody from Taiwan, who calls himself “Golden Dragon.” He’s won thirty-eight weekly prizes, seventeen monthly prizes, two yearly prizes, and has the top score so far through the decade.”
“Have you ever won?”
“Yeah, for one week. I played on Saturday with my friend Tom, and we were hooked in, like we could do no wrong, ran up the score higher than I’d ever gone. So I checked the company scores and saw mine was higher than any posted for the week, downloaded it and the next week got the check for $150. I had to share it with Tom, of course.”
“What did you do with the money?”
“Dad made me invest it with him in Google stock.”
The first game Rodney’s avatar made a wrong turn down a corridor and caused Clay’s to be killed and then his was overrun by ogres. The second game they did better, but Rodney’s was killed by a crossbow arrow in the throat after they had passed the fifth corridor; Clay’s struggled on for two more corridors until it was blown up by sappers.
“Damn those sappers! You can never know when they’ll pop up.”
They played twice more, their best effort getting past the ninth corridor, so they could see the gleam of the first treasure beyond the tenth. They fought their way to the end of the tenth corridor, called in gun ships, and were successfully fighting off a stream of attackers – harpies, Mongol warriors, gryphons and modernized Nazis – when the sappers tunneled underneath them and set off an explosion that ripped their avatars apart.
Clay grinned at Rodney and said, “Whoa, dude, we got close that time!”
“Almost made it.”
“Those sappers.”
Rodney was finally tired and said he had better go to bed. Clay acceded, but he took Rodney to the kitchen for a snack of fruit and cheese first. Then they parted company to prepare themselves for tomorrow’s contest.
In his room, Rodney disrobed, showered and donned the new purple-and-gold striped pajamas that his mother had bought him for the trip. He slid under the covers and on his back lay thinking about all that had happened that day when a knock on his door broke his memories.
“Yes?” he said.
“Rodney, it’s me Sam. Can I come in?”
“Sure, but I’m in bed.”
Sam opened the door and then softly closed it behind her. She wore a silk lilac robe over a T-shirt and pajama shorts. She had washed and brushed her hair, so it fell over her shoulders in shining streamers, and her green eyes sparkled and her smile gleamed. She fell across the bed covers, so she could look up at Rodney’s face just a couple feet away, and said, “Are you tired?”
“Yeah, a bit.”
“Do you think you’ll win tomorrow?”
“I don’t know. Clay’s very good, but I’ll try my best.”
“I hope you win because Clay’s such an egotist.”
“I like him.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I love him dearly, but I just want to see him taken down a notch for once.”
“I can try, but I can’t promise a win.”
Sam reached in a pocket of her robe and pulled out a long, shiny scarlet silk ribbon. With the ribbon came an aroma of sunshine and forests. She put the ribbon in Rodney’s hand. “Will you do me the favor of wearing this tomorrow?”
“Wearing it?”
“In your beautiful dreadlocks. Win for me.”
“Yes, I’ll do it.”
“But you can’t tell Clay where you got it. He’d get very angry.”
“Ok.”
Then she pulled herself toward him and with sweet breath and a caress of her lips kissed him on the cheek. She said softly, “I like you a lot, Rodney.” Then she left, but the aroma of sunshine and forests had filled the room. As he fell asleep, Rodney could still sense the essence of the scarlet ribbon that lay next to him atop the bed covers.
So, he wore Sam’s ribbon entwined in the lock in the center of his back. He wore all red – shirt, shorts, socks and gloves.
At breakfast at the long table in the long kitchen, Clay asked him, “Nice ribbon. Where’d you get it?”
“Brought it.”
“Smells like Sam. Like the perfume she wears.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“So, what did you do last night?”
“Took a shower and went to bed. I was very tired. It was a long day.”
Clay’s glance held skepticism, doubt and puzzlement, or maybe it was Rodney’s guilty mind that colored the other boy’s look.
At the skating park as they warmed up, the ribbon fluttered out the back of his red helmet. Trish and Sam came to watch, but Rodney after a cursory wave tried not to look their way. He wanted to concentrate on his moves.
Then the two boys went at it. Clay took the initiative and said, “We do ten rides, each selecting one and then the other. First run, a simple up and over and half turn.”
Like two race cars, one red, one sliver, they left the edge in unison and together made the swoop, the turn, and settled back on the parabolic track and stopped on the lip of the starting line. Tie.
Rodney said, “My turn: up, turn, hang ten, reversed landing.”
This was a trick Rodney had performed many times and he nailed it, but Clay’s landing wobbled and he slid off course and had to jump off and grab his board to make the starting lip. He breathed deeply and said, “One up for you. Now a high arc and head-over roll.”
That was something that Rodney had done only a few times. Perhaps because the concrete park was unfamiliar, he went too high and after the roll found himself leaning too far forward. He retracted for the landed, but it was awkward and he had to put a foot out to regain balance. Clay’s run wasn’t perfect, but he retained balance.
On the lip, Rodney said, “Even again.”
After the fifth run, they remained even, and took a break for liquids. The girls said, “Looks even to us.” The boys nodded.
Rodney had decided to save his best for the next day, so the moves he offered were not his most spectacular, merely designed to make Clay work. Clay’s tactics seemed almost the same as he chose tricks that were fairly standard and would have been challenging only to novices. Their attempts to outdo the other were limited to trying to soar higher and nail the landings better.
The last five tricks were harder, but once again neither gained an advantage, so they stood even. Rodney said, “What does a tie mean?”
“It means you keep the silver necklace. Nothing changes hands after a tie. Tomorrow we’ll roll for the gold.”
Again the foursome ate lunch by the pool and swam. Sam pulled her chair next to Rodney’s right. Trish sat on his left, leaving Clay opposite him.
Clay said, “Tomorrow will be a harder day.”
Rodney said, “I guessed that.”
Sam said, “Would you like to ride horses after lunch?”
“I’ve only ridden once before . . . at summer camp.”
Trish said, “Come on. Let’s go riding.”
“I warn you. I wasn’t very good at it.”
“If you can skateboard so well, you ought to be able to stay on a horse.”
“Skateboards can’t look back at you.”
Everyone laughed.
Sam said, “If you want, ride behind me.”
And that’s the way he rode after he squeezed behind Sam as she sat on top of a big gray horse named Tiffany. Sam flicked the reins and kicked the sides of the horse, which set off at a trot. Behind them came Clay on a white horse and Trish on a chestnut, but those two passed the gray as their horses were urged into gallops.
Sam kicked and yelled, “Giddyap!” Tiffany spurted forward to race with the other horses.
Rodney held on, feeling the power and mass of the rhythmically striding horse beneath and the warm, slim sinewy body of Sam, around which his arms were looped. His dreadlocks and the red ribbon fluttered behind him. He was exhilarated and couldn’t help laughing. Sam returned his laughter, and yelled, “Do you like it!”
“It’s great!”
The run ended in water: Tiffany slowed, so Rodney was able to lift his head and relax his arms to his sides and saw that Sam was walking it into a small lake. Trish and Clay were already there, their horses’ necks angling toward the water for a drink. Sam let Tiffany drink, too.
Rodney said, “You’re really lucky to have such a beautiful place to live.”
“I guess so. I don’t really know. It’s all I’ve ever known.”
“Where are your parents?”
“They’re in Europe . . . on business, I think. They travel a lot.”
“Who’s in charge at the house?”
“We have a governess who lives with us. She’s nice, but she checks on us to make sure we’re behaving. She’s also in charge of the servants.”
“How many servants do you have?”
“Housekeeper, chauffeur, groundskeeper, hostler – that’s it. If those need any help, temps are hired.”
“What’s a hostler?”
“He takes care of the horses.”
“Why would you misbehave when you have everything you could want?”
“We don’t have everything,” she said, her voice showing some annoyance.
“What don’t you have?”
“Well, we don’t have parents that are always here. Are your parents always there?”
“My mom is, but dad’s not around.”
“Divorced?”
“No, he’s dead.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Then they heard splashing and looked toward the sound to see Clay walking his horse to them. Clay shouted, “Ready to race back?” Almost at that instant, Trish whipped her horse out of the pond and off they ran.
Sam turned Tiffany and said, “Hold on. Here we go.”
Tiffany lunged forward after the chestnut and the palomino. Rodney held on, once again enjoying the noise and speed of the beast and the feel of his arms around someone he was beginning to like very much.
At the end of the ride, the hostler was standing by the stables to take in the horses after the children had dismounted. Trish spoke Spanish to him when she handed him her reins. Then the four returned to the house.
Rodney was tired and announced, “That was great, but I’ve got to take a nap.”
Clay said, “See you at supper.”
Rodney showered, put on his pajamas and lay on the made bed, not wanting to mess it up. He fell asleep quickly and slept soundly.
He woke only when something tickled his nose and forehead and he heard a familiar voice saying, “Come on, Rodney. Time for supper.”
He swept his hand over his face and opened his eyes. Two large feathers, one white, one blue, hovered above him, and beyond the feathers two faces loomed. He refocused and saw Trish and Sam holding the feathers.
He sat up.
Sam said, “You were really gone.”
In a sleepy voice, Rodney said, “Why don’t you two get out, so I can get dressed?”
Trish said, “Or, we could dress you.” She smiled and put her face closer to his.
“No, I don’t think so. Go on. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”
With laughter, the two girls went out and shut the door.
Rodney got up and found his cell phone and called home.
“Rodney! How’s it going?”
“Not too bad. We skated for the silver necklace today and tied, so I kept it. Tomorrow we go for the gold.”
“That’s terrific! Everything else ok?”
“Rode horses.”
“Oh, be careful.”
“No, it was cool, Mom.”
“Are you getting plenty to eat?”
“Of course. How’s everything there?”
“Kind of boring without you here, so I’m just relaxing. You’ll be home tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, I’ll leave here in the afternoon.”
“Ok, I’m making a pot roast with potatoes and carrots for dinner tomorrow. And I’ll bring something home from the bakery to celebrate.”
“I haven’t won anything yet.”
“That doesn’t matter to me. I’ll be celebrating my young man coming home.”
“Ok, Mom, see you.”
“I love you, Rod,” she said just before he clicked off.
Saturday’s dinner was a rich, savory affair supplied by a caterer. The children ate in the dining room with the governess, who was a Dutch woman in her thirties. She had a faraway look as if she were thinking about someone or something that might be coming soon.
The housekeeper Merci oversaw the setting and serving, assisted by the caterers. After the governess and children had been served, the caterers took the remaining food outside to the patio, and set up a buffet for the rest of the servants.
Rodney didn’t know how to behave toward the governess since he was unsure of her status. Was she considered a member of the family? Was she in charge like a superintendent? She seemed fairly casual, but he decided not to speak to her without her providing an opening.
During the dessert of custard cream pie, the governess asked, “What are you children planning for after supper?’
Sam said, “Games.”
“What kind of games?”
Clay said, “Maybe something different.” He turned to Rodney, “Do you play chess?”
Rodney nodded, “I learned on the computer, but I haven’t played much with other people. A couple games at school or in the park.”
“But you know how it’s played, so we can play a game or two.”
Sam said, “Use your medieval set. It’s so imaginative.”
Clay said, “We should play for something.”
“Wait a minute,” said Rodney. “I don’t know how good you are. If you’re a lot better than I am, then I should get a handicap.”
“We can play a trial game, first.”
Sam said, “What about me and Trish? Let’s play in pairs. Rodney and I against you and Trish.”
“Deal.”
The chess set that Sam had called for was amazing. It came in three carved cherry wood boxes. The board box was carved with dragon shapes, both Western and Eastern dragons. Opened, the board was four-feet square, and the squares were large alternating tiles of pale green jade and black onyx. Of the other two boxes, one was carved with crosses of various kinds in Celtic flourishes; the other, with crescent moons and rising suns inside arabesque shapes.
“Let’s toss a coin for the pieces,” Clay said. He withdrew a large silver coin from a small drawer in the board box. “You call it.” He flipped the coin into the air, so it turned over and over like a flat moon.
“Tails.”
The coin fell back onto the carpet, hit on an edge, bounced, turned another rotation and landed heads up. “Heads. I’ll take this box.” Clay chose the box with crosses.
Rodney slid the other box over and squatted before it and raised its lid. He was astonished. Inside the box were sixteen pieces, each set in its own receptacle. He pulled them out and set them on the board, where Sam arranged them. Each piece was a Chinese character carved appropriately for its status. The rooks were differently colored pagodas with silk pennants; the knights, mounted Chinese warriors—one with bow and arrow, the other with lance and shield; the bishops, a Confucian scholar and a Buddhist monk; the queen, an empress in silk dress; the king, an emperor in all his glory. The pawns were various commoners, but individualized: a fisherman, a farmer, a laundress, a laborer, a waitress, a smith, a butcher, a mother holding a baby in her arms. The pawns were two inches tall; the rooks, bishops and knights, four inches; the king and queen, six inches.
Rodney said, “These pieces are amazing. What are they made from?”
Sam, who had helped him set up the pieces, said, “Soapstone.”
Rodney looked across at Clay’s pieces, just as varied and colorful as his, but representative of Western medieval people. “This set must cost a fortune.”
Clay said, “Dad sent it here from Europe.”
Thus the games began: East against West, Sam and Rodney against Trish and Clay. The couples consulted before each move, cupping their hands and whispering in each other’s ear. One thing Sam whispered into Rodney’s ear was, “Clay doesn’t play chess as often as he plays video games or skates, so we are pretty evenly matched. Remember, to win, sacrifices must be made. The key is to set up a sacrifice in which a less valuable piece is traded for a more valuable piece until we have an advantage of either pieces or position.”
Early Sam and Rodney managed to trade a pawn for a knight and then a knight for the bishop on the light squares. Once they had a diagonal advantage, they castled and set the king so he was protected diagonally by pawns and bishops and horizontally by the rooks, and they set the queen and remaining knight loose to hunt.
Meanwhile, Clay and Trish tried to maneuver to attack the fortified king, and lost their other bishop and knight to pawns. Frustrated, they tried to advance their pawns for crowning and lost them to the queen or knight. Finally, they got one pawn home, but it was taken and they wound up trading rook for rook. Their situation was now hopeless with only two attacking pieces against five, two pawns against five.
With the Western king in a precarious position with the Eastern queen and knight checking around him, Trish and Clay had to use their queen and rook as blockers; inevitably queen sacrificed for queen. But now the board was open. An Eastern pawn, the fisherman, advanced home and was queened; the Western rook had to take her and sacrifice himself to the Eastern rook. Then unopposed, the housewife advanced to queenhood. Now the Western king was doomed. In six moves he was cornered and checkmated.
Sam and Rodney hugged and slapped their hands together.
Clay said, “That was the trial run. The next game counts.”
In the real game, Clay and Trish were more circumspect and more careful to conserve their power. Pawns were traded for pawns, bishops for bishops, knights for knights. However, impatient, they advanced a formation intended to draw the Eastern queen into an ambush, but they lost track of the dark bishop, which swept through their formation and took knight, pawn and rook before being cornered by the Western queen. But with the queen in a stopping position, others pieces were lost to the Eastern queen who roamed the opposite corner.
It seemed as if Sam and Rodney would win again, but cleverly their opponents slid the king into a position where he couldn’t move, quickly sacrificed their remaining attacking pieces and drew a stalemate.
Sam and Rodney were astounded. Rodney said, “How did that happen? We should’ve won.”
Sam said, “We lost our focus because we thought we were way on top.”
The third game proceeded slowly, each side protecting itself, playing cautiously. Then Clay opened up a pawn, allowing both the queen and a bishop egress onto the open board.
Sam cupped her hand and said into Sam’s ear, “I’ve seen this move before. Put the right knight out, forcing them to trade the bishop or the queen for the knight. It’s a ruse to trick us into opening our light bishop up for a double attack. Without both pieces, their attack is stalled and if they stay where they are, we can send our queen left on a raid.”
But Rodney said, “No, if they stay where they are, we can move a pawn in their way, forcing them to a losing choice. They’ll have to take either the pawn or the knight. Either way it’s our advantage because they’ll lose at least the bishop.”
With such a bad choice, Clay and Trish took the knight and lost the bishop, but then the loose Eastern pawn advanced into a position diagonal to a rook and a pawn in front of the king, leaving only a defensive move to protect the rook. The Eastern mother pawn took the Western carpenter pawn, forcing the rook to take the mother pawn, blocking a check. But that left the Eastern queen a diagonal run to the left Western rook, so in a blink as often happens in games, the table had turned. What had begun as an advance by the West had turned into a counterattack by the East, sending Clay and Trish into frantic whisperings, trying to adjust. But before they could block her, the Eastern queen gobbled up two more pawns and a knight.
Sam squealed in delight, “She’s a Pac-man queen!”
With both diagonals and verticals into the corner now covered, Rodney and Sam advanced their left pawns, trying to force the West into suicidal blocks, but Clay instead tried to build a wall around the king, but to no avail. By the time the wall was built, the East had crowned two more queens, an overwhelming power. Now—eight attacking pieces (three of them queens) to four—all the East had to do was advance and force tradeoffs that the West could not afford.
Clay tipped his king over. “We concede.”
Sam said, “What do we win?”
Clay looked at them, pondering the question. “We never really said, so it could be anything. But I think I have something.” He stood up and went to a cabinet.
The others began boxing up the pieces and closing the boxes.
From the top of the stairs came the governess’s voice. “Clay, Sam, it’s time to get ready for bed.”
Sam yelled, “We’re finished! We’re putting everything up now!”
Clay walked over, carrying a smaller version of the ornate cherry wood board box half the size of the one they had played on; he handed it to Rodney. “From what you said, you don’t have a set of your own, so take this. Each side has a drawer containing the pieces.”
Sam said, “What do I get?”
“Aw, Sam, you get to use everything I have whenever you want it. But I’ll get you something nice when I think of it.”
Rodney said, “Thanks, Clay.”
“You’re a competitor, dude. I’ve got to hand it to you.”
“I had help.” He nodded at Sam, who laughed and touched his arm.
In his pajamas again and under the covers, Rodney marveled at all the material things that Clay and Sam had. Yet, they weren’t selfish. They shared easily. They gave things away that most people would cherish, but to them seemed like nothing much.
What surprised him the most was how much he liked the brother and the sister. As wealthy as they were, they weren’t full of themselves. They had lived a relatively pampered life, yet they were not without empathy for others. And Sam, she was a wonder. She seemed to really like him, and he found her so special, so naturally herself and so open to him. He wondered what their parents were like.
Then his door cracked open and in slipped Sam wearing the silk lilac robe over her night clothes. She softly shut the door and went to the bed and slipped under the covers with him. They kissed.
She said, “I couldn’t knock because I was afraid Ms. Everrood would hear.”
“The governess?”
“Yes. You don’t mind my coming, do you?”
“No, Sam, I don’t mind at all.”
“Do you like me?”
“I like you a whole lot.”
“Good. I like you, too. Do you think we could be friends?”
“We’re already friends.”
“More than just friends?”
“I think so, but we live a long ways from each other.”
“We can keep in touch with our cells and email, and we go into the city almost once a month, so you and I could find a way to meet. And you can come to visit out here, can’t you?”
“Sure . . . sometimes.”
She kissed him again and slipped off the bed and stood next to him. She pulled a long green ribbon from her pocket and handed it to him.
“Will you wear this for me, tomorrow? Wear both ribbons in your hair?”
“Of course.”
“But don’t tell Clay where you got it.”
“I won’t.”
Then she disappeared out the door, leaving the green ribbon that smelled like her.
The next morning Clay questioned him about the new green ribbon, but Rodney said he’d had it all along. That day he wore green: shirt, shorts and socks. The green and red ribbons flew like streamers from his locks. As before, he acknowledged the girls, but kept his focus on the skateboard.
His skating was deft; he was in a zone. His mind saw openings just as it had when he’d played chess the night before. He took the openings, so the outcome was never in doubt, although Clay tried some daring routines.
After lunch, Rodney packed his things, putting the gold and silver chains and the jade and onyx chess set inside his bulging backpack.
But he didn’t have to take the bus. The chauffeur drove him and Clay and the girls, in the white limousine to the subway entrance. All the children got out to say farewell. Sam hugged him and kissed him, and she whispered, “Call me . . . soon.”
He whispered back, “Count on it.”
Clay walked him to the descending stairs and said, “I don’t think you were completely honest with me, but you won fair and square. You won everything, but promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Don’t ever lie to Sam.”
“I won’t.”
Then Rodney rode the dragon home, his mind full of the weekend, and especially the girl who had stolen his heart.
* * *
At home, his mother hugged him and kissed him, but everything seemed different somehow, but he knew that his home hadn’t changed; he had.
He showed his mother his prizes. She said, “The chess set is beautiful. Where are you going to put these gold and silver chains?”
“I’m going to sell them and use the money.”
“For what?”
“I’m going to buy some Google stock. We can set it up together on an e-trade site.”
“My man,” she said, almost breathlessly.
“And next year, I want to take a foreign language in school . . . probably Spanish.”
“My man.” Her eyes had started to tear.
“And, Mom, would you mind if I dated a white girl?”
“No, honey, I don’t mind . . . as long as she’s good enough for you.”
“She is.”
“But, Rodney, remember: there are plenty of worthy black girls out there.”
“I know, Mom, just like you . . . but I like this one.”
“My man.” She began to cry openly. “My man.”
End of X-Games.
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