“So what are they doing?" Mama Steinberg hissed to her husband from the bed.
“Playing chess,” he told her, peering around the frame of the bedroom door.
“No,” Archie was telling Helen as he made his opening move. “I don’t really have a message for you from Professor Beaumarchais. He sort of suggested I look you up,” he lied.
“Alone with Helen in her nightgown, and he plays chess,” Mama Steinberg mused. “You think maybe his mother could have been Jewish?”
“He promised to arrange a meeting between us the next time he was in New York,” Helen said as she quickly moved her king’s knight. She didn’t even seem to be looking at the board.
“Oh? Any particular reason?” Archie moved his queen’s pawn to set up a defense.
“He said that something I’d written in one of my letters to him had inspired a particular bit of research He wanted to discuss it with me.” Helen castled. “I was very flattered.”
“I see. Then I don’t suppose you knew any of his other friends? Another girl named Helen? A blonde? Or a redhead named Dixie?” Archie followed her example and castled himself.
“No. Why should I? I told you, we never met in person.” She moved her queen swiftly across the board to threaten Archie’s queen side, where the men were still boxed in.
Archie’s mind was racing. If she was familiar with the professor’s research, then maybe there was some connection between Helen Steinberg and the professor’s death and the missing papers. There were very few people who might have comprehended the professor’s research, and she had admitted to being one of them. Also, the whole atmosphere of the Steinberg home didn’t ring true. The stress on jewishness seemed contrived. The whole family looked like stereotypes out of a Cotton Mather courtroom, but behaved more like stereotypes out of a highly ethnic episode in a Molly Goldberg serial. Preoccupied, Archie guarded against the queen threat by moving a pawn. “Have you been home all night?” he asked idly.
“Uh—huh. We’ve been sitting shiva for my brother.” Helen answered matter-of-factly, her mind too much on the game to wonder at the question. Her bishop closed in on Archie’s king corner.
“Oh. I'm sorry.” Archie moved his rook out, preparing for the bishop-queen onslaught.
“Sorry about what?” Helen asked absent-mindedly, knitting her brow as she studied the board.
“About your loss.”
“What loss?” She moved her knight so that it became a tempting sacrifice to the pawn guarding against her queen.
“I mean your brother’s death.” Archie didn’t take the bait. He held to his original plan and moved his free rook forward instead.
“My brother isn’t dead.” Her bishop swept down the board.
“But you said—”
“Oh, you mean about sitting shiva? That’s just a custom. You see, he refused to go to shule and Mama and Papa had a big fight with him about it and he left home and they said he was dead to them and they tore their clothes and called the rabbi and so we all had to sit shim. But he isn’t really dead, my brother.”
“Oh.” Archie moved his queen’s knight out to meet her bishop. “Your family certainly takes their religion seriously,” he observed.
“That’s because we’re converted. That’s always the way, you know? When you convert, you take it even more seriously than people who are born to it.” Helen moved her queen surely across the board. “Check!” she announced with a hint of triumph in her voice.
“Why did you convert?” Archie wondered, studying the situation on the board.
“I didn’t; Mama and Papa did. So naturally my brother and I were supposed to follow their lead. I was glad to, but he balked.”
“Why were you glad to?” Archie retrieved his rook and blocked the check.
“For the same reason Mama and Papa converted. To assimilate.” She angled her bishop in to the attack. “Check! " she announced again.
“To assimilate?” Archie was distracted from the board.
“Yes. You see, we were originally Puritans. I was brought uf in New England. On a farm, no less. But then the farm fizzled out and Papa was offered this very good job with a Jewish firm in New York and the company arranged for this apartment for us on Central Park West. Well, after a couple of weeks, Papa realized that all our neighbors were either Catholic or Jewish. Status-wise we were nowhere, if you see what I mean. So Papa investigated and found out there was maybe two thousand more years’ status in being Jewish than in being Catholic, and so we all had to take instructions from the rabbi and convert. It was really very wise of Papa. We all assimilated very well—-except for my brother, of course. But then he’s always had this bit of identifying with the overdog. Always rooting for the cavalry instead of the Indians during those Western movies on TV. I ask you? You give a boy like that a heritage, and what good is it? Every time Papa’s back was turned, he sneaks out to the Puritan Church. Won’t kiss the mazuzah when he comes in the house. Just a bum, that’s all. I don’t blame Papa for disowning him.” Helen sighed. “You’re still in check,” she reminded Archie.
“Yeah. So I am.” Archie studied the positions for a long, silent moment and then fended off her bishop attack with his own bishop. “Are you a physicist, too, like Professor Beaumarchais?" he asked Helen Steinberg.
“Only in an amateur way. Abstract mathematics is really my major interest. I’m going for my Ph.D. in it now. It has a lot of applications in atomic science, you know.” Helen shifted her queen and said “Check!” again.
Archie smiled inwardly. She'd fallen into the trap. “Queen-king check,” he announced.
“Well!” She stared at the board, obviously angry with herself. “You certainly do play a shrewd game of chess for a boy,” she decided. “You planned that, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. When I realized you were using the Czech attack, I knew you’d have to fall into the Morphy trap. It’s an old counter-gambit, but it hasn’t been used much by the masters in recent years.”
“It’s really schoen. I’ll have to remember it.” Helen looked at him respectfully. She moved her bishop to guard the queen.
Archie gladly swapped his bishop for her queen. Then he moved his own queen in for the kill. “Check!” he said. She was forced to move her king. He cornered her with his rook. “Check.” Again she had to move the king. His bishop delivered the coup de grace. “Check and mate!” Archie leaned back and grinned at his victory.
“He beat her!” Papa Steinberg hissed to Mama Steinberg from the bedroom doorway.
“And he’s not even Jewish?” Mama Steinberg was surprised. “I don’t believe it!”
“Another!” Helen demanded of Archie.
“I really don’t have time,” he protested. “I’ve been up all night, and--”
“That a young man should beat Helen at chess!” Papa Steinberg shook his head. “That’s really something!"
“All the fellas she’s driven away, their tails between their legs, all because of that chess,” Mama Steinberg agreed, “and now she has to pick a goy to let beat her. You think maybe she’s in love with him?”
“But you can’t just trounce me and leave!” Helen Steinberg was wailing. “You have to give me a chance to get even.”
“Another time, maybe,” Archie offered.
“He’s pretty young for her,” Papa Steinberg answered his wife. “But you never know.”
“So that could maybe work out good. There’s still time he should change his mind, go to pre-med, and become a doctor.”
“It’s not fair!” Helen was bitter.
“Honest, my eyes are closing!”
“You think maybe he'd convert?” Papa wondered.
“Why not? We did!”
“You’re just leaving in such a hurry because I’m Jewish!” Helen accused Archie.