LJ Idol Week 14 entry
The box was quite intimidating. It had a metal head with open eyes which stared motionless at some unknown point in the corner. The arms, to the left and the right side of the box (or rather the body), were metal joints covered in skin-colored rubber.
The inside of the box could be accessed through a small door, which revealed an entrance far too narrow for an average adult.
Mr. Havensworth smiled, but he supposedly had never smiled brighter than on the day he grabbed and pulled the coloured cloth from his strange and mighty creation. Nobody, except for me and Mr. Havensworth knew that, inside the box, I was sitting on a tiny stool, maneuvering the rubber arms, controlling the movements. Even the narrow door was invisible and camouflaged by a scarf hanging from the machine’s neck.
“Let’s play chess”, shouted Mr. Havensworth, and from the dark he pulled a chess table with thick wooden pieces in black and white. The board, as well as the pieces, were exquisite and had been imported from Toledo years ago. The reason, however, for getting this equipment was not its valuable materials, but the fact that the pieces were thick and heavy and could not be knocked over by the hands of the machine that easily.
Me, a small boy, smaller than the others at my age, could see the board through the glass eye of a small camera and could control the hands through two steering implements you would refer to today as joysticks.
“Do not let them all win, boy, and do not knock them all over at once. People shall believe that they are more likely to win than to lose.” Mr. Havensworth was certain in what he told me. When being asked whether whatever he did was morally correct (I did not ask it that was, to be honest, as I was only 9 years old), he just flipped open the cover of his pocket watch, took a glance at the clock face and replied: “That is what people have dreamed of”.
And of course, he was also certain in his opinion that the machine’s secret should never be revealed. “You are in this just like I am. Don’t destroy the magic.”
He let me out in the evening and nobody raised any objections, since it was our 6 weeks summer vacation.
In the beginning, I did not really know why he chose me. I had lost nearly all games at the local chess club recently, and the club leader seemed to have lost all faith in me.
Mr. Havensworth showed up one day as if having materialized out of nowhere with his car and wagon full of mysterious tools and metal pieces.
And then, in this metal box, my long dormant spark finally ignited. While the bona fide opponents lost their stakes, Mr. Havensworth warmed his hands at the newly lit fire. Nobody seemed to notice the changes at first, except for Boyd Miller at the chess club, who lost three games in a row he played against me. I did not notice it myself, that, when the arms of the machine became my arms and I won more and more games, a fact which seemed to discourage the people of this town, so that fewer and fewer came to compete against the machine. Once an opponent, a man in his sixties, stared directly into the camera without actually knowing he did so. I felt exposed for a moment, but then remembered to continue the game.
When the first voices raised about how much money had been wandering into Mr. Havensworth’s pockets and how they wondered this machine actually did work, it was not long before, one morning, the place where his car and wagon were parked, was empty when I got there. Some called him a liar, a traitor, some claimed his machine contained some radioactive material which would have made all inhabitants of this city sick if he had not left by now.
Wherever he went to, I did not know and I never heard of him again. He left me, however, as a player ready to respond to any attacks, to defend his king and queen, more confident than I had ever been. And this did not happen through the magic of some mysterious machine, but it was the result of hours and hours of playing, being the heart of the machine, a small, but steadily accelerating nucleus of chess power and an increased faith in my own abilities.
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This purely fictional piece, written for LJ Idol’s Week 14 topic “Confessions from the Chair” was inspired by some years in a chess club, a strange fascination for humans and machines, and a rebuilt chess playing turk recently seen at a museum.
********************************************************************************************************
The inside of the box could be accessed through a small door, which revealed an entrance far too narrow for an average adult.
Mr. Havensworth smiled, but he supposedly had never smiled brighter than on the day he grabbed and pulled the coloured cloth from his strange and mighty creation. Nobody, except for me and Mr. Havensworth knew that, inside the box, I was sitting on a tiny stool, maneuvering the rubber arms, controlling the movements. Even the narrow door was invisible and camouflaged by a scarf hanging from the machine’s neck.
“Let’s play chess”, shouted Mr. Havensworth, and from the dark he pulled a chess table with thick wooden pieces in black and white. The board, as well as the pieces, were exquisite and had been imported from Toledo years ago. The reason, however, for getting this equipment was not its valuable materials, but the fact that the pieces were thick and heavy and could not be knocked over by the hands of the machine that easily.
Me, a small boy, smaller than the others at my age, could see the board through the glass eye of a small camera and could control the hands through two steering implements you would refer to today as joysticks.
“Do not let them all win, boy, and do not knock them all over at once. People shall believe that they are more likely to win than to lose.” Mr. Havensworth was certain in what he told me. When being asked whether whatever he did was morally correct (I did not ask it that was, to be honest, as I was only 9 years old), he just flipped open the cover of his pocket watch, took a glance at the clock face and replied: “That is what people have dreamed of”.
And of course, he was also certain in his opinion that the machine’s secret should never be revealed. “You are in this just like I am. Don’t destroy the magic.”
He let me out in the evening and nobody raised any objections, since it was our 6 weeks summer vacation.
In the beginning, I did not really know why he chose me. I had lost nearly all games at the local chess club recently, and the club leader seemed to have lost all faith in me.
Mr. Havensworth showed up one day as if having materialized out of nowhere with his car and wagon full of mysterious tools and metal pieces.
And then, in this metal box, my long dormant spark finally ignited. While the bona fide opponents lost their stakes, Mr. Havensworth warmed his hands at the newly lit fire. Nobody seemed to notice the changes at first, except for Boyd Miller at the chess club, who lost three games in a row he played against me. I did not notice it myself, that, when the arms of the machine became my arms and I won more and more games, a fact which seemed to discourage the people of this town, so that fewer and fewer came to compete against the machine. Once an opponent, a man in his sixties, stared directly into the camera without actually knowing he did so. I felt exposed for a moment, but then remembered to continue the game.
When the first voices raised about how much money had been wandering into Mr. Havensworth’s pockets and how they wondered this machine actually did work, it was not long before, one morning, the place where his car and wagon were parked, was empty when I got there. Some called him a liar, a traitor, some claimed his machine contained some radioactive material which would have made all inhabitants of this city sick if he had not left by now.
Wherever he went to, I did not know and I never heard of him again. He left me, however, as a player ready to respond to any attacks, to defend his king and queen, more confident than I had ever been. And this did not happen through the magic of some mysterious machine, but it was the result of hours and hours of playing, being the heart of the machine, a small, but steadily accelerating nucleus of chess power and an increased faith in my own abilities.
********************************************************************************************************
This purely fictional piece, written for LJ Idol’s Week 14 topic “Confessions from the Chair” was inspired by some years in a chess club, a strange fascination for humans and machines, and a rebuilt chess playing turk recently seen at a museum.
********************************************************************************************************