opponent.â
âOne day will you show me how?â
XP : When he arrived in 2008, Fahim was good enough to win the French under-10s championship with ease. But as he arrived late in the season, he was too late to get his membership card and enter the 2009 championship. We had great hopes for 2010. Then to our huge disappointment we discovered over that winter that the rules required entrants to have lived on French soil for three years. Fahim would have to wait until 2012 to try his chances. To win.
As Xavier reveals the secrets of the game to me, he also teaches me funny things like the different ways of saying âcheckmateâ. When the king is blocked in on the back rank by a row of his own pawns and threatened by a rook, itâs called a âback-rank mateâ or âcorridor mateâ. When the king canât move because all the squares around him are occupied, itâs called âsmothered mateâ.
âAnd when the opposing queen is right up against the king and pinning him down so he canât move?â
âAh, thatâs the âkiss of deathâ!â
While these sessions are going on, my father sits in a corner, silent and discreet. Sometimes he gets up to look at the chessboard and then sits down again. Sometimes he goes off quietly to look round the club and see if thereâs anything useful he can do. Sometimes he offers âExavierâ a coffee. Xavier always says yes, and my father rushes off to make it. The last thing he does, every time, is to go outside and spend ages cleaning Xavierâs motorbike, as though he wants to get it looking as good as new. Itâs his way of thanking him for everything: for his coaching sessions, his lessons, his time, his advice, his encouragement, his sympathetic ear, his financial support, his kindness and his cheerfulness. And for his friendship.
Like any teacher, Xavier can be annoying. When heâs cross with me he talks, and thatâs annoying. He does it with the others too. During lessons he sometimes shows one of us up in front of the others. Especially when we havenât done our exercises:
âDonât bother to make excuses. Iâve heard them all: my sister scratched her foot and the scabs fell in the computer, the anti-virus software had the flu, the cat fell in the washing machine ⦠I couldnât care less. Everyoneâs entitled not to do their exercises once or twice in the year. But donât bother telling me why. All I know is that this week doing your exercises wasnât a priority for you.â
Then he often adds:
âBut I still like you, even so!â
One day, though, I push him too far:
âIâm sorry Xavier, I havenât done my exercises.â
Exasperated, he shows me the door:
âGoodbye.â
After that Iâm always careful to do my exercises.
I can understand why Xavier is fed up when we âforgetâ to do the work he sets us, but I canât understand his other obsession, which to me seems very strange: he likes us to be âpunctualâ. In Bangladesh no one is ever on time, so no one ever has to wait for anyone else. Xavier just complicates matters by always arriving on time, or even a bit early! He gives me a lecture every time, and sometimes he goes on and on:
âFahim, this is the third time youâve been late for coaching. Itâs rude. Punctuality is the politeness of kings. Do you think Iâve got nothing better to do than wait for you to deign to turn up? The next time youâre late Iâm not going to wait, I warn you.â
I wait politely for the storm to pass. The following week Iâm almost on time. Big surprise: the club is shut. At first I think Xavier hasnât arrived yet, and my father and I wait outside in the rain. As it gets later and later, I remember Xavierâs threat. I turn to my father:
â Abba , do you think Xavier was here and that he left because I was
âOne day will you show me how?â
XP : When he arrived in 2008, Fahim was good enough to win the French under-10s championship with ease. But as he arrived late in the season, he was too late to get his membership card and enter the 2009 championship. We had great hopes for 2010. Then to our huge disappointment we discovered over that winter that the rules required entrants to have lived on French soil for three years. Fahim would have to wait until 2012 to try his chances. To win.
As Xavier reveals the secrets of the game to me, he also teaches me funny things like the different ways of saying âcheckmateâ. When the king is blocked in on the back rank by a row of his own pawns and threatened by a rook, itâs called a âback-rank mateâ or âcorridor mateâ. When the king canât move because all the squares around him are occupied, itâs called âsmothered mateâ.
âAnd when the opposing queen is right up against the king and pinning him down so he canât move?â
âAh, thatâs the âkiss of deathâ!â
While these sessions are going on, my father sits in a corner, silent and discreet. Sometimes he gets up to look at the chessboard and then sits down again. Sometimes he goes off quietly to look round the club and see if thereâs anything useful he can do. Sometimes he offers âExavierâ a coffee. Xavier always says yes, and my father rushes off to make it. The last thing he does, every time, is to go outside and spend ages cleaning Xavierâs motorbike, as though he wants to get it looking as good as new. Itâs his way of thanking him for everything: for his coaching sessions, his lessons, his time, his advice, his encouragement, his sympathetic ear, his financial support, his kindness and his cheerfulness. And for his friendship.
Like any teacher, Xavier can be annoying. When heâs cross with me he talks, and thatâs annoying. He does it with the others too. During lessons he sometimes shows one of us up in front of the others. Especially when we havenât done our exercises:
âDonât bother to make excuses. Iâve heard them all: my sister scratched her foot and the scabs fell in the computer, the anti-virus software had the flu, the cat fell in the washing machine ⦠I couldnât care less. Everyoneâs entitled not to do their exercises once or twice in the year. But donât bother telling me why. All I know is that this week doing your exercises wasnât a priority for you.â
Then he often adds:
âBut I still like you, even so!â
One day, though, I push him too far:
âIâm sorry Xavier, I havenât done my exercises.â
Exasperated, he shows me the door:
âGoodbye.â
After that Iâm always careful to do my exercises.
I can understand why Xavier is fed up when we âforgetâ to do the work he sets us, but I canât understand his other obsession, which to me seems very strange: he likes us to be âpunctualâ. In Bangladesh no one is ever on time, so no one ever has to wait for anyone else. Xavier just complicates matters by always arriving on time, or even a bit early! He gives me a lecture every time, and sometimes he goes on and on:
âFahim, this is the third time youâve been late for coaching. Itâs rude. Punctuality is the politeness of kings. Do you think Iâve got nothing better to do than wait for you to deign to turn up? The next time youâre late Iâm not going to wait, I warn you.â
I wait politely for the storm to pass. The following week Iâm almost on time. Big surprise: the club is shut. At first I think Xavier hasnât arrived yet, and my father and I wait outside in the rain. As it gets later and later, I remember Xavierâs threat. I turn to my father:
â Abba , do you think Xavier was here and that he left because I was
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