Free A King in Hiding by Fahim

opponent.’
    â€˜One day will you show me how?’

    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 ‘checkmate’. When the king is blocked in on the back rank by a row of his own pawns and threatened by a rook, it’s called a ‘back-rank mate’ or ‘corridor mate’. When the king can’t move because all the squares around him are occupied, it’s called ‘smothered mate’.
    â€˜And when the opposing queen is right up against the king and pinning him down so he can’t move?’
    â€˜Ah, that’s the “kiss of death”!’
    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 there’s anything useful he can do. Sometimes he offers ‘Exavier’ 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 Xavier’s motorbike, as though he wants to get it looking as good as new. It’s 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 he’s cross with me he talks, and that’s 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 haven’t done our exercises:
    â€˜Don’t bother to make excuses. I’ve 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 couldn’t care less. Everyone’s entitled not to do their exercises once or twice in the year. But don’t bother telling me why. All I know is that this week doing your exercises wasn’t a priority for you.’
    Then he often adds:
    â€˜But I still like you, even so!’
    One day, though, I push him too far:
    â€˜I’m sorry Xavier, I haven’t done my exercises.’
    Exasperated, he shows me the door:
    â€˜Goodbye.’
    After that I’m always careful to do my exercises.

    I can understand why Xavier is fed up when we ‘forget’ to do the work he sets us, but I can’t understand his other obsession, which to me seems very strange: he likes us to be ‘punctual’. 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:
    â€˜Fahim, this is the third time you’ve been late for coaching. It’s rude. Punctuality is the politeness of kings. Do you think I’ve got nothing better to do than wait for you to deign to turn up? The next time you’re late I’m not going to wait, I warn you.’
    I wait politely for the storm to pass. The following week I’m almost on time. Big surprise: the club is shut. At first I think Xavier hasn’t arrived yet, and my father and I wait outside in the rain. As it gets later and later, I remember Xavier’s threat. I turn to my father:
    â€˜ Abba , do you think Xavier was here and that he left because I was