36. The Great Myths

“It was the men who got involved in spinning most of the great myths. The women were too busy; they had too damn much to do to sit around thinking about stories.” —Joseph Campbell

“You can take that off,” said Nicolai Snail, pointing at Jen’s chest. Jen liked his accent, but it took her a second to figure out what he had said; the final word sounded like “ov.”

“What?” Jen asked, confused.

“The smock,” said Nicolai Snail.

Jen looked down and saw that she was still wearing the bright yellow crossing-guard vest that marked her as a visitor to the Snail Plant. She had completely forgotten about it. She looked across the giant table at Master Park to see if he was still wearing his, but all she saw was the plain white shirt he had been wearing when they first entered the plant. She couldn’t remember when he had taken the vest off—he had definitely put it on at the entrance, but she didn’t remember seeing it after that.

“Oh, right,” she said. She pulled the vest over her head, folded it into a neat square, and then placed it under her seat.

“Sorry about all that,” said Nicolai Snail, waving his hand first in the direction of the vest, then at the heavily secured door. “We’ve had scares, terrorism, you know. I’m sure it all seems a bit unnecessary to you.”

“Oh, no,” said Jen, embarrassed by Nicolai Snail’s accusing tone.

“It is unnecessary,” Master Park interrupted. “One little problem seven years ago and you make this whole place like a prison.”

“Little problem?” said Nicolai Snail. He turned to face Jen, opening his eyes wide for emphasis. “Our rival company planted a bomb in my office.”

“It didn’t go off,” said Master Park.

“Do you hear this?” Nicolai Snail asked. He looked first at the back of the man he had just beaten at chess, who was still facing the window and did not turn around. Then he looked at Jen, who kept her face studiously blank, since she did not want to be seen as siding with this stranger over her teacher. “It didn’t go off? It didn’t go off because my security guards found it and diffused it. Otherwise, I would have been killed!”

Master Park did seem affected by Nicolai Snail’s hysteria; he was calm and placid in his crisp white shirt. “You overreacted,” he said. “Remember, ‘An unnecessary display of power is an invitation to be attacked.’”

“What’s that, a taekwondo saying?” Nicolai Snail asked.

“No, Fred Fawls,” said Master Park. “It’s from The New Aggressive Male.”

“Ah, yes,” said Nicolai Snail. “I should have recognized it. Well, I’m sure this Fred Fawls fellow—whoever he might be—never had to diffuse a bomb in his office.”

He leaned back in his chair, stretched his arms over his head, and yawned, giving up his fight. Jen looked past him at the middle-aged man in the torn t-shirt, who was still staring obstinately out the window. For all his agitation about enemy attacks, Nicolai Snail didn’t seemed bothered by the dark brooding of the opponent who was right here in the room with him. He leaned back in his chair and tightened his ponytail, a distracted look in his eye.

“So,” he said to Jen after a moment. “Are you playing today?”

“She’s playing,” said Master Park, his authoritative tone suggesting that he was worried Jen would want to back out.

“Good, then we will have our fourth after all,” said Nicolai Snail, smiling.

“Where’s the guru?” Master Park asked. He was running his hand back and forth over the thickly polished surface of the table.

“He couldn’t come to town at the last minute,” said Nicolai Snail. “He had something to do in Los Angeles.”

He turned to Jen. “Vanto Hatch,” he said. “Have you heard of him? He usually visits us every other Wednesday. He is supposed to be here playing today. Quite the busy man.”

Jen opened her eyes wide, but when she spoke, she kept her voice calm. “Yeah, I’ve heard of him,” she said, trying to sound like this new development was not completely surprising and confusing. She knew that Vanto Hatch was an old friend of Nicolai Snail’s—but he was flying into Michigan twice a month to play chess?

“What is it this time?” Master Park asked. “Groundbreakers emergency? Someone has lost their foundation? Someone has holes in their blueprint?”

And Master Park knows him, Jen thought? Why hadn't he ever said anything about him, or about Groundbreakers?

“He had to accept an award,” said Nicolai Snail. “Greatest accomplishment for a self-help author or something like that.”

In reaction to this piece of news, the brooding man finally turned from the window to face the interior of the room, crossing his arms and pressing the back of his dirty-looking t-shirt against the delicately tinted glass.

“He’s too busy being a rock star to bother with us,” said the man, his voice sounding as cranky as his demeanor.

“Jen,” said Nicolai Snail, “this is Oggy Osterberg. The artist.”

Jen remembered his name. He was the sculptor whose work had been on display in front of the visitors’ center when she had gone there with Rob. Rob had told her that he was a student of Master Park’s, but she didn’t realize that he was still in town; she had never seen him at the school.

Oggy gave her a cursory look and nod. “Yes,” he said, turning his gaze immediately away from her and towards Master Park. “I’ll take the killer. She can have the tycoon,” he said.

Jen wasn’t sure what to make of this statement, until she saw Master Park rise from his chair and move to the one across from Oggy Osterberg. She felt a faint tremor of fear as she realized she was going to have to play chess against one of these intimidating men, and that Master Park would not be on hand to help her. She had never played against anyone but him.

“Okay,” Nicolai Snail said to Jen, smiling warmly. “Then it’s us.” He pulled his chair to the side, so that he faced Jen, and slid the unused chess board between them.

He held out two fists for her to choose what color she would play. She pointed towards his right fist, and he unclenched it to reveal a black pawn cupped in the palm of his large, flat hand.

Jen gasped aloud.

“What’s wrong?” Nicolai Snail asked.

She didn’t want to tell him, but out of the dozens of games she had played against Master Park, she could count on one hand the times that she had chosen black. Her habit of choosing white had become so regular that, in the past few weeks, they had bypassed the choosing process altogether and simply assumed that she would play white. Since white always had the first move, Jen didn’t know any of the strategy for going second.

“Nothing,” she said. “Black is great.”

“How long have you been playing?” Nicolai Snail asked, as he turned the board to face the black pieces towards Jen.

“Not very long,” she said. “A couple months.”

“Park’s been teaching you?”

“Yeah,” said Jen. “And I’ve been reading some books.”

“By Thomas Fo?” Nicolai Snail asked.

“Yes,” said Jen, her surprise evident in her voice. Of course it made sense that Master Park’s chess friends would know his favorite chess author, but she hadn’t expected it. She tended to think of Thomas Fo as her author, not Master Park’s, since she had first discovered his books about Zen on Paula’s mother’s bookshelf.

“Thomas Fo is the best,” said Nicolai Snail, projecting his voice towards the board where Master Park and Oggy Osterberg were already deep into their own game. “We are all very fond of his work around here.”

Jen saw Master Park’s lips curl into the slightest hint of an acknowledging smile. Oggy Osterberg’s scowl remained unaltered as he stared down at the board.

Nicolai Snail’s opening moves were conventional, but it still unnerved Jen to be on the defensive, accustomed as she was to going first. She hated the feeling of responding to his moves, rather than being the one to set the direction of the game. Stop being so passive, she told herself, trying to break from his agenda. But each of his moves demanded its own response from her, and she could not figure out how to set up her own strategy.

After her seventh move, Nicolai Snail looked up from the board. “I’ve been trying to get Park to bring you in here for months,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper. “He told me you were too busy. But I am guessing he never even invited you. So tell me, am I correct?”

Jen froze, unsure of what to say. Her first inclination was to answer honestly, that she had indeed never been invited until now. Her second thought was to lie, to defend Master Park and prove Nicolai Snail wrong. She could tell him that she had been invited, and had indeed been too busy with her training.

She looked across the table at Nicolai Snail. His well-kept hair and tasteful sweater spoke of confidence and power. But Jen saw something more in his eyes, something less self-assured. And then, suddenly, she could read it as clearly as if it were a sentence written across the top of his groomed eyebrows: he wanted something from her. She wasn’t sure whether it was something business related, or political, or romantic, or sexual, or something far less tangible than any of those—something as simple as her approval—but there was definitely something he was after.

And she saw that whatever he wanted was distracting him, and he was not really thinking about the game in front of him. And she resolved, in a quick moment of decisiveness that she hoped would make Master Park proud if he could witness her thoughts, that she was going to win.

She remembered the words from The New Aggressive Male:

Don’t defer. Don’t be rude, nor polite; be unconcerned.

And she decided to answer his question with another question.

“Why did you want him to invite me?” she asked.

He shrank a little bit, as though a bright light had flashed in his eyes, and she knew for certain that she had him. “That should be obvious,” he said, reaching down to move his knight into an attacking position.

“No,” she said, sliding her bishop up to defend her pawn.

He stared at the board for a moment, then advanced his own bishop.

“Well,” he said. “This is the room where all the most important and interesting people in North Middleton come to meet.”

Jen looked silently down at the board. She was going to let him derail his own train of thought. Don’t be rude or polite, she thought. Don’t say anything. Don’t defer.

Nicolai Snail allowed the silence to hang between them for a moment, until it seemed he could not bear it any longer. “You don’t consider yourself to one of the most important and interesting people in North Middleton?” he said.

“I live in Cone,” she replied.

“You know what I mean,” he said, his agitation showing in the abrupt way he slapped his pawn down on its new space.

She picked up her knight, which she had not yet moved at all, and placed it in front of her row of pawns.

“I suppose you think I’m vain,” said Nicolai Snail, his voice sounding authentically sullen now. “It’s fine. You can think that.”

Jen didn’t say anything. She looked at the board. Nicolai Snail looked down at the board, too.

“Shit,” he said. Her knight was threatening both his knight and his bishop; he was going to have to lose one, and it was early in the game to be down a piece. She saw him bite down hard on his lip as he considered the unpalatable range of possible moves ahead of him. This is sort of fun, Jen thought.

“Nice work,” said Master Park an hour later, as they returned down the hall towards the parking garage, holding their yellow vests under their arms.

“You saw my game?” Jen asked. She had beat Nicolai Snail, using the same sequence Master Park had used on her at least ten times to put him in checkmate. She had only had the one game; after he lost to both Nicolai Snail and Master Park, Oggy Osterberg had pronounced himself too tired to play any further, declaring, “I’m going to take a nap for a few days,” before slamming the heavy door behind him.

“I saw you turn Nicolai into a stammering idiot,” said Master Park. Jen didn’t respond, but inside, she felt like she had just been nominated for an Oscar.

After they dropped their vests at the front desk—“You’re supposed to wear it, Park,” the security guard had growled—and returned to the car, Master Park turned to Jen as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“You should have been playing black more,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault I always draw white,” Jen said.

“Actually, it is,” said Master Park. “I’ve been fixing it so you always draw white.”

Jen was so surprised that she couldn’t speak for a moment. She stared blankly at the looming pink walls of the Snail Plant as they passed by her window.

“Why?” she asked, finally.

“You need to learn to be more aggressive,” he said. “I thought it would be good for you to have the first move.”

“How did you get me to always pick white?” she asked.

“Sleight of hand,” he said. “I learned it from one of my students.”

She tried to remember if she had ever seen him do anything unusual with his hand or his sleeve before he extended his fists, but nothing came to mind. “Do you do that when you play those guys?” she asked, wondering how Oggy Osterberg would respond to such subterfuge.

“I can’t,” he said. “They know the trick. I think Nicolai used it on you. He likes to go first.”

Figures, Jen thought, wrapping her arms across her face to block the glare of the setting sun.

Chapter 37