Howl of the Seismologist

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Alex rolled the flimsy plastic bishop between his fingers for a few seconds before placing it on king’s knight two. Then, while his opponent thought, he idly dropped his hand to scratch Wegener between the ears.

After another ten minutes or so, the battle, heated yet silent, drew an observer—a youngish woman who by standing next to the picnic table shaded the board from the glare of the Sun.

Alex’s opponent, an Asian man of aristocratic mien, glanced up at her. “Guten Tag, Katchen,” he said.

“Konnichi wa, Wakabayashi-sama,” she answered.

The man nodded, then returned his eyes to the chessboard.

Several moves later, the man shook his head almost imperceptibly. “A draw is offered.”

“A draw?” Alex thought he had a marginally better position but felt it would be impolite not to accept. “All right. Fine.”

The man leaned back. “One is new at the village?”

“One is.” Alex nodded. “I’ve just moved into an apartment here.” He extended his hand over the board. “I’m Alex Prendergast. Summer postdoc.”

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