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Chapter 9
Aunt Bee was still at the jail when Andy got back. Sydney and Broots were there, too, Sydney pulling a checkered game board out of a neat leather case.
“Well, Miss Parker, I hope you’ll be comfortable now,” Aunt Bee said.
“I’m sure I will, Aunt Bee,” Miss Parker said in so courteous a tone that Broots and Sydney stared at her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Andy, how did you find things? Did that boy get off to sleep?”
“He shore did, Aunt Bee. I played him a coupla songs and left him sleepin’ sound.”
“Good. Like all boys, he needs his rest.”
“He shore does.” He kissed her cheek. “Good night, Aunt Bee. I’ll be home later if you need anything.”
“Alright, Andy. Good night, everyone!”
“Good night,” Broots and Sydney chorused. Miss Parker caught them stealing another glance at her.
“Syd, I am not playing chess with you.”
“I didn’t think you would,” he answered. “I was in the middle of working out one of the great games when you dragged me away on this little adventure, so I brought it along.”
“Shouldn’t you be working, instead of playing games?”
“It is work. Chess helps me to think when I’m working out a particular problem, and it is of great help in psychiatry. You can learn a good deal about another person by watching him play chess.”
“Yet another reason why I will never play with you. Can’t you ever shut it off, Syd?”
“Shut off what?”
“You know what. Your constant analysis.”
“You know I can’t, Parker. You can’t shut off who you are. I thought perhaps I could interest Broots in a game this evening.”
“Oh, I’m no good at chess,” Broots said. “I’m more of a solitaire player.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Miss Parker snarled softly. “You’d spend all day moving little cards around all by yourself just for fun.”
“Perhaps Andy would care to play a game of chess?” Sydney went on as if no one had said anything.
“Wa’al,” Andy said, “I’ve never played before, but I know a little about it, and it seems an interesting sort of game. Why not?”
He sat down and watched Sydney’s long hands set up the pieces. They were small but heavy pieces, carved beautifully out of black and white stone. Sydney explained how each of the pieces moved, and they played a slow beginner’s game, which Sydney easily won.
“This surely is an interesting game,” Andy said. “There’s a lot of thought to it. You got to be like a general in a war, sending out your troops while figuring out what the other fellow’s tryin’ to do. I see what you mean by it teaching you about how another person thinks. Let’s play again.”
Sydney kept winning, but his eyes watched Andy’s face with an expression of respect. Andy was a rank beginner, but it was clear he had the makings of a fine player. He had an instinct for comprehending the mind and intentions of his opponent, and once he got the hang of the play, he deployed his troops wisely. He was truly fit for his role as sheriff, and if he had ever had the opportunity, he would have made a name for himself in a much larger setting. He wasn’t a big risk-taker, though, not ambitious, content in his quieter sphere. Sydney could see all this clearly in the way he played the game. He wondered if Andy could read him in his play the same way, could see how he played not to win but to understand.
Barney burst in at the end of their fourth game. Even Miss Parker was watching by now. She barely deigned to give Barney a glance as he came up to the game board.
“Chess! I didn’t know you played chess, Andy!”
“I didn’t, until today. It’s a fine game. Do you know how to play, Barney?”
“Well, of course I do! I used to get those Grandmaster quarterlies—you remember those. Secret chess moves and things. Play chess by mail. ‘Grandmaster Fife,’ they used to call me.”
“Grandmaster?” Sydney glanced at him sharply. “I was not aware there was a Grandmaster in North Carolina at this time.”
“Oh—well,” Barney said, abashed, “I’m not really. They just called me that. Nickname, you know.”
“Barn, why don’t you sit down and play? Sydney’s already walloped me four times. Let’s see if you can restore the good name of Mayberry for us.”
“Well, I don’t mind if I do.” Barney cracked his knuckles and sat down in the seat Andy vacated. “If you just learned today, And, it’s no wonder just anyone can beat you. It takes a professional to do this right, you know.”
There was a suspicious twinkle in Andy’s eyes. “Oh, I know, Barn.”
“You have acquitted yourself well, Andy,” Sydney assured him. “You are an excellent chess player.”
“Why, thank you, Sydney. That’s real nice of you to say. Uh, Barn, the knight and the bishop go the other way around.”
“I know!” Barney exclaimed indignantly, quickly switching them. “I was just testing your new skills.”
“I guess my new skills are pretty good then.”
Barney’s chess play was exactly what Sydney expected it to be, a flurry of chaotic movements, the occasional lucky break, and no strategy at all. Sydney tried not to beat him too quickly, but it was difficult not to when he practically set up his own king’s checkmate.
“Wa’al, Grandmaster Fife,” Andy said, a gleeful chuckle deep in his voice, “I guess you were right about needing a professional to do it right. That was a good demonstration.”
Barney glared at the chessboard, hot-faced. “I’m not used to this chessboard. Playing with a strange board puts a cramp in my style! Anyway, I’m much more of a checkers man. This newfangled chess stuff is alright for some people, I ‘spose, but checkers takes real skill.”
“Hey, I like checkers!” Broots said.
Barney sprang up. “Don’t we have some checkers around here somewhere, And?”
“Somewhere. Look in the back room.” Andy took Barney’s spot, and as his twinkling eyes met Sydney’s, they both grinned. Barney Fife was an open book to both of them.
