‘A good move, Malek,’ he commented. ‘But perhaps a little risky in the long run.’ Declining the exchange, he lamely blocked the checking queen with a pawn.
Malek stared stolidly at the board, his heavy policeman’s face, with its almost square frame from one jaw angle to the other, betraying no sign of thought. His approach, Constantin reflected as he watched his opponent, would be that of the pragmatist, judging always by immediate capability rather than by any concealed intentions. As if confirming this diagnosis, Malek simply returned his queen to her former square, unwilling or unable to exploit the advantage he had gained and satisfied by the captured piece.
Bored by the lower key on to which the game had descended, and the prospect of similar games ahead, Constantin castled his king to safety. For some reason, obviously irrational, he assumed that Malek would not kill him in the middle, of a game, particularly if he, Malek, were winning. He recognized that this was an unconscious reason for wanting to play chess in the first place, and had no doubt motivated the many others who had also sat with Malek on the veranda, listening to the late summer rain. Suppressing a sudden pang of fear, Constantin examined Malek’s powerful hands protruding from his cuffs like two joints of meat. If Malek wanted to, he could probably kill Constantin with his bare hands.
That raised a second question, almost as fascinating as the first.
‘Malek, another point.’ Constantin sat back, searching in his pockets for imaginary cigarettes (none were allowed him). ‘Forgive my curiosity, but I am an interested party, as it were—’ He flashed Malek his brightest smile, a characteristically incisive thrust modulated by ironic self-deprecation which had been so successful with his secretaries and at ministry receptions, but the assay at humour failed to move Malek. ‘Tell me, do you know… how?’ Searching for some euphemism, he repeated: ‘Do you know how you are going to..?’ and then gave up the attempt, cursing Malek to himself for lacking the social grace to rescue him from his awkwardness.
Malek’s chin rose slightly, a minimal nod. He showed no signs of being bored or irritated by Constantin’s laboured catechism, or of having noticed his embarrassment.
‘What is it, then?’ Constantin pressed, recovering himself. ‘Pistol, pill or—’ with a harsh laugh he pointed through the window ‘- do you set up a guillotine in the rain? I’d like to know.’
Malek looked down at the chess-board, his features more glutinous and dough-like than ever. Flatly, he said: ‘It has been decided.’
Constantin snorted. ‘What on earth does that mean?’ he snapped belligerently. ‘Is it painless?’
For once Malek smiled, a thin sneer of amusement hung fleetingly around his mouth. ‘Have you ever killed anything, Mr Constantin?’ he asked quietly. ‘Yourself, personally, I mean.’
‘Touch,’ Constantin granted. He laughed deliberately, trying to dispel the tension. ‘A perfect reply.’ To himself he said: I mustn’t let curiosity get the upper hand, the man was laughing at me.
‘Of course,’ he went on, ‘death is always painful. I merely wondered whether, in the legal sense of the term, it would be humane. But I can see that you are a professional, Malek, and the question answers itself. A great relief, believe me. There are so many sadists about, perverts and the like — ‘ again he watched carefully to see if the implied sneer provoked Malek ‘- that one can’t be too grateful for a clean curtain fall. It’s good to know. I can devote these last days to putting my affairs in order and coming to terms with the world. If only I knew how long there was left I could make my preparations accordingly. One can’t be forever saying one’s last prayers. You see my point?’
Colourlessly, Malek said: ‘The Prosecutor-General advised you to make your final arrangements immediately after the trial.’
‘But what does that mean?’ Constantin asked, pitching his voice a calculated octave higher. ‘I’m a human being, not a book-keeper’s ledger that can be totted up and left to await the auditor’s pleasure. I wonder if you realize, Malek, the courage this situation demands from me? It’s easy for you to sit there—’
Abruptly Malek stood up, sending a shiver of terror through Constantin. With a glance at the sealed windows, he moved around the chess table towards the lounge. ‘We will postpone the game,’ he said. Nodding to Constantin, he went off towards the kitchen where the orderly was preparing lunch.
