For the Love of Truth

From the writing prompt, “Destroying the world would probably be easier.” This one doesn’t need much explaining, except that these guys are two of my favorite characters ever.

It was nine o’clock on Saturday morning and the weather was beautiful, which meant that Eugene Bud was in the park. He strolled across the grass, dodged a group of kids playing Frisbee, and made his way over to the benches near the gazebo.

The old barber took a deep breath of the early summer air and let it out in a sigh of satisfaction. It was one of those clichéd perfect summer days, with the chirping birds and the light breeze and the sweet smell of grass on the air. And, because it was nine o’clock on a Saturday morning and the weather was beautiful, Oliver Meeps was waiting for him on their normal bench at the northwest corner of the gazebo. The sunlight was cooler here, deflected by the fluttering leaves of a huge old oak tree that was probably as old as Springfield itself.

Eugene lowered himself down across from his friend onto the worn white stone of the bench. “Morning, Oliver.”

The other man tipped his hat cordially, and the sunlight glinted off the rims of his glasses. “Morning, Eugene.” He reached down into the worn satchel at his feet and pulled out a wooden box: chestnut, still glossy and smooth even after years of wear. The well-oiled bronze hinges barely made a sound as the box opened onto the bench between them to reveal a hand-crafted chess set.

The two men looked at the jumble of checkerboard, black-and-white horsemen, chipped castle towers, slender kings and queens. After a long moment of consideration, Oliver looked up expectantly. “It’s the third Saturday, you know.”

Eugene blinked and raised his blue eyes from their scrutiny. “Is it? I could’ve sworn it was only the second.” He shook his head ruefully; the leaf-shaped patterns of light on his hair shifted with the movement. “Alright then. No use letting you get any more of an upper hand. I’ll take the white.”

Oliver smiled and shook his head. “You always do. Going first isn’t always best, you know.” He reached for the black pieces anyway and began to put them in their places with elegant fingers.

Eugene waved him off with the hand not busy arranging his own forces on the board. “If I’ve said it once, I’ve said it a million times. It’s a matter of principle. Who doesn’t want to be the white knight in shining armor?” He picked up one of his knights with a grin and twirled it between his fingers. “Besides,” he continued as he replaced the piece with care back into its alloted square at B-1, “It’s good strategy. Never let the opponent have the first move.”

Their banter was easy and well-rehearsed, really just a verbal precursor to the ensuing game. They both settled in, staring at the board intently. When nothing happened for several minutes, Oliver cleared his throat. “About that first move…”

“I know, I know.” Eugene was already fingering his walrus mustache, a sure sign of intense thought. Finally, he reached out for the horseman he’d displaced earlier and moved it. “Knight to A-3.”

His friend looked impressed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lead with the knight before. Feeling the need to change your strategy?”

“Sick of getting beat,” Bud chuckled. “You can only rely on your pawns so long before you’ve gotta accept that just because some moves are traditional doesn’t mean you have to use them.”

“Good advice,” Oliver said with a smile. “They should have you speak up at the school to motivate the kids.” He reached to his own line of pieces. “Still, sometimes traditional is best. Pawn to G-6.”

Oliver’s gaze stayed on the board, already planning two or three moves ahead in anticipation of his friend’s next move. He and Eugene had played this game more than enough to know each other’s strategies and rhythms. It was a challenge to find new attacks that wouldn’t be anticipated. It took Oliver a while to notice that once again, the other man hadn’t moved. He looked over to Bud again to see him still staring into space, and for the first time concern creased his brow, deepening the divot between his eyes. “Gene?”

Eugene’s eyes looked up in surprise at the nickname, rarely used. His bushy white eyebrows raised expectantly. “Yeah?”

“Your turn,” Oliver prompted softly.

“Ah, I’m sorry.” The barber gave a long sigh and rubbed his forehead with two fingers. “Don’t know what’s gotten into me today. I was somewhere else.”

“I could tell,” Meeps said with a soft grin. “Care to share?”

Eugene looked down at the board. His hand reached out and gently touched the top of his G-square knight. “I was just thinking,” he said slowly, in a voice much gentler than the one Oliver was used to hearing from him, “that there’s more pressure on the man that picks the white pieces.”

Philosophy wasn’t an uncommon subject for them, but it normally didn’t appear in conversation until at least the fifth turn. Oliver focused his full attention on the man across from him, the board temporarily forgotten. “How do you mean?”

Bud shrugged, eyes still on the pieces in front of him, though Oliver suspected that his mind’s eye was focused a long way off. “Well, the white knight has a lot to do, doesn’t he? Save the world, rescue the damsel in distress, slay the dragon, defeat the evil king. Seems like a lot of work, doesn’t it?” He paused a moment, then moved the knight into symmetry with its twin. “Knight to H-3.” He pointed to Oliver’s end of the board. “The black knight, though, what’s his job? All he has to do is stop the white knight from doing all that good-guy hero stuff. It’s simpler. Cleaner.”

Oliver weighed his response carefully as he returned his attention to the game. His next move would be predictable, if reliable. He sat back in his seat a bit and looked out over the park. “You’re right, you know,” he remarked thoughtfully. “Destroying the world would probably be easier. Saving it is so much work. Pawn to B-5.”

“I never said ‘easier’, just ’simpler’,” Eugene noted. “Pawn to B-4. You really think it’d be easier?”

This time it was Oliver who looked away from the game for a long moment. At last, his brown eyes rested on the two pawns, now deadlocked in the middle of the board. He reached out and brushed an imaginary speck of dust off the white one. “It would have to be, wouldn’t it? To save the world, you have to care enough about the people in it to think it’s worth it.”

There was a long moment of silence after that. Both men were pulled in their minds to far-off places: one to a marketplace in Serbia, with a gun in his hand, and the other to a long-gone kitchen table, and the sound of children laughing.

“Harder,” Eugene finally agreed. His voice was a little gruff. “But still right.”

Oliver nodded slowly in agreement, and the two men shared a moment of understanding despite all the things that would never be known or said between them.

Then Eugene cleared his throat and leaned forward. “Alright, enough of that. It’s time for me to kick your scrawny historian behind at chess. Pawn to C-2!”

“It’s my move, you barbarian barber!”

It was nine thirty on Saturday morning and the weather was beautiful. And so Eugene Bud, former CIA agent, and Oliver Meeps, former superhero, were playing chess in the park. Two white knights, chipped and worn around the edges, but still standing firmly in their squares, looking out at the far-off black kings on the horizon.