I ached like hell. After a while, and more talk through the walls, I began to feel immensely thirsty, and got up to make my way to the other end of my spacious slice of hell and grab my water pan. I began to stand up and found that my ankle was broken. So I crawled over and scooped some water with my hands, and that's when I determined that the ring finger on my right hand was missing. I felt a soft, fleshy stump where it once sat there and screamed my bachelorhood to any girl who would let me buy them a cocktail. After I'd drank the whole pan, I turned my attention to a large clump of refried beans that had been scooped next to it. They were delicious.
Perkins and I decided upon a strict lifestyle. He would be my clock. He told me when to sleep, when to wake up, when to eat. I could relieve myself in the toilet whenever I pleased. I loved that toilet. Perkins didn't have one, and just would not stop whining about it. I liked to hold it over his head. Perkins was too good to hold his window over mine.
We began to play chess. I had barely ever played, and Perkins managed to teach me the game through the wall. The great thing about chess is that you can play it blindfold style, meaning that you can just tell your opponent your moves and play back and forth accordingly. He described the rules of the game, then the pieces, then the names of the squares on the board. Columns were named by letter; rows, by number. So as not to burn ourselves out, we designated a time each day to play a few games.
At first he wiped the floor with me. He got me about three times a row with the Fool's Mate - a two-move checkmate - because I was too incompetent to recognize that the pattern of my pawn movements was setting a trap for myself. But as time went on, I think I was aided by the darkness. My spatial intelligence seemed to be vaulted, just as naturally blind people experience heightened other physical senses. He had the distracting sense of sight polluting his concentration, and it served as sort of an appropriate handicap. Before long, I was winning half the games.
Then, one day, he stopped. "Casey, that's it. We can't go any further." I threw my hands up in invisible disgust. "What the fuck? Why?"
"Because if you reach a certain point, it gets bad for you. We're getting to the point where it's not about isolated situations on the chess board anymore. It gets into theory. We're not thinking a move or two ahead; instead we're starting these games and watching them grow into these creatures that grow and adapt. When you get to that point, when you start diving into chess theory, you will go insane. Some of the greatest grandmasters had tragic ends because of that. Steinitz died a homeless delirious man. And Paul Morphy, he was the world champion and he spent his final ten years wandering the streets and talking to invisible people. And they had a world around them to keep them sane. We don't."
I grew agitated. "All right then, what do we play?"
"Hmm...let's play slot machine. Go ahead, take a pull."
"All right, I'm pulling."
"You rolled a 4."
"What the fuck? Have you ever seen a goddamn slot machine in your life?"
"All right, fine. You've played Guess Who, right?"