Dreams from Bunker Hill Read Online Free PDF

with me. It was cruel. It was brutal. It was sadistic. He offered to engage me without his queen, and I lost. Next he removed his queen, his two bishops, and his two knights, and I lost again. Finally he stripped his forces down to just pawns. By now a crowd three deep was gathered about us, howling with laughter as his pawns mowed my pieces down and he worked another checkmate. I had one quarter left. I placed it on the table. Mose Moss rubbed his hands together and smiled with benign triumph.
    “Tell you what I’m going to do now, kid. I’m going to let you win. You’re going to checkmate me.”
    The audience applauded, moved closer. Forty people crowded about. He needed about twenty moves to finish me off, maneuvering his pieces in such a way that I could not avoid checkmating him. I was tired, frustrated, and sick of soul. My stomach ached, my eyes burned.
    “I’m through, Mose,” I said. “That was my last quarter.”
    “Your credit is good,” he said. “You look like an honestkid. You’re a goddamn fool, but you look honest.”
    Numbly I began to play, too confused to walk away, too ashamed to get to my feet and move off. Suddenly there was a commotion. The bystanders fled. The police were on the scene. They grabbed a couple of people and Mose and I were hustled off to the paddy wagon. We were taken to the city jail, six of us, and lined up at the sergeant’s desk, each accused of loitering. After the booking, we were taken to the drunk tank. I followed Mose around, for he seemed to know the routine. We sat on a bench and I asked Mose what happened next.
    “Ten dollars or five days,” he said. “Fuck ’em. Let’s play chess.” To my horror he pulled a miniature chess game from his back pocket, and we put the chess men into place and began to play. He was indefatigable. My eyes would not open. I slept with my chin on my chest. He shook me awake and I moved a player. We were playing for astronomical sums now. I owed him fifteen thousand dollars. We doubled it. I lost again, and as Mose tried to awaken me, I slipped off the bench and fell asleep on the floor. I heard his last words:
    “You bastard, you owe me thirty thousand dollars.”
    “Put it on my bill,” I said.
     
    I slept. Vaguely I heard the night sounds around me—the snores, the farts, the moans, the puking, the mumbling in sleep. It was cold in the big cell. The gray dawn crept through the window. Daylight gradually came. At six o’clock the jailer rattled the cell bars with a riot stick.
    “Everybody get ready for Sunrise Court,” he shouted. “You have five minutes to make a phone call.”
    I followed Mose down the hall to a waiting room with telephones on the wall. They were pay phones. I searched my pockets for a dime. I had nothing. Mose was in front of me, talking to someone by phone. As he hung up I crowded him.
    “Loan me a dime,” I said.
    He frowned. “Jesus, kid,” he said. “You already owe methirty grand.”
    “I’ll pay you back, Mose,” I implored. “Every cent. Believe me.”
    He dug into his pocket and pulled out a handful of silver coins. “Take one.”
    I selected a dime and stepped up to the telephone. I dialled my hotel. Mrs. Brownell answered.
    “I’m in Sunrise Court,” I told her. “Can you bail me out? It’s ten dollars.”
    There was a silence. “Are you in trouble?”
    “No, but I’m broke.”
    “I’ll be right there.” She hung up.
    She was in the courtroom when the prisoners were brought in. My name was called and I approached the bench. The judge never saw me, never even looked at me.
    “You are charged with loitering. Ten dollars or five days. How do you plead?”
    “Guilty,” I said.
    “Pay the bailiff,” he said. “Next.”
    As I moved to the bailiff’s desk Mrs. Brownell arose and came to my side. She opened her purse and gave the bailiff a ten-dollar bill. I bent over the desk and signed a bail receipt. Mrs. Brownell sped down the hall, moving fast. I ran to catch