The Weight of the Move

There is a silence that belongs only to men who have known each other for a lifetime. It is not a lack of words, but a surplus of understanding. When two people sit across a board, the world outside—the noise of the city, the rush of the wind, the urgency of the clock—ceases to exist. They are occupied by the geometry of the next decision. It is a quiet labor. To move a piece is to acknowledge the history of the game, the mistakes made in years past, and the inevitable end that waits for everyone. We spend so much of our lives trying to be heard, yet the most profound things are decided in the stillness between breaths. The board is a small universe, contained and absolute. Does the game end when the pieces are cleared, or does it continue in the way they walk home afterward?

Keith Goldstein has captured this quiet gravity in his image titled Men Playing Chinese Chess. It reminds me that we are all just waiting for our turn to move. What do you see in the space between their hands?