On the park tables the pawns no longer stand through every opening. The chess club has issued each of them a stool no bigger than a biscuit, with a cushion the color of the square they started on. Once they sit, the knights stop hovering, and a game can last until the lamps come on.
We asked at the kiosk. “I used to feel guilty leaving a pawn on its feet,” said a man with a thermos. “Now I wait until it settles, then I move. Yesterday I lost, but at least everyone looked comfortable.” A woman who plays after work added, “My black pawn asked for the stool nearest the tulips. I think it likes a view.”
A note in the club book, in very small handwriting: Thank you for the sit. Please do not stack the chairs on the king.
The next evening a sparrow hopped along the edge of the board and approved the arrangement. It waited for White to sit, then nodded as if the match could begin.