“I saw your brother Petros at the club the other day. He demolished me with a Karo-Cann”, said the guest, and I interjected, earning an angry look from my father: 'What do you mean? What's a Karo-Cann?'

Our guest explained that he was referring to a particular way of opening the game of chess, named after its two inventors, Messrs Karo and Cann. Apparently, Uncle Petros was in the habit of paying occasional visits to a chess club in Patissia where he routinely routed his unfortunate opponents.

'What a player!' the guest sighed admiringly. 'If only he'd entered formal competition he'd be a Grand Master today!'

At this point Father changed the subject.

The annual family reunion was held in the garden. The grown-ups sat around a table that had been set up in a paved patio, drinking, snacking and making small-talk, the two younger brothers routinely exerting themselves (as a rule, not altogether successfully) to be gracious to the honouree. My cousins and I played among the trees in the orchard.

On one occasion, having made the decision to seek an answer to the mystery of Uncle Petros, I asked to use the bathroom; I was hoping I would get a chance to examine the inside of the house. To my great disappointment, however, our host indicated a small out-house attached to the toolshed. The next year (by that time I was fourteen) the weather came in aid of my curiosity. A summer storm forced my uncle to open the French windows and lead us into a space that had obviously been intended by the architect to serve as a living room. Equally obviously, however, the owner did not use it to receive guests. Although it did contain a couch, it was totally inappropriately positioned facing a blank wall. Chairs were brought in from the gar-den and placed in a semi-circle, where we sat like the mourners at a provincial wake.

I made a hasty reconnaissance, with quick glances all around. The only pieces of furniture apparently put to daily use were a deep, shabby armchair by the fire-place with a small table at its side; on it was a chessboard with the pieces set out as for a game in progress. Next to the table, on the floor, was a large pile of chess books and periodicals. This, then, was where Uncle Petros sat every night. The studies mentioned by my mother must have been studies of chess. But were they?