• Vol. 01
  • Chapter 09
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That’s the way the Rhodians do it

In the city of Rhodia, the inhabitants play games. Wherever you go, in the cafés, around town, you always land in the middle of a strategy. “My little pawn eats your little pawn”. “Yeah, but my other little pawn, devours your big pawn”. The Rodhians sip their coffee in the warm afternoon light, slowly, savouring the local delicacy: clafoutis à la grenade. A delicious pomegranate tart. “My little mouth eats your little clafoutis”. “Yeah, but my little mouth devours your exquisite pomegranate lips”.

In the city of Rhodia, the inhabitants play games. At every corner, a great conquest is at stake. Every move on the chessboard is a nuance. Every lost pawn is a revelation. Every intention, a new game.

In the city of Rhodia, there is only one game: chess. There is only one game of chess: seduction. There is only one game of seduction, and its secret lies in baking the best pudding, with fruit, with no other fruit than pomegranates. And if you are like that, that is, if you live in Rhodia and adore pomegranates, you know there is only one way to make a good pomegranate clafoutis. There is only one strategy: tenderness, kindness, gentleness. When a pawn breaks, the opponent mends it.

In the main square, there is a statue, a great marble creation. A Ukrainian man stands tall. At his feet, a name, and a quote. Theodosius Grygorovych Dobzhansky, who once said: “Nature's stern discipline enjoins mutual help at least as often as warfare. The fittest may also be the gentlest.”

Because in the only game of chess there has ever been in Rhodia, the inhabitants want to loose.