On the Game of Chess

Sarah Hurst


"Об игре в шахматы"

If someone offers to play a game of chess with you, never say, “I don’t know how.” Say, “I know how, but I don’t want to.” I’ve learnt this golden rule now. But back then!

When he came up to me, I was sitting in the park, peacefully reading a newspaper. In his eyes there was a yearning, and under his arm – a chessboard.

“Shall we play?” he asks hesitantly, assuming in advance there’d be a reply in the negative.

“I don’t know how!”

“Huh?!” He jumps a little and looks at me as if I’m a Martian. On his face there’s an expression of genuine surprise, but within a second it’s replaced by an expression of wild joy. “You don’t know how?! Young man! I’ll teach you in an instant. Every intelligent person must know how to play chess!” He opens the board. “All the great people knew how and loved playing this wonderful game.”

I protest weakly, but after that argument I give up. My new acquaintance is already setting up the little white and black pieces and making a short digression into the history of chess at the same time. I find out that it was invented in India, and I also learn a few intimidating names like Capablanca and Euwe, then some more familiar ones -  Chigorin and Alekhine – and finally some famous ones – Botvinnik and Smyslov.

He stops for a second and asks:

“So you’ve never, ever?”

I make a vague gesture, but he continues:

“Sheesh! But you look like such a smart young man... Never mind, this is fixable. Well, then, there are sixty-four squares on the board – ”

I quickly count the squares – quite right, sixty-four.

“You multiply eight by eight,” he advises. I multiply... It comes out as sixty-four again.

“Is that anything remarkable?”

“There are also hundred-square boards, but those are for draughts.”

“I know how to play draughts,” I boast.

“This piece is called a rook.”

“Is that the one that looks like a little tower?”

“Yes. It moves in straight lines. Got it? And the knight – it moves in an L-shape.”

“Only like that? That’s not much! If I lived in India, I’d have come up with another letter. W, for example!” My joke comes out awkwardly, but my companion laughs indulgently and deafeningly and continues:

“This is a bishop. It moves diagonally.”

“That big pawn?”

“Yes, yes! This is the king, and that’s the ferz[1].”

“Where’s the queen, then?” I ask seriously, recalling my scanty knowledge.

My companion smiles tactfully:

“That’s what the ferz is. It moves all over the place!”

The explanation doesn’t satisfy me. Really! A queen is female, and a ferz[2]? But so as not to seem like an ignoramus, I accept this and all the other explanations as the truth.

He’s already rubbing his hands together – he can’t wait to start the game and win it. And he has no doubt that he’ll win the game. Nor do I. I’m scared by the terms and the information. To me he’s more frightening than Capablanca; my mood darkens and there’s a sour expression on my face.

“Well,” he says, “e2-e4. A classical opening, so to speak.”

And suddenly an idea pops into my head that can save me: I’ll repeat his moves.

“Me too – a classical move, e2-e4,” I say cheerfully and move my pawn.

A few moves later my opponent notices the dirty trick.

“Excuse me!” he says. “You’re repeating all my moves! That’s cheating!”

I’ve been exposed, but I try to extricate myself.

“What do you mean?” I pretend to be shocked. I’m not looking at how you’re moving. I’d never do such a thing! I’ve only just noticed it myself!”

But my opponent is ready to forgive this deceit of mine in gratitude for the fact that I’ve given him a few minutes of bliss. What could beat playing, knowing that you’ll win! That would improve anyone’s mood.

“Well, OK,” he says, taking my little pawn and putting his big one in its place.

“What’s this you’re doing?” I ask suspiciously.

“I’m taking your pawn with my bishop!”

“Why?”

“It’s in my way!”

“So that’s how it’s done!” – and I cross my pawn over his, and take it.

“You can’t move like that!” he exclaims. “That’s not correct!”

“Why isn’t it correct? Your pawn’s in my way, too! I ate it!”

“Maybe you’re going to take with a huff[3], too?” my opponent informs me spitefully. “Put it back! And be so good as to play by the rules!”

“Cripes, if I was going to take with a huff, I’d have taken half the board from him!” – but I keep this to myself, muttering it under my breath.

“What a stupid game – your own pawns can’t go where you want them to!”

But there’s nothing for it – and I move the piece that looks like a little tower.

“You can’t do that!” - my companion is already getting irritated. “That’s against the rules! The knight moves like that! That’s against the rules!”

I know he understands what’s what better than I do, but I’m in the grip of excitement, and on top of that obstinacy and a desire to argue:

“Why have you decided that only your rules are right! And how do you know all the rules! A chess player I know told me that in some cases the little tower moves like a knight!”

“Your acquaintance doesn’t know how to play!” he says, still trying to contain himself.

I start to defend my nonexistent acquaintance.

“Doesn’t know how to play?” I say indignantly. “He played Tal in a simul and ate his king! Got it? Ate it!”

“You can’t eat kings,” and he puts the rook back in its place.

Disappointed, I make a move without looking at the board.

“What are you doing!” he shrieks in horror. “This is just... This is just...” – he’s speechless.

“What? Again against the rules?” I ask threateningly, ready to end the game right there.

“No! But...” Obviously I’d made some kind of idiotic, illogical move and this was preventing him from carrying out his attack. I feel this instantly and decide to continue in the same spirit.

“No one moves like that!” my opponent seethes.

“No one does, but I did! They’re my black counters. They go where I want them to!”

He starts running around the table. He sits down, stands up, groans, shrieks, and I make my moves cold-bloodedly, without looking at the board.

“I’m sacrificing my queen to you!” he wails.

“It’s no use to me, your queen!”

“But this will help you!”

“Let me be the judge of that!”

“Why did you move your little tower? Where did you put your big pawn?” – he hasn’t noticed that he’s taken my terminology. And finally he begs: “Let’s exchange a few pieces and put an end to this chaos!”

“No!” I say harshly and move my king.

A little longer, and, after battling me to no avail, he messes up the pieces, hides them away with shaking hands, and, saying, “The devil knows what this is,” without any goodbyes, he leaves. The battlefield is mine! “An interesting game,” I think, entranced, and who knows, perhaps some day I’ll come up to you in the park with a board and ask you:

“Shall we play!”

“I don’t know how,” you’ll say.

“Oh! It’s nothing! I’ll teach you in an instant!”

[Late ‘50s.]

---

[1] In Russian the queen is called a ferz, one of the original pieces found in the games that predated chess.
[2] Ferz is a masculine noun in Russian.
[3] A huff is an obsolete move in draughts where if a player refused to make an available jump, the opponent could remove the piece that should have jumped.