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A SIMULTANEOUS CHESS MATCHon 160 boards
Admission . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 20 kopeks Participation. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 kopeks Commencement at 6 p.m. sharp Bring your own chessboards MANAGER : K. Michelson
The Grossmeister had not been wasting his time, either. Having rented the club for three roubles, he hurried across to the chess section, which for some reason or other was located in the corridor of the horse-breeding administration. In the chess section sat a one-eyed man reading a Panteleyev edition of one of Spielhagen's novels. "Grossmeister O. Bender!" announced Bender, sitting down on the table. "I'm organizing a simultaneous chess match here." The Vasyuki chess player's one eye opened as wide as its natural limits would allow. "One second, Comrade Grossmeister," he cried. "Take a seat, won't you? I'll be back in a moment." And the one-eyed man disappeared. Ostap looked around the chess-section room. The walls were hung with photographs of racehorses; on the table lay a dusty register marked "Achievements of the Vasyuki Chess Section for 1925". The one-eyed man returned with a dozen citizens of varying ages. They all introduced themselves in turn and respectfully shook hands with the Grossmeister. "I'm on my way to Kazan," said Ostap abruptly. "Yes, yes, the match is this evening. Do come along. I'm sorry, I'm not in form at the moment. The Carlsbad tournament was tiring." The Vasyuki chess players listened to him with filial love in their eyes. Ostap was inspired, and felt a flood of new strength and chess ideas. "You wouldn't believe how far chess thinking has advanced," he said. "Lasker, you know, has gone as far as trickery. It's impossible to play him any more. He blows cigar smoke over his opponents and smokes cheap cigars so that the smoke will be fouler. The chess world is greatly concerned." The Grossmeister then turned to more local affairs. "Why aren't there any new ideas about in the province? Take, for instance, your chess section. That's what it's called-the chess section. That's boring, girls! Why don't you call it something else, in true chess style? It would attract the trade-union masses into the section. For example, you could call it The Four Knights Chess Club', or The Red End-game', or 'A Decline in the Standard of Play with a Gain in Pace'. That would be good. It has the right kind of sound." The idea was successful. "Indeed," exclaimed the citizens, "why shouldn't we rename our section The Four Knights Chess Club'?" Since the chess committee was there on the spot, Ostap organized a one-minute meeting under his honorary chairmanship, and the chess section was unanimously renamed The Four Knights Chess Club'. Benefiting from his lessons aboard the Scriabin, the Grossmeister artistically drew four knights and the appropriate caption on a sheet of cardboard. This important step promised the flowering of chess thought in Vasyuki. "Chess!" said Ostap. "Do you realize what chess is? It promotes the advance of culture and also the economy. Do you realize that The Four Knights Chess Club', given the right organization, could completely transform the town of Vasyuki?" Ostap had not eaten since the day before, which accounted for his unusual eloquence. "Yes," he cried, "chess enriches a country! If you agree to my plan, you'll soon be descending marble steps to the quay! Vasyuki will become the centre of ten provinces! What did you ever hear of the town of Semmering before? Nothing! But now that miserable little town is rich and famous just because an international tournament was held there. That's why I say you should organize an international chess tournament in Vasyuki." "How?" they all cried. "It's a perfectly practical plan," replied the Grossmeister. "My connections and your activity are all that are required for an international tournament in Vasyuki. Just think how fine that would sound-The 1927 International Tournament to be held in Vasyuki!' Such players as Jose-Raoul Capablanca, Lasker, Alekhine, Reti, Rubinstein, Tarrasch, Widmar and Dr. Grigoryev are bound to come. What's more, I'll take part myself!" "But what about the money?" groaned the citizens. "They would all have to be paid. Many thousands of roubles! Where would we get it?" "A powerful hurricane takes everything into account," said Ostap. "The money will come from collections." "And who do you think is going to pay that kind of money? The people of Vasyuki?" "What do you mean, the people of Vasyuki? The people of Vasyuki are not going to pay money, they're going to receive it. It's all extremely simple. After all, chess enthusiasts will come from all over the world to attend a tournament with such great champions. Hundreds of thousands of people-well-to-do people-will head for Vasyuki. Naturally, the river transport will not be able to cope with such a large number of passengers. So the Ministry of Railways will have to build a main line from Moscow to Vasyuki. That's one thing. Another is hotels and skyscrapers to accommodate the visitors. The third thing is improvement of the agriculture over a radius of five hundred miles; the visitors have to be provided with fruit, vegetables, caviar and chocolate. The building for the actual tournament is the next thing. Then there's construction of garages to house motor transport for the visitors. An extra-high power radio station will have to be built to broadcast the sensational results of the tournament to the rest of the world. Now about the Vasyuki railway. It most likely won't be able to carry all the passengers wanting to come to Vasyuki, so we will have to have a 'Greater Vasyuki' airport with regular nights by mail planes and airships to all parts of the globe, including Los Angeles and Melbourne." Dazzling vistas unfolded before the Vasyuki chess enthusiasts. The walls of the room melted away. The rotting walls of the stud-farm collapsed and in their place a thirty-storey building towered into the sky. Every hall, every room, and even the lightning-fast lifts were full of people thoughtfully playing chess on malachite encrusted boards. Marble steps led down to the blue Volga. Ocean-going steamers were moored on the river. Cablecars communicating with the town centre carried up heavy-faced foreigners, chess-playing ladies, Australian advocates of the Indian defence, Hindus in turbans, devotees of the Spanish gambit, Germans, Frenchmen, New Zealanders, inhabitants of the Amazon basin, and finally Muscovites, citizens of Leningrad and Kiev, Siberians and natives of Odessa, all envious of the citizens of Vasyuki. Lines of cars moved in between the marble hotels. Then suddenly everything stopped. From out of the fashionable Pass Pawn Hotel came the world champion Capablanca. He was surrounded by women. A militiaman dressed in special chess uniform (check breeches and bishops in his lapels) saluted smartly. The one-eyed president of the "Four Knights Club" of Vasyuki approached the champion in a dignified manner. The conversation between the two luminaries, conducted in English, was interrupted by the arrival by air of Dr. Grigoryev and the future world champion, Alekhine. Cries of welcome shook the town. Capablanca glowered. At a wave of one-eye's hand, a set of marble steps was run up to the plane. Dr. Grigoryev came down, waving his hat and commenting, as he went, on a possible mistake by Capablanca in his forthcoming match with Alekhine. Suddenly a black dot was noticed on the horizon. It approached rapidly, growing larger and larger until it finally turned into a large emerald parachute. A man with an attache case was hanging from the harness, like a huge radish. "Here he is!" shouted one-eye. "Hooray, hooray, I recognize the great philosopher and chess player Dr. Lasker. He is the only person in the world who wears those green socks." Capablanca glowered again. The marble steps were quickly brought up for Lasker to alight on, and the cheerful ex-champion, blowing from his sleeve a speck of dust which had settled on him over Silesia f ell into the arms of one-eye. The latter put his arm around Lasker's waist and walked him over to the champion, saying: "Make up your quarrel! On behalf of the popular masses of Vasyuki, I urge you to make up your quarrel." Capablanca sighed loudly and, shaking hands with the veteran, said: "I always admired your idea of moving QK5 to QB3 in the Spanish gambit." "Hooray!" exclaimed one-eye. "Simple and convincing in the style of a champion." And the incredible crowd joined in with: "Hooray! Vivat! Banzai! Simple and convincing in the style of a champion!" Express trains sped into the twelve Vasyuki stations, depositing ever greater crowds of chess enthusiasts. Hardly had the sky begun to glow from the brightly lit advertisements, when a white horse was led through the streets of the town. It was the only horse left after the mechanization of the town's transportation. By special decree it had been renamed a stallion, although it had actually been a mare the whole of its life. The lovers of chess acclaimed it with palm leaves and chessboards. "Don't worry," continued Ostap, "my scheme will guarantee the town an unprecedented boom in your production forces. Just think what will happen when the tournament is over and the visitors have left. The citizens of Moscow, crowded together on account of the housing shortage, will come flocking to your beautiful town. The capital will be automatically transferred to Vasyuki. The government will move here. Vasyuki will be renamed New Moscow, and Moscow will become Old Vasyuki. The people of Leningrad and Kharkov will gnash their teeth in fury but won't be able to do a thing about it. New Moscow will soon become the most elegant city in Europe and, soon afterwards, in the whole world." "The whole world!! I" gasped the citizens of Vasyuki in a daze. "Yes, and, later on, in the universe. Chess thinking-which has turned a regional centre into the capital of the world-will become an applied science and will invent ways of interplanetary communication. Signals will be sent from Vasyuki to Mars, Jupiter and Neptune. Communications with Venus will be as easy as going from Rybinsk to Yaroslavl. And then who knows what may happen? In maybe eight or so years the first interplanetary chess tournament in the history of the world will be held in Vasyuki." Ostap wiped his noble brow. He was so hungry he could have eaten a roasted knight from the chessboard. "Ye-es," said the one-eyed man with a sigh, looking around the dusty room with an insane light in his eye, "but how are we to put the plan into effect, to lay the basis, so to say?" They all looked at the Grossmelster tensely. "As I say, in practice the plan depends entirely on your activity. I will do all the organizing myself. There will be no actual expense, except for the cost of the telegrams." One-eyed nudged his companions. "Well?" he asked, "what do you say?" "Let's do it, let's do it!" cried the citizens. "How much money is needed for the . . . er . . . telegrams?" "A mere bagatelle. A hundred roubles." "We only have twenty-one roubles in the cash box. We realize, of course, that it is by no means enough . . ." But the Grossmeister proved to be accommodating. "All right," he said, "give me the twenty roubles." "Will it be enough?" asked one-eye. "It'll be enough for the initial telegrams. Later on we can start collecting contributions. Then there'll be so much money we shan't know what to do with it." Putting the money away in his green field jacket, the Grossmeister reminded the gathered citizens of his lecture and simultaneous match on one hundred and sixty boards, and, taking leave of them until evening, made his way to the Cardboard-worker Club to find Ippolit Matveyevich. "I'm starving," said Vorobyaninov in a tremulous voice. He was already sitting at the window of the box office, but had not collected one kopek; he could not even buy a hunk of bread. In front of him lay a green wire basket intended for the money. It was the kind that is used in middle-class houses to hold the cutlery. "Listen, Vorobyaninov," said Ostap, "stop your cash transactions for an hour and come and eat at the caterers' union canteen. I'll describe the situation as we go. By the way, you need a shave and brush-up. You look like a tramp. A Grossmeister cannot have such suspicious-looking associates." "I haven't sold a single ticket," Ippolit Matveyevich informed him. "Don't worry. People will come flocking in towards evening. The town has already contributed twenty roubles for the organization of an international chess tournament." "Then why bother about the simultaneous match?" whispered his manager. "You may lose the games anyway. With twenty roubles we can now buy tickets for the ship-the Karl Liebknecht has just come in-travel quietly to Stalingrad and wait for the theatre to arrive. We can probably open the chairs there. Then we'll be rich and the world will belong to us." "You shouldn't say such silly things on an empty stomach. It has a bad effect on the brain. We might reach Stalingrad on twenty roubles, but what are we going to eat with? Vitamins, my dear comrade marshal, are not given away free. On the other hand, we can get thirty roubles out of the locals for the lecture and match." "They'll slaughter us!" said Vorobyaninov. "It's a risk, certainly. We may be manhandled a bit. But anyway, I have a nice little plan which will save you, at least. But we can talk about that later on. Meanwhile, let's go and try the local dishes." Towards six o'clock the Grossmeister, replete, freshly shaven, and smelling of eau-de-Cologne, went into the box office of the Cardboardworker Club. Vorobyaninov, also freshly shaven, was busily selling tickets. "How's it going? " asked the Grossmeister quietly. "Thirty have gone in and twenty have paid to play," answered his manager. "Sixteen roubles. That's bad, that's bad!" - "What do you mean, Bender? Just look at the number of people standing in line. They're bound to beat us up." "Don't think about it. When they hit you, you can cry. In the meantime, don't dally. Learn to do business." An hour later there were thirty-five roubles in the cash box. The people in the clubroom were getting restless. "Close the window and give me the money!" said Bender. "Now listen! Here's five roubles. Go down to the quay, hire a boat for a couple of hours, and wait for me by the riverside just below the warehouse. We're going for an evening boat trip. Don't worry about me. I'm in good form today." The Grossmeister entered the clubroom. He felt in good spirits and knew for certain that the first move-pawn to king four-would not cause him any complications. The remaining moves were, admittedly, rather more obscure, but that did not disturb the smooth operator in the least. He had worked out a surprise plan to extract him from the most hopeless game. The Grossmeister was greeted with applause. The small club-room was decorated with coloured flags left over from an evening held a week before by the lifeguard rescue service. This was clear, furthermore, from the slogan on the wall:
ASSISTANCE TO DROWNING PERSONS IS Date: 2015-01-02; view: 752
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