Several challengers immediately stepped forward. Ivan collected their money and recorded their names in a little notebook, before allocating a chair to each of the six contestants. Several people looked disappointed not to have been chosen, and one of them shouted, “Any side bets?”
“Of course. Same odds, three to one. Just tell me which player you’re backing.” Several other names entered his little notebook. “The book’s closed,” said Ivan once the last person had placed his bet. He walked across to Alex, who was staring down at the six boards, removed the scarf from around his neck, placed it over Alex’s eyes, and tied it with a firm knot.
“Turn him around so he’s not facing the boards,” demanded a disbeliever.
Alex swung around even before Ivan had a chance to respond.
“You first,” said Ivan, pointing to a nervous-looking young man who was seated at board number one. “Pawn to queen’s bishop 3,” said Ivan in English, and waited for Alex’s instruction.
“Pawn to queen 3,” he responded.
Ivan nodded to an older man who was peering down at board number two through thick-rimmed glasses. “Pawn to king 3,” he said, and moved on to the third board once Alex had responded.
The crowd huddled around the players and studied all six boards intently, while whispering among themselves. Board number four admitted defeat within thirty minutes, and after another hour only one board was still in play.
A burst of applause broke out when board number three knocked his king over. Ivan removed the scarf from around Alex’s eyes before he turned to face the crowd and took a bow.
“Will we get a chance to win our money back?” demanded one of the losing players.
“Of course,” said Ivan. “Come back in a couple of hours, and to make it even more interesting, my partner will play ten boards.” Alex tried not to show the anxiety he felt. “Let’s go, kid,” said Ivan once the crowd had dispersed, “and have that pizza your mother promised.”
When they entered Mario’s Pizza Parlor it was clear that Elena was no longer doing the washing up. She was standing at a large wooden table, kneading a lump of fresh dough until it was flat and even. She was so skillful that she produced a new base every ninety seconds.
Another chef then moved in and checked the order, before he covered the dough with the next customer’s chosen ingredients. It was then scooped up on what looked to Alex like a flat wooden spade and placed into an open wood-burning oven by a third chef, who took it out three minutes later and shoveled it onto a waiting plate. Alex calculated that they were producing a piping hot pizza every six minutes. Americans clearly didn’t like to be kept waiting.
Elena smiled when she looked up and saw her son.
“This is Ivan,” said Alex. “We work together at the market.”
Elena pointed to one of the few unoccupied tables.
“How much did we make?” asked Alex once they’d sat down.
Ivan checked his notebook. “Nineteen dollars,” he whispered.
“Then you owe me nine dollars and fifty cents,” said Alex, holding out his hand.
“Not so fast, kid. Don’t forget you’ve got a bigger challenge this afternoon, so we’ll settle up at the end of the day.”
“If any of them are as good as the guy on board three, we might even lose the odd match.”
“Which wouldn’t be a bad thing,” said Ivan, as a waitress placed two pizzas and a couple of Cokes in front of them.
“How come?”
“If you lose the occasional game, the suckers become more interested. It’s a gambler’s weakness. If they see someone else win, it convinces them it’s their turn next,” said Ivan, before he devoured a large slice of pizza. “Must remember to thank your mother,” he said, looking at his watch.
Alex glanced around at Elena, who hadn’t stopped turning out perfect pizza bases since they’d arrived. He wondered how long it would be before she was giving the orders.
“Right,” said Ivan, “let’s get back to work.”
* * *
When Alex arrived back home for dinner that night, he was surprised to find that Dimitri wasn’t sitting in his usual place.
“He was offered a job on a merchant ship bound for Leningrad,” Elena explained. “He had to leave on the first tide.”
“Do you sometimes wonder if Dimitri is too good to be true?”
“I judge people by their actions,” said Elena, raising an eyebrow, “and he couldn’t have been kinder to us.”
“I accept that. But why did he take such an interest in two Russians he didn’t know who might well have been criminals?”
“But we’re not criminals.”
“He had no way of knowing that. Or did he? And was it just a coincidence that he joined us on deck the first night we were on board?”
“But he’s a Russian, just like us,” protested Elena.
“Not just like us, Mama. He wasn’t born in Russia, but in New York. And I can tell you something else. His parents are very much alive.”
Elena turned to face Alex. “What makes you say that?”
“Because when he helps you with the washing up, he sometimes takes off his watch, and engraved on the back are the words, ‘Happy 30th, love, mom and dad,’ dated 2-14-68. Only last year. So perhaps…”
