Chapter 3 three

I have never seriously studied chess in my life. The reason is very simple. I just play chess for fun, purely for entertainment.If I sometimes play chess for hours, it's not at all to strain my mind.Instead, it's about stretching your nerves after intense mental work.I play chess in the full sense of the word "game", while real chess players play chess. "Really", if I can say that, playing chess is like falling in love, you must have an opponent, but I didn't know at that time whether there were other chess lovers on board besides us.To lure them out of the hole, I set a very simple trap in the smoking room.I lure game by sitting at the chess table with my wife, even though my wife is a worse player than I am.Sure enough, we had less than six moves, and a passenger next to us stopped, and then the second one asked us to allow him to watch the game from the sidelines. Finally, we got our wish and found an opponent. His next set.The man's name was McConnor, a Scottish mining engineer who was said to have saved a fortune drilling for oil in California.McConnor was a short, stocky man with square jaws and strong teeth.His face was well-coloured, purple, probably from, at least in part, the fact that he had had too much whiskey.This person's shoulders are surprisingly broad, almost as powerful as a competitor, but it is a pity that he also shows a forceful posture when playing chess.For Mr. McConnor was one of those self-righteous, self-satisfied men who, even in the most insignificant contests, regard defeat as a degrading of their own.This big man is used to relying on his own ability to fight hard to achieve success in life. He is full of a special sense of superiority in his heart, so that he regards any resistance as an extremely inappropriate resistance to himself. own insult.When he lost the first game, he became sullen and began to babble, explaining in an irrefutable tone that he had lost the game only because of a momentary negligence.After losing the third set, he blamed the noise in the living room next door.Every time he loses a game, he never fails to say that he will play another game.At first, I thought his aggressiveness was funny, but then I had to bite the bullet and endure it. Since I want to achieve the intended purpose and bring the world champion to our table, I have to Put up with this sir.

①The second part of the word "chess" (Schachspiel), spiel, is "game", so the author said that in line with the original meaning of the word "game", but "seriously". On the third day my plan succeeded, but only half.Perhaps Czentovic saw us playing chess through the portholes on the upper deck, or perhaps it was just a general thought of visiting the smoking room.In short, when the world champion finds that someone dares to play his skill without authorization, he can't help but take a step closer, keep a proper distance, and cast a glance at the chessboard for inspection.It was time for McConnor to go.Just watching him make such a move, Czentovic immediately understood that for a master like him, our layman's game is not worth watching again.Just like when we saw a poor detective novel being promoted in a bookstore, we didn't even bother to open it, just put it down, so the world champion left our chess table and walked out of the smoking room. "He weighed it and found it meaningless," I thought.His cold, contemptuous gaze somewhat irritated me.To vent my anger, I said to McConnor:

"It seems that your chess champion doesn't seem to appreciate it very much." "What champion?" I explained to him that the gentleman who just walked past us and watched us play chess disapprovingly was the world chess champion Czentovic.I added that we wouldn't be sad because he looked down on me, and we got over it by gritting our teeth: for the poor, they have to live a poor life with nothing but food and drink!To my surprise these offhand words had an entirely unexpected effect on McConnor.He immediately became excited and completely forgot about our game of chess.The idea of ​​fame and fame immediately began to move in his mind.He said it never occurred to him that, with Czentovic on board, the champion would have to play chess with him anyway.He has never played chess with a world champion in his life, except once with forty other people, he played a round of chess with him, and even this round of chess was so tense that he almost lost his hand. I won.He asked me if I knew the champion, and I said no.He asked me again, would you like to say hello to the champion and invite him to play a game of chess with us?I declined, on the grounds that, as far as I knew, Czentovic didn't like to make new acquaintances.Besides, what's the point of playing chess with third-rate chess players like us to the world champion?

It seems that to someone with strong self-esteem like McConnor, I shouldn't say anything about a third-rate chess player.He leaned back in his chair angrily and said roughly that he couldn't believe that Czentovic would refuse a gentleman's polite invitation.He will find a way to invite.At his request, I gave him a brief description of the champion.So McConnor left the unfinished game alone, and ran impatiently to the upper deck in pursuit of Czentovic.At this time, I once again felt that if a person with such broad shoulders wanted to do something, he couldn't stop him no matter what.

I waited rather nervously.Ten minutes later McConnor returned, looking not in a very happy mood. "How?" I asked. "You're right," replied McConnor, somewhat annoyed, "not a very pleasant gentleman. I introduced myself to him and told him who I was, but he didn't even offer me his hand. I tried to explain to him that all the passengers on board our ship would be proud and honored if he would be willing to engage in a round with us. But his attitude was unkind. He replied that it is a pity that he and he His manager has a contract that stipulates that he can only play paid exhibition games while traveling, and that the minimum amount of remuneration per game is two hundred and fifty dollars."

I laughed. "It never occurred to me that moving the pieces from white squares to black squares would be such a profitable business. I think you should bid him farewell politely." McConnor, however, remained prim. "The match is scheduled for tomorrow at three o'clock in the smoking room. I hope we don't get beaten by him so easily." "What? You promised him two hundred and fifty dollars?!" I exclaimed in complete surprise. "Why not? C'est son metier. If I have a toothache, and there happens to be a dentist on board, I can't ask him to extract my tooth for nothing. He's doing the right thing, and he should be ripped off. Where A true professional is also the shrewdest businessman. As for me, I am of the opinion that business should be done as honestly as possible. I would rather give your cash to your Czentovic than beg for his favor and have to pay in the end. Big thanks to him. Besides I've lost more than $250 in one night at our club and that's not playing against world champions. There's nothing shameful about 'third-rate' players losing to Czentovic .”

① French: This is his profession. It was amused to me that McConnor's ego was so stingingly wounded by my innocuous term "third-rate chess player."But since he intends to pay for such expensive amusements, I have no objection to his inappropriate vanity.Besides, thanks to his vanity, I had the opportunity to meet people who interested me.We hastened to tell the story to four or five gentlemen who had by now called themselves chess lovers, and asked them to pre-book not only our table, but all the adjacent tables, for the upcoming game, so that as soon as possible Disturbance from other passing passengers may be avoided.

At the appointed time the next day, all of us arrived on time, and no one was left behind.The table directly opposite the champion, of course, gave way to McConnor.He was agitated, smoking one strong cigar after another, and looking anxiously at his watch again and again.However, the world champion kept everyone waiting for ten minutes (thinking of the stories my friend told, I had already expected him to do this trick), so his appearance was extraordinarily grand.He approached the table with poise and deliberation.He didn't introduce himself to everyone—his rudeness seemed to be saying: "You all know who I am, but I'm not at all interested in who you are"—and immediately used a dry Baba, routine tone began to make specific arrangements.Because there are not so many chessboards on board, it is impossible to carry out wheel battles, so he suggested that we all run against him together.He walked, then retreated to a table at the other end of the room so as not to interfere with our discussion.After we had been down for a while, we tapped the tea cups with tea spoons, because unfortunately we didn't have a bell to ring.If there is no objection, he suggests that each step be considered for a maximum of ten minutes.Of course, like timid schoolchildren, we accepted all his suggestions.Czentovic called for the sunspots; he made a move while standing, then immediately turned around and retreated to the waiting place he had just suggested.He was lazily lying in the easy chair, flipping through a pictorial.

Reporting on this game of chess doesn't make much sense.It goes without saying that it ended, as predicted, in our total defeat, and that only twenty-four moves had been made.The fact that the world champion easily defeated half a dozen mediocre or very bad players is not surprising in itself; but it is Czentovic's arrogance that makes us all very disgusted. Us, without breaking a sweat.Every time he walked to the table, he deliberately glanced at the chessboard with a seemingly casual look, and ignored us at all, as if we were also lifeless wooden chess pieces.He had the attitude of people throwing a bone to a mangy dog ​​without even bothering to look at it.I think if he had been a little more thoughtful and measured, he could have pointed out our mistakes, or given us some kind words of encouragement.However, even after the game was over, the inhuman chess robot didn't make a sound.He said "checkmate" and stood motionless by the table, obviously wondering if we were going to play another game.There's nothing you can do about such dull and rude people.I have stood up from my seat, and I am ready to gesture, at least for me, as soon as the dollar deal is settled, our pleasant acquaintance will come to an end.But, to my annoyance, at that very moment McConnor, who was sitting next to me, said in a very hoarse voice, "One more plate!"

What surprised me was McConnor's defiant tone, for for a moment he did look more like a boxer about to throw a punch than a well-mannered gentleman.Perhaps it was Czentovic's insulting treatment of us that made him angry, or perhaps his morbid self-esteem was easily stimulated, but whatever the reason, McConnor was completely different.His face was flushed all the way to the root of his hair, the wings of his nose were dilated due to the excitement in his heart, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and a deep wrinkle stretched from his tightly biting lips to his aggressively protruding chin past.I noticed uncomfortably that his eyes gleamed with the uncontrollable anger usually reserved for gamblers at the table when the hand he needed failed six or seven times in a row after a multiplied raise. Words that do not appear.By then I understood that this competitive zealot was going to keep playing chess with Czentovic, betting normal or doubled bets, until he won at least one game, even if it cost him money. He would not spare all his property.If Czentovic persisted, McConnor would become his veritable gold vault, from which he could scoop up a few thousand dollars before he got to Buenos Aires.