Chapter 10 ten

The opening routine of the game moves fairly quickly.It wasn't until the seventh or eighth move that I could see a clue, as if there was a predetermined plan unfolding.Dovic thinks longer and longer; from this we can see that the real battle for superiority is now beginning.But to be honest, the gradual evolution of the situation, like the chess game in every real game, is quite disappointing for us laymen.Because each chess piece is interlaced with each other more and more forms a special pattern.So for us, the real situation is becoming more and more difficult to understand.We can see neither the purpose of this opponent nor the purpose of that opponent, and it is unclear which of the two opponents is really in an advantageous position.We only found that individual chess pieces moved forward like crowbars, trying to open a gap in the opponent's line.But what is the strategic intention of walking around like this, we can't understand, because these brilliant chess players play chess, and they have to see several moves in advance for each move.Gradually there was added a paralyzing fatigue, which was mainly to blame for Czentovic's endless thoughts, and which apparently also began to annoy our friend.I noticed with unease that the longer the game dragged on, the more restless he began to fidget, squirming in his chair, smoking one cigarette after another nervously, grabbing a pencil and jotting down notes. order something.Then he asked for mineral water again, and hurriedly filled up the water glass after glass. Obviously, his association with the chess game was a hundred times faster than that of Czentovic.Every time Czentovic, after endless deliberation, made up his mind, moved a pawn forward with his clumsy hand, our friend smiled, like one who sees a long-awaited event finally happen. Same, he immediately returned a move.His mind was running so fast that he must have calculated all the opponent's possibilities in advance; therefore, the longer Czentovic dragged on considering a move, the more impatient Dr. B became.As he waited, his lips were pursed in an angry, almost hostile air.But Czentovic was in no hurry, he was thinking tenaciously, without saying a word, the fewer pieces on the board, the longer he paused.By the time we reached the forty-second move, two hours and three quarters of an hour had passed. We were all exhausted sitting at the chess table, and we were almost indifferent to the game.One of the officers on the ship had already left, and the other was reading with a book. He raised his eyes and took a look only when the two sides moved the chess pieces.But at this time, Czentovic made a move, and something unexpected happened suddenly. As soon as Dr. B saw it, Czentovic picked up the horse and was about to jump forward, crouching like a cat before it jumped up.His whole body began to tremble; as soon as Czentovic jumped, he pushed his back forward and exclaimed triumphantly: "Okay! That's over!" With a hug on his chest, he looked directly at Czentovic with provocative eyes.Suddenly a fiery light burned in his pupils.

We all could not help bending over the board, trying to make sense of the move so triumphantly announced.At first glance, there appears to be no immediate threat.So, our friend's words must be referring to the development of the game, which we slow-witted amateurs can't figure out for a while.Czentovic was the only one among us who did not move at the provocative proclamation; reaction.We all held our breath, the only sound we could hear was the ticking of the pocket watch on the table.Three minutes later, seven minutes later, eight minutes later—Czentovic remained motionless.But it seemed to me that an inner tension made his thick nostrils dilate even more.It seemed that our friends found this silent waiting as unbearable as we did.He stood up suddenly and suddenly, and began to pace up and down the smoking-room, slowly at first, then faster and faster.We all looked at him with some surprise, but no one was so anxious as I was.For I noticed that, though his steps were hasty, he always went back and forth within a certain range; it was as if every time he encountered an invisible railing in this empty room, forcing him to turn around and walk back.My hairs stood on end as I noticed that he had unknowingly marked out the size of his former cell by walking around like this: during the months of his captivity, he must have just happened to be cramping his hands like this, Shoulders hunched, like a caged animal, running to and fro; he must have run around like this a thousand times there, with mad red flashes in his frozen, feverish eyes. flames.But his mental faculties didn't seem to be hurt yet, as he turned his face to the table from time to time to see if Czentovic had made a decision during the interval.Nine minutes passed, ten minutes passed.And then at last something happened that none of us expected.Czentovic slowly raised his clumsy hand, which had been resting motionless on the table.We all watched with great nervousness what decision he would make.But Czentovic did not move, but turned his hand over, and with the back of his hand decisively swept all the pieces off the board slowly.It took us a while to understand: Czentovic had given up on the game.In order not to be visibly checkmated in front of us, he surrendered.The unthinkable finally happened: the world champion, winner of countless international tournament titles, lowered his flag in front of an unknown man, someone who hadn't touched a chessboard for twenty or twenty-five years.Our friend, the anonymous stranger, defeated the greatest chess player in the world in open combat!

We didn't feel it ourselves, and everyone stood up one by one in excitement.We all have this feeling that we have to say something, or do something, to vent our surprise.Czentovic alone sat still and remained calm.It was a long time before he raised his head and looked at our friend with his glazed eyes. "Another set?" he asked. "That goes without saying." Dr. B replied cheerfully.I felt quite uncomfortable listening to it.Before I had time to remind him that he had said something beforehand: only play a game, never more, he had already sat down and hastily rearranged the chess pieces.His movements were so violent that twice a pawn slipped through his trembling fingers and fell to the ground.Seeing his unnaturally excited appearance, I have long felt sad and uncomfortable, and now this feeling has developed into a kind of worry and fear.Because this person who was originally so quiet and serene became obviously extremely excited now, the corners of his mouth twitched more and more frequently, his body seemed to be suffering from a severe cold and fever, and he couldn't stop shaking.

"Stop!" I whispered in his ear. "Stop it now! Call it a day! This is too much work for you." "Struggling! Haha!" he laughed loudly and viciously. "If I hadn't been so slow, I could have played seventeen games in this time! Put yourself to sleep!--good! Now play chess!" These last words he said to Czentovic in a tone that seemed violent and brusque.Czentovic gave him a calm, unhurried glance, his glazed gaze somewhat like a clenched fist.Suddenly there was something new between the two chess players: a dangerous tension, a fierce hatred.They are no longer two chess friends who intend to show each other their skills in a game, but two enemies who swear to destroy each other.Before taking the first step, Czentovic hesitated for a long time, and I clearly felt that he deliberately delayed for so long.The trained strategist had figured out that he could just play slowly to exhaust and piss his opponent off.So it took him at least four minutes to open the game in the most common and simplest way, that is, to move the king's pawn forward by two squares in the usual way.Our friend immediately went up to meet his king's pawn, but Czentovic's interminable pause was almost unbearable; like after a strong lightning bolt, everyone waited with fear for the thunderbolt, But the thunder never came, and Czentovic sat motionless.He pondered over and over again, quietly and slowly, I felt more and more clearly that he was very viciously slow; but this way, he gave me enough time to observe Dr. B. Dr. B had just downed his third glass of water; I couldn't help thinking he told me that he was feverishly thirsty in his cell.All the signs of perverse agitation were evident in him.I noticed beads of sweat on his forehead, and the scars on his hands were redder and deeper than before.But he still controlled himself.Until the fourth move, Czentovic was still thinking endlessly like this, Dr. B lost his self-control, and he suddenly yelled at Czentovic:

"You take a step!" Czentovic looked up and gave him a cold look. "As far as I know, we have an appointment first, and the thinking time for each move is ten minutes. In principle, I don't need to play chess for a shorter time." Dr. B. Ten bit his lip; I noticed that his heels were tapping the floor under the table more and more restlessly.I couldn't help becoming more nervous myself, troubled by a premonition that something absurd was brewing in him.Sure enough, there was another small disturbance at the eighth step. Dr. B waited and waited, losing self-control more and more, unable to control his inner tension any longer; he swayed back and forth in his chair, and began to tap his fingers on the table unconsciously.Czentovic raised his heavy, stout head again.

"May I ask you not to knock on the table? It's in my way. I can't play chess that way." "Haha!" Dr. B laughed shortly. "Everyone has seen that." Czentovic flushed. "What do you mean by that?" he said sharply and fiercely. Dr. B gave another short, vicious smile. "Nothing, I just wanted to say that you are obviously very nervous." Czentovic kept his head down without saying a word. It was seven minutes before he made a move, and the game dragged on at such a slow pace.Czentovic seemed to be turning more and more into a stone statue; in the end he always used up the allotted thinking time before deciding on a move.From one lull to the next, our friend's behavior became more and more odd.It seemed that he didn't care about the game of chess he was playing at all, but was thinking about another thing that had nothing to do with it.He no longer ran to and fro in a hurry, but sat motionless in his seat.His eyes were straight, and he was even a little confused, staring blankly ahead.He was muttering to himself all the time, saying some inexplicable things.Either he was immersed in endless game associations, or he—this is my deepest suspicion—was dreaming up other games, because every time Czentovic finally made a move, someone had to remind him Only then can he call him back from his absent-minded look.Then he always takes only a minute to re-justify the situation; I suspect more and more that his psychosis has exploded in this quiet form, and that he may have forgotten Czentovic and us all long ago. Second, this psychosis is likely to burst out suddenly in some violent form.Sure enough, when the nineteenth move was played, the crisis broke out.As soon as Czentovic moved his piece, Dr. B, without a quick glance at the board, suddenly advanced his bishop three squares, and then yelled, startling us all.

"General! General!" Convinced that he had made a decisive move, we all looked at the board at once.But a minute later, something happened that none of us expected.Czentovic looked up very, very slowly and looked at us one by one—he had never looked at us like this before.He seemed to be enjoying something to the fullest, for a contented, apparently ironic smile crept across his lips.Not until he had fully enjoyed this victory, which we still do not understand, did he address us with false politeness: "Unfortunately—but I don't know how to 'general' yet. Perhaps some of you gentlemen have seen that my king has been generaled?"

We all looked at the chessboard, and then at Dr. B with uneasiness.Sure enough, Czentovic's king - as every child could see - was protected by a pawn and was not threatened by the elephant at all, so his king could not be generalized.We all feel uneasy.Could it be that our friend moved a chess piece in a hurry, one square farther or one square closer?Our silence caught Dr. B's attention, and now he, too, was staring at the chessboard, and began to stammer violently: "But the king should be on this square...he is in the wrong place, completely wrong. You made the wrong move! All the pieces on this board are in the wrong place...the pawn should be here...that's completely wrong It's another game of chess... this is..."

He stopped abruptly.I grabbed his arm hard, or rather, I pinched it hard.That way, even in his feverish panic, he'll still feel me pinching him.He turned and stared at me like a sleepwalker. "What do you want?" I didn't have anything, just said "Remember!" and touched the scar on his hand with my finger.He couldn't help repeating my movements, his eyes staring blankly at the blood-red scar.Then suddenly he began to shake, and a shiver ran through his body. "My God," whispered his pale lips, "did I say or do something stupid... Did I...?"

"No," I whispered to him, "but you must stop this game at once. It's a critical moment. Remember what the doctor told you!" Dr. B stood up abruptly. "I beg your pardon for my stupid mistake," he said again in his old polite voice, bowing to Czentovic. "What I have just said is, of course, pure nonsense. It goes without saying that you have won the game." Then he added to us, "Gentlemen, I also beg your forgiveness. But I have warned you beforehand." Please, don't expect too much from me. Please forgive me for making a fool of myself—this is my last attempt at chess."

He bowed and went away, as humble and mysterious as when he first appeared.Only I know why this person never touched the chessboard again in this life, while the rest of the people stayed there in a daze, feeling vaguely in their hearts that they were almost involved in an extremely unpleasant incident just now. dangerous incidents. "Damned fool!" McConnor muttered in disappointment.Czentovic was the last to get up from his chair, and he glanced at the half-played game. "It's a pity," he said magnanimously, "that the plan of attack is not bad. For an amateur, this gentleman is a very unusual genius."