The yogurt gambit in chess
David Bezmogis’s elegant, self-assured first novel The Free World follows the Russian-Jewish Krasnansky family out of the Soviet Union and into the West, and presumably, freedom. There are many plucky immigrant novels about brave souls escaping to the new world and making it against all odds…this isn’t one of those. That might yet happen, but in 1978 the family is stuck in Rome, waiting for their papers with thousands of other Russian Jews, half-dreading the future and wondering whether they were right to leave the old country. And they do what families do when they’re stuck together and facing uncertainty: they bicker.
The family patriarch Samuil, who had been a fairly important man in Latvia, is particularly bitter about their situation. He takes to visiting the club for emigres, where he meets a fellow army veteran.
—Are you a chess player? the man asked.
—I wouldn’t call myself one, Samuil lowered his newspaper and said.
—Do you follow the game at all?
—No more than anyone else.
—But you’re aware of the championships in the Philippines?
—Naturally.
…
—Ah yes, chess, Roidman said. Which is where we started. Now I am back to what I wanted to tell you originally about the curious incident at the chess match. The game was played to another draw, you see, but Korchnoi lodged a formal protest because, during the match, Karpov’s supporters brought Karpov a cup of blueberry yogurt. Korchnoi claims that this could have been a signal agreed upon by Karpov’s team. A secret tactic. They bring a cup of blueberry yogurt and it means: accept the draw. Or they bring strawberry and it means: knight to rook four. It’s wonderful. There’s no limit to human intrigue, is there?
We remember that during the world chess championship held in Baguio, Viktor Korchnoi accused a member of Anatoly Karpov’s entourage of hypnotizing him.
The Free World by David Bezmozgis is available at National Bookstores, Php695.