Heads You Win

“There are always odd jobs going at the market,” said Alex, “especially on weekends.”

“I’d allow you to look for a weekend job but only if you can assure me it won’t interfere with your school work. I’d never forgive myself if you didn’t get a place at NYU.”

“It didn’t prevent my father—”

“Your father wanted you to go to college every bit as much as I do,” she said, ignoring the interruption. “And if you were to get a degree, who knows what you could achieve, especially in America?” Alex decided this wasn’t the time to let his mother know exactly what he had in mind for when he left school.

* * *

Although he worked hard at school during the week, Alex couldn’t wait for Saturdays, and the chance to make some real money.

“Will you clear up?” Elena asked as she put on her coat. “I don’t want to be late for work.”

Once he’d finished drying the dishes, quickly left the house, and started running down the road. As he approached Players’ Square that Saturday morning, he could hear the banter and cries of the basketball players on the nearby courts. He stopped and watched them for a few minutes, admiring their skill. He wished the Americans played football, something else he hadn’t thought about when he climbed into the crate. He hadn’t realized that there were no goalkeepers in American football. He put it out of his mind as he made his way across to the patch of grass set aside for chess players.

The first thing he saw was Ivan standing legs apart, hands on hips, wearing an unkempt sweater and faded jeans, with a black scarf around his neck.

“You’re late,” he said in Russian, glowering at him.

“It’s only a game,” said Alex, “so why not keep them waiting?”

“It’s not a game,” hissed Ivan. “It’s business. Never be late when it’s business. It gives your opponents an advantage.” Without another word he moved across to a row of six chessboards that had been lined up next to each other with an empty chair behind each board.

Ivan clapped his hands, and once he had caught the crowd’s attention, announced in a loud, clear voice, “This young man is willing to challenge any six of you to a game.” One or two potential opponents looked interested. “And to make it more interesting, he will be blindfolded. I will tell him each move his opponents make, and then wait for his instructions.”

“What odds are you offering?” demanded a voice from the crowd.

“Three to one. You put up a dollar, and if you beat him, I’ll give you three.”

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.”