Heads You Win

Sasha was impressed, not only with the achievement, but also by her radiant beauty, which didn’t require any announcement.

“I’m surprised we haven’t seen you before, Sasha,” she said, touching his arm.

“He rarely abandons his books to join us lesser mortals,” said Ben, who didn’t notice that Sasha couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“I was hoping to be able to convince you to join CUCA.”

“CUCA?” repeated Sasha.

“The University Conservative club,” said Ben. “It was Fiona who recruited me.”

* * *

“I hear your speech at the Union went down rather well,” said Streator, moving a rook to protect his queen.

“The British are such a civilized people,” said Sasha, as he studied the board. “They allow anyone to express their views, however ridiculous or ill-informed they might be. I’m sure it won’t come as a surprise to you, sir, that we didn’t have a debating society at my school in Leningrad.”

“Dictators don’t care too much for other people’s opinions. Mind you, even the Duke of Wellington, after chairing his first Cabinet meeting as Prime Minister, was surprised to find that his colleagues didn’t seem willing simply to carry out his orders, but actually wanted to discuss the alternatives. It was some time before the Iron Duke was prepared to accept that his fellow Cabinet ministers might have opinions of their own.”

Sasha laughed, and moved his bishop.

“But be warned, Sasha, civilized as the British are, you shouldn’t assume that just because you’re clever, they will accept you as one of them. There are many who are suspicious of a first-class mind, while others will make a judgment based not on the words you say, but the accent in which they’re pronounced, and some will be against you the moment they hear your name. However, should you choose to remain at Trinity once you’ve taken your degree, you will only come up against such prejudice if you were foolish enough to venture outside these hallowed walls.”

It had never crossed Sasha’s mind that he might stay at Trinity and teach the next generation. Only a few days ago a Cabinet minister had encouraged him to consider a political career, and today his supervisor was suggesting that he should remain a

t Cambridge. He moved a pawn.

“You’re a natural,” said Streator, “and I’m sure the college will want to hold on to you.” He moved his rook again. “But I suppose you might consider us a pretty dull lot, and think there’s a far more exciting world out there for you to conquer.”

“I’m flattered that my future has even crossed your mind,” said Sasha as he picked up his queen.

“Do keep me informed of any plans you might have,” said Streator, “either way.”

“I only have one plan at the moment, sir. Checkmate.”

* * *

The phone on Dr. Streator’s desk began to ring, but he ignored it.

“The decision to divide Berlin into four Allied sectors following the Second World War was nothing more than a political compromise.” The phone stopped ringing. “And when those people living in what in 1949 became East Germany began to flee to the West in droves, the government’s reaction was to panic and build an eleven-foot-high barrier which became known as the Berlin Wall. This concrete monstrosity topped with barbed wire stretches for over ninety miles, with the sole purpose of preventing the citizens of East Germany escaping to the West.”

The phone began to ring again.

“Over a hundred people have lost their lives attempting to climb that wall. As a monument to the virtues of Communism, it has proved a public relations disaster.”

The phone stopped ringing.

“I hope that in my lifetime, and certainly in yours,” continued Streator, “we shall see it torn down, and Germany once again united as a single nation. That is the only way to guarantee a lasting peace in Europe.”

There was a loud rap on the door. Streator sighed, reluctantly rose from his place, and walked slowly across the room. He had already prepared his first sentence for the intruder. He opened the door to find the senior porter standing there, flushed and clearly embarrassed.

“Perkins, I am in the middle of a supervision, and unless the college is on fire, or about to be invaded by Martians, I would be obliged—”

“Worse than Martians, sir, far worse.”

“And what, pray, could be worse than Martians, Perkins?”

“Nine men from Oxford are lurking in the porter’s lodge, intent on doing battle.”