Heads You Win

Alexander was double-checking each line for spelling mistakes, and to see if he could think of a more appropriate English word, when he heard the front door open. His tummy began to rumble, and he wondered if his mother had been able to smuggle any tidbits out of the officers’ club, where she was the cook. He closed his book and went to join her in the kitchen.

Elena gave him a warm smile as he sat down on a wooden bench at the table.

“Anything special tonight, Mama?” Alexander asked hopefully.

She smiled again, and began to empty her pockets, producing a large potato, two parsnips, half a loaf of bread, and this evening’s prize, a steak that had probably been left on an officer’s plate after lunch. A veritable feast, thought Alexander, compared to what his friend Vladimir would be eating tonight. There’s always someone worse off than you, his mother often reminded him.

“Any news?” Elena asked as she began to peel the potato.

“You ask me the same question every night, Mama, and I keep telling you that I don’t expect to hear anything for at least another month, possibly longer.”

“It’s just that your father would be so proud if you won the Lenin Scholarship.” She put down the potato and placed the peel to one side. Nothing would be wasted. “You know, if it hadn’t been for the war, your father would have gone to university.”

Alexander was very aware, but always happy to be reminded how Papa had been stationed on the eastern front as a young corporal during the siege of Leningrad, and although a crack Panzer division had attacked his section continuously for ninety-three days, he’d never left his post until the Germans had given up and retreated to their own country.

“For which he was awarded the Defence of Leningrad medal,” said Alexander on cue.

His mother must have told him the story a hundred times, but Alexander didn’t tire of it, although his father never raised the subject. And now, almost twenty-five years later, after returning to the docks he’d risen to Comrade Chief Supervisor, with three thousand workers under his command. Although he wasn’t a party member, even the KGB acknowledged that he was the only man for the job.

The front door opened and closed with a bang, announcing that his father was home. Alexander smiled as he strode into the kitchen. Tall and heavily built, Konstantin Karpenko was a handsome man who could still make a young woman turn and take a second look. His weather-beaten face was dominated by a luxuriantly bushy mustache that Alexander remembered stroking as a child, something he hadn’t dared to do for several years. Konstantin slumped down onto the bench opposite his son.

“Supper won’t be ready for another half hour,” said Elena as she diced the potato.

“We must only speak English whenever we are alone,” said Konstantin.

“Why?” asked Elena in her native tongue. “I’ve never met an Englishman in my life, and I don’t suppose I ever will.”

“Because if Alexander is to win that scholarship and go to Moscow, he will have to be fluent in the language of our enemies.”

“But the British and Americans fought on the same side as us during the war, Papa.”

“On the same side, yes,” said his father, “but only because they considered us the lesser of two evils.” Alexander gave this some thought as his father stood up. “Shall we have a game of chess while we’re waiting?” he asked. Alexander nodded. His favorite part of the day. “You set up the board while I go and wash my hands.”

Once Konstantin had left the room, Elena whispered, “Why not let him win for a change?”

“Never,” said Alexander. “In any case, he’d know if I wasn’t trying, and leather me.” He pulled open the drawer below the kitchen table and took out an old wooden board and a box containing a set of chess pieces, one of which was missing, so each night a plastic salt cellar had to substitute for a bishop.

Alexander moved his king’s pawn two squares forward, before his father returned. Konstantin responded immediately, moving his queen’s pawn one square forward.

“How did you do in the match?” he asked.

“We won three nil,” said Alexander, moving his queen’s knight.

“Another clean sheet, well done,” said Konstantin. “Although you’re the best goalkeeper the school’s had in years, it’s still more important to win that scholarship. I assume you still haven’t heard anything?”

“Nothing,” said Alexander, as he made his next move. It was a few moments before his father countered. “Papa, can I ask if you’ve managed to get a ticket for the match on Saturday?”

“No,” admitted his father, his eyes never leaving the board. “They’re rarer than a virgin on Nevsky Prospect.”

“Konstantin!” said Elena. “You can behave like a docker when you’re at work, but not at home.”

Konstantin grinned at his son. “But your uncle Kolya has been promised a couple of tickets on the terraces, and as I have no interest in going…” Alexander leaped in the air as his father made his next move, pleased to have distracted his son.