Tom Rachman - The Rise & Fall of Great Powers

Since Tooly had met neither of those people, she struggled to imagine their reactions.

“But is good to meet fellow intellectual,” he continued. “I celebrate occasion with small drink. Unfortunate, I am impossibility to move.”

“Why?”

“Because I find myself in sitting position. Might I ask of you one glass tonic water, one glass wodka? This makes two glasses. Separate glasses. Not mix up. You can do? If you don’t want, is okay.”

She proceeded downstairs. Jaime was so busy that he barely noticed her seeking his attention. A Thai ladyboy, also waiting, smiled as Tooly nosed around the bottles. “Okay, sweetie pie?”

“I’m supposed to get tonic water and ‘what-something.’ ”

“The tonic water is — I just saw it. Look, it’s there.”

Tooly went behind the bar and poured herself a plastic cup of tonic water, drawing a glance from Jaime, who nearly said something but was occupied.

“There’s nothing called ‘what-something,’ honey,” the ladyboy said. “You go check.”

Tooly returned upstairs, and found Humphrey shifting chess pieces in animated debate with himself. He glimpsed her approaching; his eyes warmed. “I think you not come back.”

“What was the second thing?”

“First thing, tonic water. Second thing, wodka.”

“What is ‘what-kuh’?”

“What is wodka? Is like water, but with consequences.”

“Consequences?”

“I mean detrimental.” He stressed the first syllable: DET-rimental. “For high-quality chess athlete, wodka is highly detrimental.”

She held still, bewildered.

“Don’t worry. Is okay. Sit.” From the storage room behind him, he found a spare folding chair and set it up for her on the other side of the card table. She sat, but found herself too far, her arms unable to reach the chessboard. With mock grumbles, he dragged the chair (with her in it) until her chest touched the table. She tucked one leg under her backside, which raised her, her other leg dangling, shoe tip above the floor, sight line over a forest of chess pieces.

“What your name is?”

“Tooly.”

He asked again. She repeated her answer.

He clapped his thigh, laughing uproariously. “Most ridiculous name I hear in entire life! I would not believe it, if I do not hear it with my own eyes!”

“What’s your name?”

“Humphrey Ostropoler.”

“That sounds like the name of an elephant,” she said, though this made her think of the nail board used to hunt elephants, which made her think of Sarah, which made her worry, which reminded her of Paul.

“You think Humphrey Ostropoler sounds like name of Asian elephant,” he asked, “or African elephant?”

“The one with big ears.”

“All elephants have big ears. This is why they are elephants not mices. So,” he said, setting up the pieces, “you think you can win me at chess?”

“Humphrey Ostropoler, did you see Sarah? I can’t find her. I think I’m supposed to go home soon. I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.”

“Don’t worry. You wait few minutes and she will find you. I keep eyes on you. Make sure nobody bother you. Is okay?”

She nodded, studying the pieces. “Where are you from, Humphrey Ostropoler?”

“From Soviet Union.”

She looked up, knowing only terrifying things of that country. She’d never met anyone from there, a place she imagined surrounded by a tall curtain, behind which were wrinkled villains stroking nuclear bombs able to blow up the world nine times over. “Do you like it there?”

“Is no-good country. You must stand in line for buying cabbage.”

“I don’t like cabbage.”

“Me also. So imagine, you in line two hours and this is what you get. No-good country. Now we play.” With precision, he adjusted each piece to the center of its square. “I tell you, Miss Tooly, you are going to wish very much— very much —that you bring me not only one wodka, but maybe seven. Because, as top-quality chess athlete, I beat you left, right, and center. I not show mercy because you are small-sized person. Game of chess is not …” But he couldn’t find words for what it wasn’t, so resumed: “I am top-ten chess athlete and you are, I predict, maybe only top fifty. For this, Miss Tooly, I give you three cheating opportunities.”

“How do you mean?”

“When you make mistake move, you can take it back. Three times you can. Also, because I am good-heart man, I tell you rules first.”

At each of her turns, she took many minutes, wanting to pose a hundred questions yet remaining silent and stuck. She twisted her hair into two ropes, clutching them, sucking a loose strand.

“You eat own hair — I never see such sneak tactic like this! Not even Spassky-Fischer tactics.” Nevertheless, he let her take her time and nodded sagely as she pondered her options, as if to confirm the wisdom of her cogitation.

“These pointy ones,” she asked finally, “can they jump two squares?”

“Pointy ones go like this.” He demonstrated. “For examples, this square here. I know you already think of this because it threatens bishop at K4. Or maybe you prefer castling to control center?”

After a respectful wait, she pushed a timid pawn.

“This move is detrimental. I take your queen again.”

“Can I have a cheating opportunity?”

“Is cheating opportunity number nine.”

She counted in her head. “Eight,” she said, then chose another move, equally disastrous.

“You are swimming on thin ice.”

She moved again.

“Now you are skating on hot water.”

Two moves later, it was checkmate. He reached across the board, sandwiched her little hand between his. “Thank you, darlink. Even though I beat pants onto you, you are high-quality intellectual.” He sent her off to fetch his wodka as a prize, writing the word in blockletter printing for her to show the barman, and providing a banknote, too. She declined this, explaining that everything at the bar was free.

At the top of the stairs, she hesitated, worried about leaving her book bag with someone from the Soviet Union. Might he look inside? Actually, he had a good nose to draw. She pushed through the drinks scrum and slipped behind the bar, ticking her stumpy fingernails on the bottles, stopping at Smirnoff. To the amusement of Jaime, who watched but didn’t intervene, she raised it with both hands and poured it into a plastic cup, filling it nearly to the top.

“You paying for that?”

She shook her head.

“What is it with you and Sarah?”

“Did you see her?”

“I saw her when you got here. Then I saw her making out with Venn, but I … what?”

Tooly couldn’t suppress her horror. “You saw her smooching?”

A tipsy woman shouted for Jaime’s attention, and he turned to take the order, noticing too late that Tooly had again walked off without paying.

The plastic cup of vodka was too full to safely carry with one hand, so she held it with both, her mouth to the rim, the liquid burning her lips.

“Is good,” Humphrey said, taking a sip. “Now I help you find her.” He stood from behind the table, smoothed down his tie. “I sit for too long. My leg goes to bed.”

“To sleep?”

“Thank you, small person. At rare time, I am making mistake in English-language speaking, so thanks for accurate fixation. Now we find Sarah. You follow. Stay near. There are trivial beings everywhere.”

Once downstairs, they needed five minutes just to cross the room. Identifying anyone in that crowd was impossible for Tooly, whose height limited her to views of guts and butts. As for Humphrey, he had height but his vision was weak. So they agreed to get Tooly to a higher vantage point: the stepladder. A couple sat on its lower rungs but moved when Humphrey hoisted her up. She climbed the rest of the way, grasping each next rung. He stood at the bottom, keeping it steady, ready to catch her. “Is okay?”