CHAPTER 6. THE QUEEN'S GAMBIT.

February 6, 1935.

A pale, slender hand moves a white pawn from d2 to d4.

“Chess! A wonderful game! Look once again at this collection of atoms, John: a marble board, pieces woven from ivory. Looking at this board now, my mind is for some reason filled with thoughts of Scottish tartans… It's your turn, John—your move in that very game, whose antiquity can only be compared to another, no less entertaining, pastime: politics…”

A dark, muscular hand moves a black pawn from d7 to d5.

“I can't disagree with you, Mr. Butler. It is, indeed, a magnificent game! I like it most because there is always a winner and a loser…”

The pale, slender hand hesitated for a moment, but a second later, with a rather determined look, it moved the white pawn from c2 to c4.

“A winner? A loser? But a draw is possible in chess… and if two people play skillfully, it is almost always inevitable!”

The dark, muscular hand, without hesitating for a moment, moves the black pawn from d5 to c4, thereby toppling one of the pawns that were currently under the command of the pale, slender white hand.

“That's true, but in every game that for one reason or another ends in a draw, there is not only a winner but also a loser: if a player couldn't win, it means he made certain mistakes; if a player didn't lose, it means he didn't make critical mistakes… That's the nature of chess! And yet… nowadays here in Philadelphia, a truly modern person is significantly more interested in a different game—it's called Monopoly: in its strategic aspects, it is, in some ways, similar to the main theme of chess, and in matters of economics, it truly resembles politics…”

The pale hand uncertainly approached the square with a knight and immediately moved it from b1 to c3.

“Yes, certain things about this game have reached my ears, but I believe, despite the opposing arguments now circulating in the space around us, that human or, if you will, public interest in it… is temporary, because it is unable to give this world geniuses… geniuses like Jose Raul Capablanca, Alexander Alekhine, Emanuel Lasker, and Wilhelm Steinitz! Think about it! Why do people buy this game, Monopoly? Isn't it because within its confines, by immersing themselves in its essence, they can own everything that, in reality, due to certain social, economic, political, and most importantly, subjective factors, they are unable to own! No! Of course! Monopoly is a game for decades, it is a game for centuries… but unlike chess, it is not a game for epochs! And besides, one should not exclude the spatial aspect either—I am sincerely convinced that this pastime will only have local popularity: it will never be as popular worldwide as chess!”

The owner of the dark hand, as if having read his opponent's move in advance, hurriedly moved the black pawn from e7 to e5.

“And why is that? Because chess was created by a genius, it was created by nature itself, while Monopoly, in turn, was created by an inventor, it was created by man! And yet, Monopoly has a considerable number of followers…”

Meanwhile, the white pawn unhurriedly moved from d4 to d5.

“No more than chess! Isn't that right? Not only wealthy people play chess, but also the poor—Monopoly, on the other hand… is more the prerogative of the rich than of the poor! Look, even now—why are we playing chess now and not Monopoly? Isn't it because…? Bishop…”

The black bishop, a moment after it was barely mentioned by the lips of the truly marble-faced head of one of the notorious U.S. prisons, having very elegantly overcome space and time, suddenly found itself on d6, leaving the f8 square in silent solitude.

“It's very likely that your words, Mr. Butler, contain a grain of truth… At least, if I hadn't had the good fortune to be in the place of the wealthy, I would never, of course, with such choices, have chosen Monopoly: its rules would have already gotten quite tiresome for me in everyday life—buying, selling… factories, buildings…”

The prison warden, without the slightest hesitation, moved his pawn from e2 to e4—it seemed that at this moment, with every fiber of his soul, he fiercely desired, desired at all costs to continue the existing dialogue with the aforementioned prisoner, as if his own life were significantly connected with the life of that flame, regardless of the quality of that wood. Perhaps, before this chess game was to end, he most sincerely yearned to acquire some information, determined only by his mind—to acquire it, if not with the help of words, then, undoubtedly, verbally? Be that as it may, Mr. Butler tried to appear calm—and it must be admitted that he did so rather clumsily, but he still succeeded. His current and, what is more important, repeated opponent in the game, John, a prisoner with considerable experience, and accordingly a person who, due to the absence of a certain degree of physical freedom, had only one pastime—an extremely deep, detailed, and complex study of human nature—could not help but catch the very peculiar scent of that agitation with his keen sense of smell, however, due to a certain limitation of his mind, he, based on certain argument-pillars, hurriedly built, as it seemed to him, an extraordinarily strong bridge between the agitation in Mr. Butler's soul and the chess game now before their eyes: he had often witnessed such agitation in the hearts of athletes during football, basketball, and rugby matches—is chess not a similar kind of sports competition where not only the strongest and most agile wins, but also, what is more important, the smartest and most cunning?