Benn’s speech was frequently interrupted by cries of “Hear, hear!” and “Shame!” shouted with equal vehemence, and although Sasha didn’t agree with a word he said, it was undeniable that Benn had captured the attention of the whole house. When he resumed his place, the room reverberated with even louder cheers and cries of shame than before.
Admiral Sir Hugh Munro, a Conservative Member of Parliament, rose to oppose the motion. The gallant gentleman pointed out that if Britain had not fought for King and country in the Second World War, it would be Adolf Hitler who was sitting on the throne in Buckingham Palace, and not Queen Elizabeth II. This was greeted by hear, hears from that section of the audience who’d remained silent throughout Mr. Benn’s speech. Once the admiral had sat down, the two seconders spoke with equal passion, but it still looked to Sasha as if those in favor of the motion were going to carry the day.
He had listened carefully to all four speeches, still amazed that such diverse views could be expressed so openly without fear of any repercussions. In Leningrad, half the students would have been arrested by now, and at least two of the speakers sent to prison, if not shot.
The president rose from his seat once again, and invited members to speak from the floor, before a vote would be taken. “Two minutes only,” he said firmly.
One after another, a succession of undergraduates declared that they would never fight for Queen and country, while others asserted that they would die on the battlefield rather than be subjected to foreign rule. It was after a speech by a Mr. Tariq Ali, a former president of the Oxford Union, that Sasha found he could no longer restrain himself. Without thinking, he leaped up when the president called for the next speaker, and was shocked when Mr. Carey pointed in his direction.
Sasha was already regretting his decision as he walked slowly up to the front of the hall. The house fell silent, unsure which side he was going to support. He gripped the dispatch box to stop himself shaking.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sasha began almost in a whisper. “My name is Sasha Karpenko. I was born in Leningrad, where I spent the first sixteen years of my life, until the communists murdered my father.” For the first time, a silence fell upon the assembled gathering, and every eye in the room remained fixed on Sasha. “His crime,” he continued, “was to want to form a trade union so that his fellow dockworkers could enjoy rights that you in Britain take for granted. That is one of the privileges of living in a democracy. As Winston Churchill reminded us, Democracy is the worst form of government, except for all the others. I refuse to apologize for not having been born in this country, but I am grateful to have escaped the tyranny of Communism, and be allowed to attend this debate, a debate that could never take place in Russia. Because if it had, Mr. Wedgwood Benn would have been shot and Mr. Tariq Ali sent to the salt mines in Siberia.”
A few roars of hear, hear, good idea, were followed by raucous laughter. Sasha waited for silence to return before he continued. “You may laugh, but if we were in the Soviet Union, everyone who spoke in favor of this motion tonight would have been arrested, and every student who even attended the debate would have been expelled and sent to work in the docks. I know, because that’s what happened to me.” Sasha was quite unaware of the effect his words were having on his fellow students.
“My mother and I were able to escape from that totalitarian state, and were fortunate enough to end up in England, where we were welcomed as refugees. But I must tell this house, I would return to the Soviet Union tomorrow to fight that despotic regime, and be willing to die if I thought there was the slightest chance that the communists could be driven out and replaced by a democratic state in which every one of my countrymen would have a vote.”
The cheer that followed gave Sasha a chance to gather his thoughts. Only when he had complete silence did he continue. “It’s been fun to debate this motion without fear or favor, to have a vote, and then be allowed to join your friends in the bar. But had I made this speech in my country, I would have ended up behind bars, and spent many years, perhaps the rest of my life, in a labor camp. I beg you to defeat this motion, because supporting it will only give succor to those evil despots around the world who consider dictatorship a better system than democracy, just as long as they’re the dictator. Let us send a message from this house tonight, that we would rather die in defense of our country and its values than be subjected to tyranny.”
As Sasha made his way back to his place, the whole house rose to acknowledge him. He was touched to see both Mr. Wedgwood Benn and Mr. Ali on their feet joining in the ovation. When everyone had finally settled, the president stood again and invited the house to divide and cast their votes.
Twenty minutes later, the vice president rose from his place and declared that the motion had been defeated by 312 votes to 297. Sasha was immediately surrounded by a throng of students, congratulating him and wanting to shake his hand, while Ben sat back and basked in his triumph. A member of the committee leaned across and whispered in his ear. “The president wondered if you and your friend would care to join him for a drink in the committee room.”
“You bet,” said Ben, who led Sasha out of the hall and up a wide staircase to join the presidential party.
The first person to walk across and congratulate him was Mr. Wedgwood Benn.
“A magnificent contribution,” he said. “I can only hope you’re considering a career in politics. You have a lot to offer.”
“But I might not sit on your side of the house, sir,” said Sasha.
“Then I would consider you a worthy opponent, sir.”
Sasha was about to respond when they were joined by a young woman who also wanted to offer her congratulations.
“This is Fiona,” said Ben. “The only woman on the Union committee.”
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.”
“With whom?”
“With you, sir, and the members of the Cambridge chess team.”
“Typical of that lot to turn up on the wrong day,” said Streator. He returned to his desk, opened his diary, and said, “Bugger.”
Sasha had never heard the Senior Tutor swear before, and had certainly never known him lost for words.
“Bugger,” Streator repeated a few moments later. “I apologize, gentlemen,” he said, slamming his diary shut, “but I am going to have to cut this supervision short. I owe you,” he checked his watch, “nineteen minutes. Your essay this week will be on the role Konrad Adenauer played as the first chancellor of West Germany following the Second World War. I recommend that you read A. J. P. Taylor and Richard Hiscocks, who have differing opinions on the subject. I believe neither of them to be wholly correct, but don’t let that influence you,” he said as he headed out of the room. “Karpenko,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “as you’re a member of the Cambridge team, I suggest you join me.”
The porter hurried down the steps at a speed he only considered in grave emergencies, followed by the Senior Tutor, with Sasha bringing up the rear. When Streator entered the porter’s lodge, he was greeted with a warm smile by his opposite number, Gareth Jenkins, a Welshman he’d never really cared for, and eight Oxford undergraduates who were trying hard not to smirk.
“I’m so sorry, Gareth,” said Streator. “I thought the match was next week.”
“I think you’ll find that it’s scheduled for four o’clock this afternoon, Edward,” said Jenkins, handing over the letter of confirmation, with the Senior Tutor’s unmistakable signature scrawled along the bottom.
“Could you give me an hour or so, old chap, so I can rustle up the rest of my team?”
“I’m afraid not, Edward. The match is in the fixture list for four o’clock this afternoon, which leaves us,” he said, checking his watch, “sixteen minutes before play will commence. Otherwise it will be recorded as a whitewash.” The Oxford team were already celebrating.
“But I can’t possibly round up my entire team in sixteen minutes. Do be reasonable, Gareth.”
“Can you imagine what the reaction would have been had Montgomery said to Rommel, ‘Can you hold up the battle of El Alamein for an hour or so, old chap, I’ve got the wrong day and my men aren’t ready?’”
“This is not El Alamein,” replied Streator.
“Clearly not for you,” was Jenkins’s response.
“But I’ve only got one member of my team on hand,” said Streator, sounding even more frustrated.
“Then he’ll have to take on all eight of us,” said Jenkins, who paused before adding, “at the same time.”
“But—” protested Streator.
“That’s fine by me,” said Sasha.
“This should be amusing,” said Jenkins. “Not so much El Alamein as the Charge of the Light Brigade.”
Streator reluctantly led the Oxford team out of the lodge and across the court to the Junior Combination Room, where two college servants were quickly setting up a row of chessboards on the refectory table. Streator kept looking at the clock and then glancing toward the doorway in the hope that at least one other member of the team might turn up. But all he saw was a mass of undergraduates flooding in to witness the forthcoming annihilation.
The eight Oxford players took their places at the boards, ready for combat. Sasha, like Horatio, stood alone on the bridge, while Streator and Jenkins, as match referees, took up their positions at either end of the table.
As the clock on the wall struck four, Jenkins declared, “Time. Let the matches commence.”
Oxford’s top board moved his queen’s pawn two squares forward. Sasha responded by advancing his king’s pawn one square, just as the Cambridge captain came rushing into the hall.
“Sorry, sir,” he said, catching his breath. “I thought the match was next week.”
“Mea culpa,” admitted Streator. “Why don’t you take the second board, as the match has only just begun?”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” said Jenkins. “Our man has already made his first move, so the match is under way. Therefore your captain is no longer eligible to take part.”
Streator would have complained if he hadn’t thought Field Marshal Montgomery’s name would have been taken in vain a second time.
The Oxford second board made his opening move. Sasha countered immediately, as more undergraduates wandered into the hall to watch the challenger as he moved on to the next board. Within a few minutes, two more members of the Cambridge team had appeared, but they were also obliged to watch the encounter from the sidelines.
Sasha defeated his first opponent within twenty minutes, which was greeted with a warm round of applause. The next dark blue king fell eleven minutes later, by which time the whole of the Cambridge team were present, but as the hall was so packed they had to watch the proceedings from the balcony above.
The third and fourth Oxford men took a little longer to surrender to Sasha’s particular skills, but they nonetheless fell within the hour, by which time there was standing room only in the hall and the balcony was heaving with undergraduates, and even a few elderly dons.
The next three Oxford players kept Sasha occupied for another half hour, but eventually they too succumbed, leaving only their top board remaining on the battlefield. Be patient, Sasha could hear his father saying. Eventually he’ll make a mistake. And he did, twenty minutes later, when Sasha sacrificed a rook and the Oxford captain left an opening that he would regret in another seven moves when Sasha declared, for the eighth time, “Checkmate.”
Oxford’s top board rose from his place, shook hands with Sasha, and bowed low. “We are unw
orthy,” he said, which was greeted with spontaneous applause.
“I do believe that’s a whitewash,” said Streator once the applause had died down. “And I think it’s only fair to warn you, Gareth, that young Karpenko is a freshman, and I’ll make sure I get the right date when we visit you next year.”
* * *
Sasha wondered if he’d ever get used to a woman paying for a round of drinks. “Have you considered standing for the Union committee?” Fiona asked him as she handed him a lager.
He took a sip, which gave him time to think about his response. “What would be the point?” he eventually said. “I can’t even make up my mind which party I support, so who would even consider voting for me?”
“Far more people than you realize,” said Ben before taking a long draft. “After your rousing speech in the Queen and Country debate, and then trouncing the entire Oxford chess team single-handed, they’d vote for you if you stood as a Russian Separatist.”
“Will you be standing, Ben?” Sasha asked.
“You bet. And Fiona’s put her name down for vice president.”
“Well, you’re guaranteed at least two votes from a couple of your most devoted admirers,” said Sasha.
“Thank you,” said Fiona. “But there are plenty of men, including some in my own party, who still think a woman’s place is in the kitchen.”
“Shame on them,” said Ben, raising his glass.
“Not to mention those members of the Labour Party who consider me to be somewhere on the right of Attila the Hun.”
Ben placed his empty glass on the table. “Another round?”
“No, thanks,” said Sasha. “I need an early night if I’m going to explain to Dr. Streator why I think he’s wrong about the Soviet people being best suited to living under a totalitarian regime, even a tsar.”
“Heady stuff,” said Ben. “I wouldn’t dare to disagree with my supervisor.”
Heads You Win Page 14
