It was August 31st, 1941 and hope was in short supply for Russian Jews. A lone car fled Leningrad. Its driver determined to run the metal horse until its heart burst. The Nazis had come, just as in Kiev. The railways stopped weeks ago, and the city prepared for siege. Elishov knew that soon the barrage of war and smoke of death would surround them all. The Nazis would not accept capitulation; they wanted Leningrad’s utter destruction. Perhaps he had fled too late, but staring at the landscape the day before, flee he knew he must.
The King’s Gambit
“We’re out of petrol.” Elishov spoke softly to his wife, Ayala, trying not to wake their son. “Perhaps we’ll find more here,” he shut the door and strode toward the large entrance to seek aid.
At his persistent knocking, a wooden panel slid open. “We’re closed,” a haggard voice spoke cold and perfunctorily.
“We need help.”
“We have nothing.”
“Truly nothing? Petrol? Warmth? Anything…” Elishov’s voice trailed off into the sounds of the slide closing and locks releasing.
“You’re Jews?” questioned an imposing figure now filling the doorway.
Elishov nodded cautiously.
“Come in. Quickly!”
When all had entered and the door was shut, Victor snapped his heels together and bowed, “I am Viktor, headmaster here. Welcome.”
Viktor, at least four inches taller than Elishov’s five-foot-eight frame, called out over a gathering huddle of children. “Peter?”
A pale and malnourished teenager emerged from the clutch of silent and stirless faces.
“See if there’s any petrol in the abandoned Nazi truck.” Turning back to his new guests, “If there is petrol, he will find it. Come, come. Get warmer by the furnace before its heat wanes,” explaining that like so many in Leningrad, they rationed all they could, including heat.
“There is drink, please avail yourselves of it,” Viktor motioned toward the nearby bar. “There are also food stuffs in the kitchen. Take what you need,” he spoke softly to Ayala.
She nodded gratefully.
“Do not, however, go out the southern door,” the headmaster continued, “The house is in perilous disrepair. The Nazis have already come once and done their worst. It is not safe.”
Ayala smiled acceptingly and carried her son off towards the kitchen. Elishov allowed himself a smile as they left. Ayala wore a favorite dress he had bought her years ago and Istak’s sleeping form prayerfully clutched a gifted pair of protective motorcycle goggles. If only that protection had been for what came next.
Strategy
It did not take long for the two men to engage in conversation about war and Germans. Victor spoke of the advance guard that slithered towards Leningrad. Elishov spoke of the brigades of civilians building wooden barricades.
Frustrated, Elishov began to speak. “I don’t see why the army doesn’t just…”
“Do you think it’s that simple?” Victor interrupted.
Elishov tilted his head and grimaced.
Viktor motioned to the chess board and bade his guest to sit. “I teach chess here, and beginners always think it is a game of ‘justs’.” He paused long enough for Elishov to choose a side. “Just move forward. Just decline the gambit. Just memorize the Caro-Kan,” he waved his hand dismissively. “It is not that simple, neither in chess nor in war.”
The headmaster grinned unnervingly as he himself sat down. Even his eyes reflected the furnace light poorly, adding to the room’s darkness, which grew darker still with Peter’s return: no petrol.
Elishov drew a heavy breath. “May we stay the evening? Perhaps tomorrow… “
Viktor leaned over the board, coming uncomfortably close to Elishov. “And what will you do?” Letting the words linger long causing Elishov to shift anxiously in his chair. “Walk out of Leningrad? As I’ve told you, the Nazis have already come. More come still. You will be found out, and then you will be shot or worse.”
Elishov shuddered. “Surely there was a way out,” he protested.
“Perhaps…” Victor continued to lay out a wager for him. He would play a game of chess. If Elishov won, they would all endeavor to do what they could to secret him and his family out in the morning. But if he lost, they would stay and resist the coming days.
Elishov furrowed his brow and held up a hand, trembling.
“Elishov, we are already dead,” gesturing those gathered, “Walk out, and the Germans will find you, stay and still they might. However, if even the British chess masters can join the war efforts as code breakers, surely we can do our part? No?”
Looking beyond the many pale faces staring at him silently, he imagined his gaze on his wife and son in the kitchen, then nodded. “Very well.”
Tactics
Itsak nibbled on bread and pieces of mangled fruit while his mother stood by anxiously. Something nawed, clawed, and bristled in her gut. It was too quiet. The air too still.
A scratching at the southern door started suddenly, jolting Ayala out of her musings. Perhaps it was another lost soul fleeing Leningrad. The door popped and creaked open. The animal scratching at it fled as quickly as it had come. Ayala thoughtlessly stepped after it only to find she could not move and was unable to scream.
Endgame
In the lounge, Victor and Elishov were in full game. Move after move, both players diligently assessed the board and Elishov made admirable progress. Move after move the men continued. Until finally Victor’s King and two Bishops surrounded Elishov mercilessly.
Outside, Ayala could not move. Those who gave them safe harbor lay shot and dead. Every. Single. One. Most disturbingly of it all was the headmaster, who, for all the bodily chaos, hung on to a child defensively, looking to shelter him from the barrage of german bullets which had to have come not long before their family had arrived.
Checkmate.
It was September 1, 1941 the Siege of Leningrad had begun.