A King in Hiding by Fahim Page A

off a friend at the club. I eat them in silence and manage to make my father feel guilty. I’m not proud of myself, though.
    Sometimes I overhear conversations between parents at the club without them realising. They say that it’s no good for a child to live like this, and that I’m disturbed by what’s happening to me. That annoys me, as they seem to be criticising my father and to think that the situation is his fault. And above all because I’m not disturbed, I refuse to be disturbed. In my head I want to be strong.

    XP : While all this was going on, I went on the offensive with the Federation to get them to allow Fahim to compete in the French championship. It put my relationship with them under some strain: this was time spent in the wilderness for someone as outspoken as me, who knows that people don’t always want to hear the truth but prefers to tell it anyway. Behind the scenes, I put pressure on my contacts to change the rules and bring them into line with those of the major sports federations. The idea was picked up and championed by other people who had no idea where it came from. The championships were now opened up to all foreign children who were in full-time education in France, as long as they had a licence that had to be obtained at the beginning of the season.
    The news brought a smile to Fahim’s face, even though lack of funds meant that he rarely took part in tournaments outside the Paris region. But the turn for the worse that he’d taken in the spring had become even more worrying by the autumn. He seemed to have lost his appetite for chess completely. When he sat down at the chessboard his eyes had lost their sparkle. He was half-hearted in lessons, at tournaments he just slumped in his chair, and his remarkable memory was losing its power. After one lost game, I looked at his score sheet and felt bewildered. Where was the Fahim I knew, the clever, agile rascal, the rebel fired up with reckless enthusiasm? After the opening, instead of sending his troops into battle he had retreated in order to defend a pawn that was of no importance. The victim of circumstances beyond his control, he avoided confrontation and withdrew anxiously into his own camp. He seemed to have lost all the fighting spirit that had been so much a part of him and had enabled him to reach his full potential. He was losing even that most fundamental attribute of a good player: his confidence in himself. He was becoming a timid and anxious opponent, who could work out his moves but had lost his dynamism. During coaching and at lessons, I would resort to every subterfuge – using provocation and humour on top of my teaching skills – in my attempts to reawaken the champion in him.

    One evening when we’re playing, Xavier attacks and forces me to retreat. He frowns:
    â€˜Fahim, the Russians never retreat!’
    â€˜Why do you say that?’
    â€˜It’s a famous story about a Russian master who lost to a lower-ranking player by letting him capture his knight rather than retreating.’
    â€˜That wasn’t clever, he lost!’
    â€˜He lost that game, admittedly. But he was playing 30 opponents at once. And through his refusal to retreat he won the other 29. The Russians are great attackers. Take them as an example, adopt an attacking style. Never retreat and you’ll win most of your games.’
    â€˜But I’m not a Russian,’ I shrug. Xavier doesn’t like it when I shrug.
    â€˜True, you’re not a Russian. But in chess the Russians are the best, so take them as your example.’
    â€˜I don’t like the Russians. I prefer the Napoleons!’
    â€˜The who?’
    â€˜The Napoleons. I learned about them at school: the Napoleons attacked the Russians.’
    Xavier smiles.
    â€˜And then what happened?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜Didn’t your teacher tell you what happened when Napoleon’s troops