I call a press conference, I will be calleda political enemy and sent to prison. It’s ironical about Roshal,” he went on, talking about his boss, who was Karpov’s close friend. “For his whole life he has wanted to defect to the West. He has openly discussed it with his friends. Now he exercises tyranny against Jews and anyone else who wants to leave. Kasparov’s mother despises Roshal for his attitudes about Jews and is afraid that he will try dirty tricks during the match. I must call my friends this afternoon, the people I know who have applied for emigration and been turned down.”
“Why?”
“In circumstances such as mine, people have disappeared. I live by myself. Telling people about my situation is my only safeguard.”
10
THE PRESSROOM
I n the Hall of Columns, Anatoly Karpov and Gary Kasparov played on a stage flanked by two large display boards. Karpov wore a gray business suit; the challenger dressed more casually in a sports jacket and sweater. Sometimes Kasparov strolled the stage between moves with his hands behind his back, as if he were walking in a park. When he sat at the table, centered on a large oriental rug, he would scratch his tightly curled black hair and glance furtively at Karpov. He was a tense young man trying to appear relaxed. The older and more experienced Karpov rocked in his chair, and his eyes rarely left the board until he was sure of a win; then he would pick at his teeth and look out at the crowd like a king.
In the chess world Karpov is called the Fetus because of his diaphanous complexion and frail physical makeup. But in the early days of the match, while he built his lead, he grew immense. On the stage he seemed to tower above his younger and larger opponent, and when he looked at Kasparov he didn’t bother to hide his contempt.
For the first half hour of each game, Pandolfini, Josh and I would watch the two men from the balcony. Josh leaned his elbows on the railing and observed them through the wrong end of his binoculars. I was afraid he would drop the glasses and hit someone below on the head. After the opening moves we watched on television monitors in the pressroom on the third floor, but sometimes, when the players were under time pressure, we returned to thebalcony. Then Josh would root exuberantly for Kasparov and throw rapid analysis at Bruce while spectators seated nearby gave us dirty looks. Most of his blitz tactics were pure fantasy. Excited by the crowd and loyal to his man, my son saw sacrifices and mating combinations all over the board.
THE PRESSROOM ON the third floor of the House of Trade Unions was jammed with chess stars of the past, notable Moscow personalities, journalists and television crews seeking interviews. There were banks of phones, telex machines and a score of screens showing closeups of the two brooding sportsmen. At demonstration tables clusters of grandmasters unraveled an infinity of possibilities.
When we were in the pressroom, Josh was on his own. He preferred to sit at the front table with a past United States champion, Grandmaster Arnold Denker, Gary Kasparov’s friend Eric Schiller, International Master Jonathan Tisdale and the oldest active grandmaster, Miguel Najdorf, a living legend in chess circles. Television commentators frequently questioned Najdorf, Denker and young Waitzkin about the newest wrinkle in the current game while crews filmed the interviews for millions around the world. Late at night we would watch Josh on the television in our room. During one interview he demonstrated a winning line for Kasparov with bubble gum all over his chin. Each time Yuri Averbakh, past president of the Soviet Chess Federation and a FIDE arbiter for the match, entered the room, he paused to give Josh a hug and smiled like a politician while photographers snapped their cameras.
The level of excitement at the match was equivalent to that at the Rose Bowl or an NCAA basketball championship, but from the point of view of an
“Why?”
“In circumstances such as mine, people have disappeared. I live by myself. Telling people about my situation is my only safeguard.”
10
THE PRESSROOM
I n the Hall of Columns, Anatoly Karpov and Gary Kasparov played on a stage flanked by two large display boards. Karpov wore a gray business suit; the challenger dressed more casually in a sports jacket and sweater. Sometimes Kasparov strolled the stage between moves with his hands behind his back, as if he were walking in a park. When he sat at the table, centered on a large oriental rug, he would scratch his tightly curled black hair and glance furtively at Karpov. He was a tense young man trying to appear relaxed. The older and more experienced Karpov rocked in his chair, and his eyes rarely left the board until he was sure of a win; then he would pick at his teeth and look out at the crowd like a king.
In the chess world Karpov is called the Fetus because of his diaphanous complexion and frail physical makeup. But in the early days of the match, while he built his lead, he grew immense. On the stage he seemed to tower above his younger and larger opponent, and when he looked at Kasparov he didn’t bother to hide his contempt.
For the first half hour of each game, Pandolfini, Josh and I would watch the two men from the balcony. Josh leaned his elbows on the railing and observed them through the wrong end of his binoculars. I was afraid he would drop the glasses and hit someone below on the head. After the opening moves we watched on television monitors in the pressroom on the third floor, but sometimes, when the players were under time pressure, we returned to thebalcony. Then Josh would root exuberantly for Kasparov and throw rapid analysis at Bruce while spectators seated nearby gave us dirty looks. Most of his blitz tactics were pure fantasy. Excited by the crowd and loyal to his man, my son saw sacrifices and mating combinations all over the board.
THE PRESSROOM ON the third floor of the House of Trade Unions was jammed with chess stars of the past, notable Moscow personalities, journalists and television crews seeking interviews. There were banks of phones, telex machines and a score of screens showing closeups of the two brooding sportsmen. At demonstration tables clusters of grandmasters unraveled an infinity of possibilities.
When we were in the pressroom, Josh was on his own. He preferred to sit at the front table with a past United States champion, Grandmaster Arnold Denker, Gary Kasparov’s friend Eric Schiller, International Master Jonathan Tisdale and the oldest active grandmaster, Miguel Najdorf, a living legend in chess circles. Television commentators frequently questioned Najdorf, Denker and young Waitzkin about the newest wrinkle in the current game while crews filmed the interviews for millions around the world. Late at night we would watch Josh on the television in our room. During one interview he demonstrated a winning line for Kasparov with bubble gum all over his chin. Each time Yuri Averbakh, past president of the Soviet Chess Federation and a FIDE arbiter for the match, entered the room, he paused to give Josh a hug and smiled like a politician while photographers snapped their cameras.
The level of excitement at the match was equivalent to that at the Rose Bowl or an NCAA basketball championship, but from the point of view of an
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