Chess Friends - 2. Crocuses underneath the snow

Åke came from Västerås. His father, Ragnar Raxell, had settled down there together with his young wife Blanche Bergman. They knew each other from the hamlet Gasslanda in the province Småland in southeast Sweden. Her health was fragile and after Åke’s birth she was advised against a second pregnancy. She passed away when Åke was only five years old. He had only hazy memories of her.

An unmarried aunt helped Ragnar to care for Åke but after a couple of years. he remarried with Ingegerd Törnqvist, a young widow who returned to using her maiden name. Ingegerd brought her own son from her earlier marriage, Stefan Karlström, who was one year younger than Åke. Ragnar and Ingegerd had ever nourished the ambition of raising the two boys in their household as if they were brothers, or at least half-brothers. They did not succeed. Åke and Stefan were simply too different.

They lived in a terraced corner house in a quiet residential area. Åke’s private terrain was the room on the ground floor. It was a spacious room, ever intended as an office at home. His single bed stood in a corner and he enjoyed lying under the blanket overlooking the entire space that formed his own exclusive little world. This very morning, Monday 15 February, he could stay a little longer in bed. Today no fast washing, no hasty breakfast, no sprint with Stefan to catch the bus to town. It was the first day of Spring holiday.

He got out of bed with a content smile, put on his clothes from the day before and went upstairs. Stefan was sitting at the kitchen table. He was a blond boy with short hair, blue eyes and muscular arms. Åke ate crispbread and a bowl of thick sour milk that tasted like yoghurt.

‘Any plans for the holiday?’ he asked.

Stefan was in the class below in the Rudbeckian School, following a curriculum less demanding than the one Åke had chosen. They sometimes travelled together to school, but did not mingle in the schoolyard nor return home together.

‘A bit of ice hockey, chasing chicks, that sort of thing,’ Stefan replied. ‘You’re surely going to play with your chess friends. I hope you get a hard-on from it, but I don’t give it much of a chance.’

Åke felt no need to confirm he was expecting guests. They had breakfast in silence.

Åke rejoiced when he picked up the mail. There was an envelope with a Dutch stamp. He had written to Matthijs the week after his return from the Netherlands three weeks ago. Not too soon and not too late. He had inquired about the further developments in the Dutch tournament. Matthijs supplied the complete list of final rankings, but there was more to his letter that caught Åke’s special attention: Matthijs’s question at the end. ‘Do you have Easter holidays in Sweden too?’ Of course! ‘Do you fancy a brief holiday in the Netherlands? You can stay at our place.’

Åke was triumphant. Matthijs wished to continue their friendship, Matthijs was taking initiatives he himself did not yet dare take. Before moving to upper secondary school, he hardly had any friends. His old school had been in a rough neighbourhood and by the last year of lower form, half of the boys in his class had been in touch with the police. Under such conditions, one does not gain popularity as a diligent student who continually gets high marks. Å֭ke had kept quiet and to himself. He was happy alone, devoting his time to homework and reading. The big change had come when he went to upper form and transferred to the Rudbeckian School. He got classmates who took a genuine interest in learning something. Above all, he got to know Henning Holmberg and Malte Madesjö. Together with them, chess became his chief pastime. It was more than a hobby, it became a passion.

If he could stay for free at the Tiggelaar family in Leiden, an Easter holiday in the Netherlands need not be that costly. He only needed to sell the idea to his father and stepmother. It was one thing to go on an excursion with a group of classmates, another to go abroad on your own for sheer holiday fun and because you have met somebody you like. Of course, Stefan would be jealous and say he too wanted a paid holiday abroad. He could wait.

He expected his guests in the early afternoon. The three of them rarely met at each other’s home since they were living dispersed throughout Västerås. Henning in a new housing development in the northern outskirts, Malte on the fashionable Snake Hill in the west and Åke in the eastern outskirts. They saw each other anyway daily at school and every week in the chess club. Åke was a little nervous although he knew there was nothing to be nervous about. He scarcely wished to admit it, but this was one of the very first times he received friends at home at all. And that for somebody who would turn nineteen this coming June.

His guests drove up to the house in the shining white Mercedes of Malte’s father. Malte had recently got his driver’s license and was happy to show off with the car and his driving skills.

‘He drives like a woman. Reasonably safe, though,’ Henning testified as they entered the house and took off their shoes in the hallway.

Åke figured this was a good opportunity for a demonstration of his father’s new stereo equipment. The guests sat down on the sofa in the tiny cabinet next to the living-room on the first floor. He turned up the speakers in full. Powerful final chords from Beethoven’s Fifth rolled towards them. Then he put on ‘Jumping Jack Flash’, which he liked a lot more.

‘Awesome sound,’ Malte admitted.

‘Peculiar with that much power in the smallest room of the house,’ Henning remarked. ‘I have to admit, it could also have been installed in the toilet.’

‘Any news from your Dutch friend?’ Malte asked.

‘Sure, I got the final list. Let’s have a look.’ He did not mention Matthijs’s invitation for Easter. He could easily predict his friends’ silly insinuations.

They settled in the living-room, each with a glass of cola. Åke was pleased Stefan was nowhere to be seen. Maybe he was sitting in his room on the top floor or he had gone out.

Victor Korchnoi had won the Dutch tournament with a score of 10 points. The second rank was divided among four players, who all had achieved 9.5 points. Former world champion Tigran Petrosian, Fridrik Olafsson from Iceland and the two Yugoslav players, including champion Svetozar Gligoric. Ulf Andersson was in the shared sixth rank together with three other players, who too had a score of 8.5 points. One of them was the Brazilian prodigy Henrique Mecking who had lost against Ulf Andersson on Åke’s last day at the tournament.

‘A score of 8.5 means he won only once and had one draw but lost three games after we left,’ Henning inferred from the listing.

‘He didn’t any longer have the moral support of three countrymen,’ Malte suggested.

‘Had nothing to do with it. He had some real strong opponents after we left. Like the guy from Iceland, Ivkov from Yugoslavia and that Czech, Vlastimi Hort .’

‘Look,’ Åke insisted, ‘he’s young and new in the world top of chess, playing against blokes with decades of experience. It’s a very impressive achievement.’

‘Ulf would score better if he didn’t draw so often,’ Henning argued.

‘He’s cautious. He has come a long way since Sundsvall,’ Henning continued. ‘We saw his debut as Sweden’s best player.’ He made a gesture including Malte. ‘It was terribly exciting. Three players ending with the top score. They simply couldn’t decide who was the best.’

‘True,’ Malte asserted. ‘Next to Ulf there was Börje Jansson, the champion from 1968, and your namesake, Åke, with the last name Olsson instead of the flashy Raxell. Jansson and Olsson are ten respectively fifteen years older than Ulf.’

‘Unfortunately, we didn’t see the playoff that Ulf won,’ Henning continued. ‘It was organized months later in his hometown Arboga. The decisive game was Ulf’s second game against Olsson. He had won the first one and was secured of a second place. But if he won the second one too, he was almost certain to become champion. He would at most risk another tiebreak if he lost both games against Jansson. In his second game against Olsson, he had Black but won in a spectacular way. It was reported in our chess magazine last year.’

‘I saw it too,’ Åke affirmed. They were all subscribers to the Swedish ‘Tidskrift för schack’ (Magazine for Chess). ‘I don’t remember the details.’

‘I do,’ Henning said. ‘Get the chessboard.’

Åke readily complied and they bent over the board. Henning elaborated on the situation in the thirty-third move. Queens and rooks had already vanished from the board and the players were equal in terms of quality of material. The only difference was that White had two bishops whereas Black had one bishop and a knight. White’s king stood seemingly comfortable in the middle, at d5, surrounded by Black’s pieces above him and his own bishops below.

‘The comfort was illusory,’ Henning explained. ‘If Black would put the king in check, six of the potential eight squares where White’s king can go were already covered by Black. His knight on e6 covered c5 and d4 and could not be taken, Black’s king at d7 covered c6 and d6. Black’s pawn on f6 covered e5 and was too far away to be taken. The only escape squares were c4 and e4. In the thirty-fourth move, Olsson moved his bishop to e4. Then c4 became the sole remaining escape square. Ulf acted very quickly and moved his pawn from b7 to b5. His move had a double purpose. The last escape possibility disappeared and there was room for Black’s bishop to go to b7 in the next move and put the king in check. Olsson resigned immediately.’

‘Very clever of Ulf to see that possibility,’ Malte figured.

‘Honestly, it was a first-class blunder by Olsson,’ Henning decided. ‘Anyway, Ulf then made two draws against Jansson and became the youngest Swedish champion ever. Eighteen years old, younger than us.’ He gave his friends a thoughtful look.

On the Friday in the same week, Åke was awakened by his father, a tall, slender man in his late forties. ‘Listen Åke, Ingegerd’s uncle in Umeå passed away some time ago and the funeral is tomorrow morning. We’re getting the sleeper tonight. You’ll have to be alone with Stefan tonight. Ingegerd will put something in the oven you can just heat up.’

Åke nodded sleepily. ‘No problem.’ He noted with satisfaction that his father took the trouble of not referring to his stepmother as ‘Mum’, which he of course did when talking to Stefan. He did not mind a night without parental guidance. His only fear was that Stefan would take this opportunity to give a party for his ice hockey mates. If he, Åke, would then be sitting alone downstairs, those boys would ridicule him as a nerd without any friends. That must be prevented at all costs.

He first tried Henning who excused himself because he had an important meeting with the youth association of the conservative party known under a highly appropriate label, ‘The Party of the Right’. He then called Malte.

‘Cool, we’ll just do something nice together,’ Malte reacted cheerfully. ‘I’ve got the car.’

Malte picked him up in late afternoon and they went to the large indoor swimming pool that had been opened only ten years ago. It was located on a hill and had huge glass walls shining from the outside and offering a nice view from the inside. It was busy as one would expect during a school holiday. The bustle was carefully regulated. A voice sounded from the loudspeaker: ‘Time up for boys with green key ribbons.’ A lot of excited teenagers slunk away. Åke and Malte could peacefully continue swimming lengths.

They had ever tried to pursue conversations in the water in the vein of ‘pawn to e4’, ‘knight to f6’, but it did not work. They could better talk politics. Two years ago, Sweden had got a young, dynamic Prime Minister, Olof Palme, known for aggressive debate tactics. He met with resentment even among traditional social democrats. Åke and Malte speculated on a unique opportunity for the bourgeois opposition. Their dislike of Palme was less profound than Henning’s.

After twenty lengths, they thought they had been sportive enough. They showered, took off their swimming trunks and went to the sauna. As a child, Åke had often been taken along by his father to the sauna, occasionally with Stefan. During puberty he had sometimes paid a visit with classmates, excited boys who brought cones of ice cream inside and shamelessly checked who was already growing pubes. Now he sat silently next to Malte. He threw an occasional glance at Malte’s crotch and reaffirmed that their dicks were about the same size. Would that still be the case if they got hard, he casually wondered before deciding not to allow such thoughts when sitting naked next to one of your very best friends.

They drove back, relaxed and satisfied. It was quiet and empty in Åke’s home.

‘Where did that wild party get to?’ Malte asked while Åke heated up the oven dish.

‘Don’t know.’ Stefan was nowhere to be seen.

Malte had brought a bottle of rum. ‘We can only drink it if I can stay overnight,’ Malte determined. That was precisely what Åke had in mind.

Armed with stiff cocktails, they settled in the living room with the chessboard and the seminal reference book by Swedish grandmaster Gideon Ståhlberg.

‘I really like seeing you alone,’ Mate said after a while. ‘Of course, it’s nice with the three of us together, but I feel a stronger bond with you. Do you feel the same?’

‘Sure.’ What else could he say?

The front door was closed with a bang. Seconds later Stefan stood in the door to the living-room. A girl with long blond hair was hiding behind him.

‘This is Åke. He lives here too,’ Stefan said to the girl. ‘Guys, where did you get rid of Fagersta Bum?’

The unknown girl giggled. Henning thanked his nickname in school to the loosely fitting trousers of his neat suit in combination with the boring village Fagersta where he originally came from. Stefan was well informed although not even in their year.

‘We’ll go to my room,’ Åke said. Stefan and the unknown girl could have the living room to themselves. They carried cocktail glasses and chessboard downstairs.

‘What are those two up to?’ Malte wondered aloud when they sat down on Åke’s bed..

‘What do you think?’ Åke did not expect an answer. Malte was just as inexperienced as he was himself.

‘Do you think that chick will stay overnight?’

‘Possibly.’ It would definitely be the first time in this family with two teenage boys. ‘It’s getting late. Let’s hit the hay. We can finish our drinks in bed.’ There was no point in discussing chess issues any longer. It was now all about other things in the house.

Åke laid out the mattress and the blankets for his guest on the floor next to his bed. They undressed standing opposite each other, for the second time today. Malte had not brought a pyjama so Åke decided to sleep in his white briefs too. They crept under the blankets with a half-finished glass of rum within easy reach. The lights were still on.

‘Do you feel shy with girls?’ Malte asked after visible hesitation..

‘Yes,’ Åke admitted. He was self-confident when it came to studying and playing chess, not in contacts with other people and certainly with members of the opposite sex.

They fell silent. They had shown their vulnerable side to each other.

Shortly afterwards, Åke went upstairs to pee. The door of the living room stood ajar. The light was dimmed. Two persons were lying on the couch in each other’s arms. Stefan’s jeans were down at his feet and Åke caught sight of his pale buttocks. In his haste, he also spotted two bare female breasts beyond Stefan’s body. He quickly moved on to the bathroom.

‘They’re busy making out,’ he reported to Malte when he got back downstairs.

‘Really! I’ll go and have a look.’ Malte threw the blanket aside and got up.

‘Only quickly, make sure they don’t see you.’ He must at all costs prevent an embarrassing scene at the doorstep of the living room.

‘Yes, they’re kissing,’ Malte said as he came back. ‘Have you ever kissed a girl?’

Åke shook his head. It was not necessary to replicate the question. He knew the answer.

‘I think I knew how to do it.’ Malte sat up on his mattress. ‘We can practise a little. I mean, we practise chess every day. Why not some practice for real life? We’ll need that kind of knowledge in the future.’

Åke hesitated. A most unexpected and unconventional proposal among friends. He just nodded, shy of what to say. And he was getting hard. He silently moved up as Malte lay down next to him. He opened his mouth, Malte’s tongue slipped inside and caressed his teeth. Then his own tongue did the same inside Malte’s mouth, where he could taste the smell of rum.

‘It’s not difficult,’ Malte said as they took a short break.

‘Do you get horny from this?’ Åke asked. His hand slipped inside Malte’s white briefs. Between his fingers, Malte’s dick suddenly grew rock hard. At that moment, the explosion came in his own briefs.

‘Sorry hoor, that was not intended,’ Åke mumbled, separating himself a little from the body next to him. He urgently needed to wipe if off in his crotch and change into clean underpants.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell anybody. You never know what hides underneath the snow,’ Malte said enigmatically while returning to the mattress on the floor.