A Victim of Popularity

Back during our far-off adolescence, each of us went through many hobbies. My hobby was the game of preference.

To play cards for fun is just as pleasant as smelling roses in the gas mask. Since in my student days, card fans had money only on the day they paid stipends, we introduced a system of credit to delay payment for losing. To avoid complications with debt payoff, the loser would give his watch to the winner. The mechanism was similar to the pawning.

If you recall, both winners and losers wore Pobeda watches then. Despite their homely design, they were known for their accuracy.

So once I came home with a roll of small bills and a watch, which I received in lieu. The loser was not a close friend of mine; he was more like a game partner to me. Now he is a well-known physician, a professor with a Ph.D. in medicine.

The next day his father muscled in the Avant-Guard Chess Club, which was in downtown Kyiv and demanded to see Master Hufeld. When I showed up, two men came up to me, and one of them asked with the typical accent: "Are you Hufeld?" I had to admit this, because other chess players were around. The man, who initiated the meeting, pointed at his companion and asked: "Do you know what this man is?" And added without pausing: "He is a detective from 15 Korolenko Street." (What he meant was the Ministry of Internal Affairs. The most popular anecdote of that time was: Question: Which is the highest building in Kyiv? Answer: 15 Korolenko Street. You can see Siberia from there.)

The man continued without waiting for may answer: "Do you have the watch of my son with you?" I said "Yes." "Return it immediately!" I dragged the watch out of the pocket and gave it to him. "I am going home to check if anything else is lost," murmured the man and went out.

The following day the preference players society initiated the trial of equity over the future star physician. The defendant gave the following evidence: when he came home from the institute, his father asked him, why he had come so late. The boy had argued it was not quite late. Since there was only one watch in the family and the student son was the wearing it, the father demanded to know the precise time. Unfortunately, there was no watch on the son's hand. The TV-set was on and there was me there, talking about the 26th USSR Chess Tournament, in which I had participated and which had just ended. "Where is the watch?" the father shouted angrily and the son silently pointed at the screen.

The Court did not find for the luckless cardplayer. The sentence was harsh. He had to spend some days curing himself. As it turned out, this practice was useful for him.