is not stealing, is to recycle As you noticed, I'm a bit vague ideas.
and today when I read Perez Reverte, I found too good to encanutarmelo.
so I leave the little story of who I consider one of the best writers I was lucky enough to read.
The chess breakfast
I see it go one of the Monte Carlo hotel dining rooms where I attend the legendary Amber Chess Tournament, which for a large sum of money faces the twelve best chess players in the world. It's a rough looking guy, awkward ways, wearing blue tracksuit, who walks among the jars of orange juice, croissants cells, fruit and hot trays with eggs, sausage and bacon. Comes unkempt, unshaven, and watch in amazement as slow to recognize. Moves very awkwardly, as if awakening did not end completely, or as if just left the bed, its members had just become accustomed to the usual movements. Until his way to rest your feet on the ground is peculiar: Drag sneakers foot turning inward, as well as those who have some physical defect that prevents them from walking freely. To this we must add the rapt expression of face, his blue eyes under bushy eyebrows seem lost in the void, empty of content, giving an air of extreme stupidity. And all this, the rustic and vulgar expression, so tired of moving, they do seem out of place in the dining room at the luxurious Monaco, which if a farmer crude and blunt way intelligence had just sneak, inexplicably among the Arabs dressed in Hugo Boss and Slavic accent blonde, short skirt and long legs, accompanying businessmen in silk shirt, your mobile, solid gold Rolex on his wrist.
I follow with his eyes, interested, clutching a boiled egg. With this in hand, hesitating as if not knowing exactly what to do, just for speaking to a table where a woman looks young and stout that looks like your wife. Sitting next door, the man used the term stupid an incredibly long time to study the egg as if to figure out where to GET WITH IT. Finally, clumsy and slow, hitting a little on the edge of the table and peeled the top half before taking him directly to his mouth and eat it slowly, staring before. When finished, the empty shell left on the table and stares a long time, absorbed, with the expression of absolute stupidity. From farmhand out of place and time. And just when the woman moves, with further requests that would have prevented if we take into, leans toward him, with a napkin, you clean egg yolk remnants that are left in the bristles of his unshaven chin.
Six hours later, sitting in a room that was perfectly quiet, reverential, I am back to three meters of the same man. Now I see it shaved, well groomed and clean, wearing a dark suit. Elbows are at a chess board and no longer looks like a sloppy and stupid peasant. Vassily Ivanchuk is called, is ucraniano, y también es el quinto mejor jugador del mundo en el ranking actual de grandes maestros. Hace dos días lo vi en esta misma sala jugar contra el noruego Magnus Carlsen, ayer lo vi enfrentado a Viswanathan Anand, actual número uno mundial, en una partida memorable, y hace cinco minutos, jugando con blancas contra el búlgaro Veselin Topalov, lo he visto sacrificar deliberadamente una torre, en el curso de un ataque audaz por el flanco de dama, preciso como un golpe de bisturí, que ha transformado la partida en un espectáculo de belleza perfecta. Y mientras sigo asombrado la progresión de su juego impecable, compruebo que la expresión absorta de los ojos azules de Vasili Ivanchuk es idéntica a la de esta mañana breakfast, as he laboriously removed the egg shell, alienated and empty. And so, as I conclude that one can never be sure what hides look stupid, intelligent, kind or evil of a human being, I remember the man I have before told my friend the journalist and chess grandmaster Leontxo Garcia, when he asked her long ago if it was conceivable to wake up one morning without having a game to play. The Ukrainian was thoughtful fifteen seconds, if calculated as a movement, and finally responded with a terse "no."
motionless in my chair, between the small audience, I smile but keep your eyes Ivanchuk, who is hunched over his board. Now I know that it is perfectly possible, at half past eight, play a game of chess against a boiled egg.
the link to the rest of the letters of marque:
http://www.perezreverte.com/articulo/patentes-corso/593/el-desayuno-del-ajedrecista/
