Stern walked through the store, puffing on a cigarette. He picked up items, looked at them, and then placed them back on the shelves as if he were just biding time. Michael watched Stern’s hand tremble as he held a match to light a new cigarette, his furtive eyes scanning the store. Stern glanced toward Michael and, before he knew it, the German was standing in front of him. Stern spoke in a low voice as he inhaled the fumes of the cigarette deep into his lungs.
“Mr. Ross, it was a pleasure talking to you the other day. It was very helpful.”
“I’m glad. We’re rather informal here. Please call me Michael.”
“Thank you, I am Harry.”
“So, what can I do for you?”
“Well, my wife came to pick up a few things. I saw you were not busy and I thought we might chat for a moment.”
“Of course,” Michael answered.
“You told me you play chess and won several championships.”
“I did, but I haven’t played since I was in college.”
“Is that where you studied pharmacy?”
“Yes. I studied at the university in Albany, and then went on to earn my PhD. I felt I had something to offer in the world of academia and, ultimately, became a professor and taught pharmacy and pharmacology at various universities until I retired and opened The Chemist’s Shop.”
“So, you grew up here?”
“I did. Went to school here and now have my own business. I always liked this part of New York.”
“And your family? They live here too?” Stern questioned.
Michael excused himself to talk to a customer and, after a few minutes, returned to Stern. Michael heaved a deep breath and paused.
“You asked about my family.” Michael paused again. “When I lost my parents, my grandparents were kind enough to raise me, and I realized that family meant everything to me. They were wonderful, caring people who taught me that you can only have a fulfilling life when you help others and be kind to them.”
Stern turned away. “I see.”
“Is there anything special I can help you with? I already checked your medication records and didn’t find anything that would make you feel so fatigued.”
“I was going to ask you, uh…”
Michael waited.
Stern snuffed out his cigarette in a nearby canister topped with sand.
“I would be honored if you would play chess with me sometime. It would be important. I have played chess all my life and now I have no one. I know I may be asking a great deal, and if your wife would feel I am imposing...”
“My wife died a number of years ago.”
Stern shrugged. “Please consider a friendly chess match. I know you are busy and I won’t keep you any longer.”
“Okay. Harry, maybe you’re right. It might help me get out of my rut. You are fortunate to have a wife. I have no children. I’m alone too. So, yes, it might be a good thing.”
“Chess may not be a replacement for your wife, Professor Ross. Nothing is, but it can help,” Stern said in a matter-of fact way without emotion.
“Okay, you’ve got me interested. I’m sure I can still play a good game. Harry, I have to go. We’ll talk another time.”
“Please, please. Bitte, wait one moment,” Stern said as he quickly lit another cigarette. “Do you think we can play one game soon? Maybe this week? If you need help refreshing your knowledge and strategies, I will be happy to provide it.”
“Not this week, but I am free next Thursday. It’s my day off, and we can definitely play that evening. Give me a call Thursday morning. My home number is listed. I really have to go.”
“Yes, thank you. Yes, I will call you Thursday morning and see you that night, yes?”
“That would be fine,” Michael answered as he turned to help other customers.
Stern walked away and pulled on his wife’s arm as she was talking to Briana. They both left without purchasing anything.
Two days later, Michael received a note in the mail, signed by Harry Sanders. The note thanked Michael for giving him the opportunity to play chess with him and stated that he was looking forward to the game.
Chapter 7
It was Thursday, another day for Michael to cherish his time at home. The ominous opening strains of Tchaikovsky’s Pathetique wafted through the air and soon gave way to the sweet, melodic love theme. The music reminded him of the time the Rosen and Kovacs families went to the concert hall to listen to it. He’d sat next to Ilona and was tempted to hold her hand, but he was only twelve and not that brave.
As the love theme played throughout the house, Michael’s thoughts took him back to the time when he and Ilona were children. He put his head back on the sofa and closed his eyes.
Dear Ilona,
I will always remember our first meeting and all the times after that. We didn’t talk very much at twelve or thirteen and we shared only shy grins as we walked in the countryside. Our families were bound by music, mostly classical, and our favorite event was when they took us to the Liszt Academy of Music in Budapest to listen to the concerts.
I constantly encouraged my parents, Ferenc and Michla Rosen, to visit the Kovacs’ winery often. I told them I loved the sweet Tokoi dessert wine that we drank at home during Passover and wanted to see more of the winery. My father looked at me and smiled as if he knew my special secret was that I wanted to see you. During one visit to the winery, I remember when you taught me about winemaking as we picked grapes together, sometimes feeding them to each other along the way. Time went by and we soon became close friends, but our closeness was more than we admitted. We each knew we had found someone for life.
The brash sound of the phone pulled him out of his daydream.
“Michael, it is Harry. I hope you are not consumed with any activity.”
“No, Harry, it’s fine.” The German accent on the other end of the phone stirred unpleasant memories, but Michael kept his tone even, making sure there was not a trace of anguish.
“I am happy we will have a game of chess tonight. I insist that you come here. Hilda will prepare a special dinner and...”
“I appreciate the offer. I’ll play, but I would prefer that we play at my home.”
“All right, as you wish. Do you have a chess set?”
“I do, but it hasn’t been used for years. I’ll check it to make sure I have all the pieces.”
“Yes, that is good. I will bring my set as well. It is complete. What time?”
“Eight o’clock.”
“Can we make it earlier?”
“No,” Michael answered. “Eight o’clock works best for me.”
“I will see you then. I have your address from the telephone book.”
***
It was a good beginning, Michael thought. He put another LP record on his new Garrard record player, sat back, and smiled.
Later that night, Michael put on a long sleeved shirt to hide the tattooed numbers. At exactly eight, the doorbell rang. Michael greeted Stern and showed him into his study. Books, hundreds of them, including a leather-bound set of the Encyclopedia Britannica, lined the walls. In the background, a corner speaker connected to his High Fidelity system played the music from the opera Turandot.
There was a table in the center of the room with two chairs facing each other. Stern set up the chess pieces as Michael brought out a bottle of Stolichnaya.
“Oh, I see you like vodka,” Stern said. “I like it very much.”
“I do too, Harry, and Russian vodka is the best! They know how to do things in Russia. So, let me know more about yourself. There is so little time to talk at the pharmacy. Where did you grow up?”
“I was born in the capital of Bavaria. Then my family moved to the countryside, where they owned a large dairy farm.”
“I see. So, did you serve in the military during the war?”
“No. I was not in the army, and I was never a Nazi. I did not have to serve because our farm was nationalized to provide food for the German army, so
I was exempt from service.”
“You were lucky. I was drafted into the army and ended up in the Army Air Corps.”
“You were a pilot?”
“No, I was a mechanic in the ground crew in the Pacific, Fifth Air Force, Thirty-Fifth Fighter Squadron and spent a good part of my time in New Guinea, near Port Moresby, working on Lockheed P-38s.”
“And you were not hurt in the war?”
“No, though I did have a bout with malaria and dengue fever and spent some time in foxholes, but the happiest day of my life was when the war was over. My troopship docked in Seattle, and from there, a long but happy train ride back home to Oneonta. So, let’s play!”
How can I be sitting with this monster?
“Yes, please. We should do it,” Stern answered with a slim grin. “Michael, I am sure you are a good player, but are you familiar with the traditional opening strategies, like the Sicilian Defense?”
“Yes, of course. I’ve used it in my college matches.”
“Do you remember any others?”
“I do. I remember The French Defense, the Nimzo Indian Defense, and my favorite, The Ruy Lopez. I still remember the opening move—pawn to e4, knight to f3.”
“I think we will have some wonderful games,” Stern said, moving his chair closer to the table.
The Nazi held the two kings behind his back, white in one hand, black in the other, then he put his hands in front of him for Michael to choose. The hand he picked showed the white king, meaning that Michael would play first, which generally was a distinct advantage.
Each man played slowly and deliberately between sips of the Stoli. Michael controlled the game from the beginning and knew, at once, that Stern was an amateur. Michael allowed him to get ahead until he saw the game would soon end. He saw an opening and planned his next three moves. Stern missed his chance to keep the game in play, and Michael won.
Stern clenched his lips and blinked incessantly. “You got me with your knight. I see I have a worthy opponent,” he said, surprised.
Stern wanted to play another game and kept pushing for it, almost begging, but Michael refused and said, “I’m sure we will face more challenges in the future.”
“I will be looking forward to them, my friend. Thank you.”
“And I thank you, Harry, for giving me this opportunity.”
Chapter 8
Michael left work early the following day so he could enjoy the afternoon on his porch and catch up with the latest news in the Oneonta Daily Star. There was an article in the paper about demonstrators taunting President Nixon and throwing objects at him while he was at a campaign rally in California. Michael didn’t approve of throwing things at the president, but it was an angry time in America and people wanted an unnecessary war to end.
Millions of people killed...for what?
He put the newspaper down and closed his eyes. The sun was about to set, and a golden glow surrounded him. He needed to think about Ilona.
***
It was 1933. We were both twenty-three and engaged to be married. I was in my last year at the university in Budapest, a two-hour train ride from our country house, where our families lived and where Ilona’s father had his winery. I was studying the sciences in Budapest and would soon have my doctorate while Ilona managed the wine shop.
Ilona and I shared sugar-coated weekends. On Saturday, a morning when I was home from school, we went to the synagogue with our families. Most Sundays were special because that was when we had family picnics in the countryside. Every moment was filled with excitement, revelry, and dancing. The delicious Hungarian food, topped with colorful paprika, was love at first sight. The goulash was always a highlight, richly seasoned and served over homemade noodles. Another popular dish was Toltott Kaposzta, a cabbage stuffed with chopped kosher meat mixed with rice and covered with a sweet paprikash sauce. It was our favorite.
After the main courses, Ilona’s two younger sisters, Zsa Zsa, eighteen, and Szilvia, sixteen, placed platters of freshly baked strudel, bottles of wine, and hot coffee on the picnic table for all to enjoy. Even after a full meal, everyone still had the energy to dance the czardas as my father played the accordion. He always wore his favorite green hat, which had a long red feather tucked in its sideband, and Ilona’s girlfriends looked so fresh and beautiful in their colorful peasant dresses. The boys wore black shorts with green vests covering their white shirts.
At the last picnic, Ilona and I danced with love in our eyes and I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Later, before the day faded into night, we walked into the woods and stopped to kiss.
Michael lingered on the sweet moment of his reverie and, without thinking, touched his lips to feel the warmth of her kiss.
***
His thoughts turned to the man who called himself Harry Sanders. To Michael, he would always be Hans Stern and he could never think of him by any other name.
Michael’s jaw dropped when he remembered that Stern claimed he wasn’t a Nazi and never served in the army. He’d presented a picture of himself as a hardworking farmer while the war raged around him and dead bodies piled up, waiting to go up in black smoke, all, of course, unbeknownst to him. Michael knew better.
He believed Stern bought his story about being in the Army Air Corps. Michael had learned the details about what it was like from a friend who really had served in the South Pacific.
The fact was, Michael and Stern shared no truths about each other on the previous night, except for the chess game itself. They shared their lies and only the game had its own truth. With chess, you either win or lose. Playing chess is a war between two opponents, a raging battle where there can only be one winner. The loser lies his king down on the chessboard. Last night, Michael won. His king stood and that was the ending he chose.
Stern played well for an amateur, but Michael was, by far, the better player, and why shouldn’t he be? He learned to play chess from his father, who would be a grandmaster by present day standards.
When Stern squirmed and begged for another game, Michael let him suffer, knowing it would keep him up all night, contemplating each move of their game, reliving his blunders and feeling the frustration of how he might have won. Stern never saw the loss coming. Michael saw it as a sign that he was vulnerable, driven by his own ego. He would be an easy mark when they played chess, and later, when Michael killed him.
Chapter 9
Michael knew it would be easy to kill Stern, but killing him was not as important as creating the ultimate fear in him before he died. Michael had to torment and crush Stern slowly. He had to be humiliated and unaware of what was coming next, just as the Jews were. But in Stern’s case, he had to know why he was going to die a painful death and why he had to suffer before it was his turn to be murdered.
Poisoning him would be uncomplicated but, unfortunately, painless. Michael was a master of drugs and knew all there was to know about the sinister, exotic, untraceable poisons known only to a special few, but poisoning Stern would be out of the question. He had something else in mind.
There were times, in order to keep his sanity, Michael had to let go of his obsessive thoughts about Stern. He had a life outside of him. A real life, in which he indulged himself in music, theater, literature, and the visual arts. He loved movies. They took him out of the present into a different time and another world, many times, a more peaceful place, but not always.
The film he had watched at the local theater one night took him back to the past. It was anything but peaceful.
The movie was Judgment at Nuremberg. It dealt with the Holocaust and the trial of four German judges who served before and during the Nazi regime. Michael missed the original showing in the early sixties, but now he sat, mesmerized, as the Nazi judges pleaded for their lives. Later, in bed, he stared at the ceiling for hours, unable to get the film out of his mind. He fell asleep as dawn arrived.
***
Stern called Michael the next morning and asked if he would be up for another game. Michael w
as available, but declined. It was too soon after he had seen the movie. The judges lied, claiming that they didn’t make the laws and judges were obliged to follow the laws of their country. Michael told Stern he would have time for a game the following week, on July 30.
***
On that evening, Stern arrived at Michael’s home bearing a platter of freshly baked Linzer tortes.
“My wife made these for you,” Stern said with a tight-lipped grin.
“Thank you, that was nice of her. It’s a good thing to be married and living with a woman you care about.”
“Michael, do you have many female friends or a girlfriend? You never mention anything about having someone. Don’t you miss a woman in your life?”
Michael didn’t reply right away. His eyes became watery. “I do. I’m sorry. I lost my wife many years ago. We loved each other so much and I still miss her.”
Stern raised his eyebrows. “Well, Hilda cooks and cleans for me. I would miss that, but I am sorry to say she smells like a swine. Still, she knows what her wifely duties are and I have her whenever I want. You know how it is. Women are only good for one thing.”
Stern had a far-away look in his eyes and he gulped the wine Michael had poured for him.
What an animal. I’m grateful I’m not like him.
Stern set up the chess pieces. He was lucky enough to play white this time. Michael let him stay well ahead at the opening, until the end game, when he baited his opponent into checkmate in a lightning surprise move. Stern never saw it coming. How could he? He was a true amateur, but didn’t know it. He placed his king face down on the chessboard, defeated.
The Chemist's Shop Page 3
