The Chemist's Shop

by Richard Brumer

  Michael didn’t know what to make of it, but he felt guilty that they’d died and he’d lived.

  ***

  Stern hadn’t called for a week and Michael didn’t see him or Hilda in the pharmacy.

  Something must have happened. Does he still have Nazi connections? Did he learn the truth about me being in Auschwitz?

  Michael wanted to call him, but it would be against his rules. He had to be in control of every detail. He continued to wait.

  Time played out to his advantage. Stern called.

  “Michael, I am sorry I have not been in touch. We have missed many games.”

  “Yes, we have. Are you all right? Were you sick? I was worried about you. I miss our games too.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Harry, are you still there?” Michael asked.

  “It’s about Hilda,” Stern whispered into the phone.

  “Hilda?”

  “Michael, is it possible for me to come to see you. Are you busy with something? It is very important.”

  “If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me.”

  Stern arrived a half hour later. They sat in the kitchen.

  Stern took a deep breath. “Michael, Hilda is dead.”

  “Oh my God! That’s terrible. What happened? When?” Michael asked, trying to feign shock.

  “Ten days ago. I’m alone now.”

  “I am so sorry.” Michael walked to where he was sitting and squeezed his shoulder. “You should have called me sooner, Harry. I know she had a cardiovascular condition.”

  “Yes, she did and I do too. She was always there for me whenever I needed her. Now I have no one.”

  “My heart goes out to you, Harry. It’s a terrible thing to lose your wife, especially since the two of you had been so close and shared so much love. Be thankful for the time you had.”

  “I am, and I know you understand. You mentioned losses in your life.”

  “Yes, they were painful, so I know how you feel.” Michael clenched his jaw and looked down at the floor. “Can I get you something to drink, some schnapps?”

  “It has been awhile since I had schnapps. That would be nice, thank you.”

  Michael put two shot glasses on the table. “It’s from Europe. You will like it.” Each man gulped their drinks and sat silently.

  “I’m sure you were in contact with your family, Harry.”

  “I did get word to them, but my relationship with my daughters was severed years ago, and you are my only friend,” Stern said. “Only my daughter, Erika, came to the funeral. She stood in the background, said nothing to me, and left soon after. We did not speak. It only made the funeral sadder. I loved Erika. She was very special to me. When she was young, we were very close.”

  “Harry, you should have let me know. I would have...”

  “I didn’t want to bother you. I know you are very busy.”

  “Was she in pain at the end? Was it a heart attack?”

  Stern lowered his eyes and spoke in a low voice. He looked away for a moment, then turned toward Michael.

  “She took her life. Maybe it was an accident. I don’t know, but they said she took a large amount of sleeping pills.”

  Michael closed his eyes. He had an inner feeling of satisfaction witnessing Stern’s anguish, but felt sadness for Hilda too. He said nothing and poured two more glasses of the strong schnapps.

  Chapter 12

  During Michael’s most recent chess game with Stern, he had picked up pieces of information from him about his family, especially his daughters. He told Michael that he and Hilda had adopted Erika as an infant after the war. He added that she was a ballerina and lived alone in Manhattan to be near the art world. He said he wasn’t close to either of his daughters. Michael surmised that Erika must have had serious hard feelings against Stern because she didn’t even speak to him at Hilda’s funeral.

  Hilda already told Michael that Marlena was married to a Jew. Michael thought that would be reason enough for Hans to break relations with her.

  Michael believed Stern’s daughters had to pay a price too. He had to kill them, but needed to know their last names in order to find them. He could extract that information in a surreptitious manner from Stern during one of their chess games. If that failed, he had a close friend, Avner, who had worked for the Mossad, Israel’s master intelligence agency and the world’s most efficient killing machine. Avner lived in Albany. He was retired, but he still maintained contact with present Israeli agents. It would be easy for him to get the last names of Stern’s daughters and their addresses. For the Mossad, it would only take a matter of hours, if that long. Erika might be easier to find. She lived in Manhattan, was connected to the ballet, and probably kept her last name—Sanders, or even Stern.

  Michael believed his plan to kill them was well thought out. It wasn’t perfect, but he knew the enemy of a good plan was the search for a perfect one. Michael would have his vengeance on them and honor his family, along with the families of tens of thousands murdered by Stern. Erika would be gassed. He would hide a canister of deadly nerve gas in her apartment, trigger it remotely, and kill her as she slept. He learned a lot from his discussions with his good friend, Avner.

  How can I be thinking these things? I have become like him.

  A different scheme would be in place for Marlena. She lived with her husband in Vernon, New Jersey, and had two young sons. Michael would never kill any young children or family members not connected directly to Stern, but Marlena was Stern’s daughter, an adult. She would be drugged, kidnapped, taken to a motel room, and gassed. They had to be gassed. Michael wouldn’t have it any other way. Both women would never anticipate why they would ever be killed. They did no wrong. Magda, Roza, and little Eva were innocent too.

  ***

  The next afternoon, Michael checked Hilda’s list of medications at the pharmacy and found that she had refilled her prescription for sleeping pills one day before she took her life. Did she plan it so she would have the full thirty capsules?

  Later that night, Stern called. “Michael, I am sorry if I am bothering you. Can we talk for a moment?”

  “It’s not a problem. What’s on your mind?”

  “Now that my Hilda is gone, I really feel alone. I have to be honest and tell you we did not have a very good marriage in many ways, but she always did what I asked. Now that she passed away, I miss her. I wake up alone.”

  “I can understand that, Harry. It is devastating to lose your wife. I know how you feel. Are you aware of why she did it?”

  “No, I could never imagine. I let her buy anything she wanted and she could see our daughters and the grandchildren whenever she pleased, but she did not see them because they lived so far away, Erika in Manhattan and Marlena in New Jersey.”

  Stern is delusional. He has created a fantasy world in his mind in which he twists events and rearranges them so that no bit of truth remains.

  “She must have been depressed and hurt for reasons only she knew,” Michael said. “Did she leave a note?”

  “Yes, a brief one. I do not remember exactly, but it said something like, ‘Tell our girls I love them, and we will meet again.’”

  “I see. Was she a religious person?”

  “She was when I met her, but after we were married for several years, she stopped going to church and never went back.”

  “So, do you have any plans for yourself? You still have your family, your daughters.”

  “To be honest, we were never close. Why did Hilda do it?” Stern asked. “Why?”

  “We’ll never know,” Michael replied. “She felt hurt and damaged for some reason, but you said you were good to her. So, what are your plans now?”

  “Now that Hilda is gone, this house is too big for one person. I have to sell it and move somewhere else. I will miss our chess games.”

  Michael’s heart sank.

  Will I lose him? This is unexpected. Stern could soon be gone. Then what?

  Mich
ael had to act quickly, but he wasn’t sure what to do. Stern could just disappear or stop at the pharmacy, say a simple goodbye, and take off. Michael would never be able to find him.

  ***

  Every conversation Michael had with Stern was based on lies. No truth ever passed between them during their chess games, but Michael knew the most important truth. Stern was a monster concealed in the outer trappings of Mr. Normal.

  Stern’s superego fueled his exaggerated sense of importance, and killing innocent people had filled him with an extraordinary sense of power, which gave him the sick life he craved, a life where he could have absolute power over others.

  I could get a gun, shoot him, and it would be over. Period!

  But it wouldn’t be over. Michael’s revenge to honor his family had to come only after Hans Stern knew why he was being tortured.

  Maybe I am fighting windmills. It might not matter to Stern if he knows the reasons or not. He doesn’t know the madman he is, but I do.

  Michael called Stern the next day and invited him over.

  “Would you like some tea, coffee, or something else?” Michael asked.

  “Strong tea would be fine.”

  Michael returned to the kitchen, brewed some tea and placed a small platter of Linzer tortes in front of Stern.

  He sipped his tea and pointed to the plate. “Are these the cookies that Hilda...”

  “Yes, they are.” Michael nodded. “Probably the last thing she baked in her oven. Where would you move, Harry? Would you stay in New York State?”

  “No, I don’t think so. There is no one to cook and clean for me now and I have to change my surroundings. I have friends in South America. They live in Paraguay.”

  “I see. How soon will you be moving? It will take time to find a buyer for your house.”

  “Actually, I have a buyer and he will give me a deposit if I make the house available in one week.”

  Michael was out of time. He had to act. The moment for justice was here.

  Stern had to be put on trial at once, here in Michael’s garage! That would be his courtroom, only the two of them, with Michael acting as judge and executioner. It wouldn’t be a sham like the trial at Nuremburg, where the rules of international law were abandoned and the Nazi murderers who were sentenced to prison terms were freed within a few years. Stern would die in his court, Michael’s garage, where Michael’s rule of law and justice would prevail. Like the judges did at Nuremberg, Stern’s verdict would be determined in advance.

  Chapter 13

  It was time for the endgame. Michael called Stern.

  “Harry, I’m leaving on vacation tomorrow and the thought occurred to me that I might not return before you move from Oneonta. I’d like you to come over tonight for some goodbye drinks and maybe a game of chess.”

  Stern arrived later that evening.

  “Schnapps, Harry?”

  “Ja, sure. Thank you.”

  Michael brought out a bottle of fine European schnapps and poured a shot glass for each of them. Michael sipped his drink slowly as Stern swallowed his all at once. He poured Stern another, then another.

  “Enjoy the schnapps. Not all the stores carry good European liquor. It’s much stronger than the others. I bought mine in New York City last year. Help yourself whenever you want more.”

  A few minutes later, Stern reached out and poured himself another glass. His eyes began to droop.

  “Harry, I am sorry you’re leaving Oneonta. I will miss you and our games. As I told you on the phone, I have some vacation plans myself and might leave tomorrow or the next day.”

  “Oh, it is good, then, that I am here tonight.”

  “Yes, it’s fortunate.”

  “Please, one more game, if you have the time,” Stern said.

  “I’d like that. We were evenly matched. But first, when I heard you were moving, I wanted to give you something as a remembrance of our chess games together.”

  “I’m feeling the effect of our drinks already. I am very relaxed. Yes, we were evenly matched, but a gift is not necessary.”

  “It would be my pleasure to present you with something unusual. I’ve had it for many years, since I was in college, and it has special meaning for me. I’d like it to be yours.”

  “Can you tell me what it is?”

  “It’s a beautiful chess set, Harry, with genuine marble pieces. We can play a match with it later tonight. I have enjoyed our games, but I don’t play chess anymore, and now, you will be moving away. I would feel honored to know my prized chess set is in your hands and that you will think of me during one of your chess matches. You’re a very good player.”

  “Thank you, Michael. You are a kind man.” Stern smiled. He seemed pleased.

  “It’s in the garage. We have to walk outside to get it.”

  Michael didn’t waste time. He took a key from his pocket to open the garage door. His Chevy Bel Air was at its usual spot on the left side. Michael pointed the way, remembering how the Nazis led the Jews to slaughter with promises of taking a warm shower. He thought of his little girls, who were told they would be given toys as they skipped and danced their way to the gas chamber.

  Now it was Michael’s turn to entice Stern with the promise of a wonderful gift. Stern walked toward the garage, convinced he would receive a genuine marble chess set.

  After they were halfway into the garage, Stern stopped and turned to let Michael walk in front of him. Fear filled Stern’s eyes as he saw Michael with a small wooden bat, held high, ready to strike.

  “Was machst du?” Stern yelled. He angled away from Michael, but it was too late.

  Michael struck a strong blow on Stern’s head and knocked him unconscious. He dragged him to a wall and handcuffed Stern’s left arm to a sturdy pipe about ten feet from Michael’s parked car.

  He closed the garage door, sat on the dull, gray, paint-stained floor with chips of cement missing from dropped tools, and leaned his back against the front fender of his Chevy. Michael was out of breath, his heart racing. He swallowed gulps of air as his hands trembled. Stern was unconscious, but breathing.

  Stern is mine. He will never know what is coming next, just as my family didn’t know their fate as they suffered in dark, crowded cattle cars with no food or water and the smell of urine and feces on the floor and in the air. His demise will be slow and painful, but first I have to know what thoughts were in the evil mind of this SS officer while he was on his rampage of death and destruction of innocent human beings. I have to get into the mind of a Nazi killer.

  Michael gazed at Stern. He was slumped on the garage floor, his head down, his right arm limp in front of him and his left arm handcuffed to a pipe behind him. He took Stern’s car keys out of his pocket, drove Stern’s car about a mile to Stern’s house, and left it in the driveway with the keys under the mat. As he walked back to his house, he thought of Ilona.

  ***

  It’s been a long journey, dearest, but we’re almost there. I couldn’t help you at the camp, when you needed me, and I’ve borne the burden of that guilt since our fingertips slipped apart.

  I love you so much and always will. That will never end. What a gift we had been given. My life was filled with your love and the love of our wonderful, sweet, and innocent daughters. Thank you so much.

  What I’m doing now is to honor you and our girls in the only way I can. You know me to be a peaceful, caring person, but when I thought of a punishment for Hans Stern that would fit the crime of killing our family, a different part of me emerged, a part I never knew existed. I need to punish him for killing our family and thousands of others but I can never match Stern’s cruelty. I’m too unlike him.

  I had the good fortune to cross paths with Hans Stern again and, when I looked into his evil face, a storm raged within me, but soon I was the one in control. I am now his master, so don’t worry, my love. He will die and never be near you. He will go to a place where the heat of the flames will constantly burn his flesh, and he will rot in agony
in the fires of hell for all eternity.

  ***

  Michael walked back to the house and entered the garage. Stern groaned as he regained consciousness. He opened his red and swollen eyes and pressed his lips together. Stern pulled on the handcuffs and screamed, “Was haben sie getan? What are you doing?” Michael’s house was isolated from the others in the countryside. Only he heard Stern’s cries.

  Michael remained silent. He fixed his eyes on Stern and smiled. Who would have thought this day would ever come?

  “Why are you doing this?” Stern yelled. “Are you crazy? We are friends. What has come over you? Is it a trick you are playing? My wife just died, for God’s sake! Release me. My wrist is hurting. Take these things off. Do it now! I insist!” Stern said, making a fist with his free hand.

  Michael observed Stern’s behavior. He appeared as if he didn’t have any idea why anyone would do this to him. Although Michael knew the truth, he questioned himself again. Is it him? Is he Stern?

  He looked into Stern’s eyes. They were old, sorrowful, and pleading, a sharp contrast to his younger days at Auschwitz, when his stares at Jews could mean only one thing...their deaths. He remembered Stern’s voice in the camp, shrill and piercing. There was no doubt. The man handcuffed to the pipe was Hans Stern. Harry Sanders and Hans Stern were one and the same!

  Stern’s screams continued. His labored, high-pitched voice rang through the garage, echoing off the walls.

  “Was haben sie getan?”

  Michael remained silent. He watched Stern squirm and beg to be freed as Stern held his head in his hands and repeatedly whispered, “Was haben sie getan.”

  This is just the beginning.

  Michael rose to leave, turning his back on Stern.

  “Don’t go,” Stern yelled. “Is it because Hilda took her life, Michael? Are you blaming me? I do not know what you are thinking. Just tell me.”