Your Move

            by Lucien Kahn

 

            The tall maple trees of Jefferson Park swayed in the wind, shedding their last leaves of the year.  Orange and red leaves swirled on the ground at Robert’s feet as he hustled down the gravel path that cut diagonally through the park.  The wind whipped through his thin brown hair revealing wisps of white.  His old, tired muscles struggled against its force.  With his left hand he scrunched the collar of his coat tightly around his neck and adjusted the wooden box wedged under his right arm.  He made his way to the granite gray tables in the center of the park.  Brushing leaves and dust away with his sleeve, he placed the wooden box on the cold marble inlay of the table and sat on one of the round granite stools.  He adjusted his coat and scanned the park.  The gravel trail, flanked by green benches, continued off to his left through more trees.  To his right, monkey bars sat vacant, and the empty swing set creaked, battered by the wind.  The grrr of a motor and the grinding of metal blades on the grass reached Robert from across the park.  Robert watched Tom direct the lawnmower back and forth across the vast expanse of green, slicing through it.  Every Saturday, he thought.  In the sky above him large gray clouds suffocated the sun and threatened rain.

Robert pulled off his brown leather gloves, placing them on the edge of the table so the fingers hung over the edge.  He reached his shivering hands for the box.  It was plain and brown, but sturdy, with a small metal clasp on the lid.  With his index finger he flipped the thin golden hook and slowly lifted the lid, tilting it back until it rested on its hinges.  Rubbing his hand along the green velvet lining, he reached into the box and pulled out a wooden soldier.  He placed the black figure on the second row of squares on the smooth white and black marble.  Again he pulled out a wooden figurine, this time a tower, and placed it on its proper square.  Slowly and methodically he repeated the motion over and over until the box was empty and the two armies faced each other on the checkered board.  He heard the crunch of leaves and looked up, but it was only a woman walking her brown Labrador down the gravel path.  He watched them for a while as they made their way past his table and on towards the evenly manicured green lawn.  He rolled back his sleeve and looked at his silver watch.  9:17.  He’s late.

Robert went back to setting up the pieces.  He adjusted each one until it was centered perfectly on its square.  He rotated the Knights so they all faced left, staring straight at the pieces next to them.  A crumpled red leaf fell onto the open space in the center of the board and Robert immediately brushed it to the ground.  He slipped his gloves back on his hands and folded his arms across his chest, looking down the gravel lane at the empty park, waiting.

Robert checked his watch again, 9:28 now.  Jerry had never been this late before.  In fact it was usually Jerry who arrived first and claimed a table.  For the past seven years, every Saturday Jerry was right there, across from Robert, focused on their game by now.  What could be keeping him?  Something must’ve happened.  Could he have…died?  Jerry wasn’t older than me…he must’ve been in his late 60’s or...I don’t know.  What if he had a heart attack or fell down the stairs and…oh, what a horrible thought.  Why do I always assume the worst?  He probably missed his bus and will be here any minute.  Yes, that must be it.  He told me he takes the 56 to the Market St. stop and then walks down Michigan to the park ever since they took away his license. 

Robert felt a cold wet ball splatter on his ear, then another on his head.  He quickly placed his pieces as gently as he could into the wooden box, closed the lid, and snapped the clasp.  A moment later and his set would have been drowning as torrents of rain assaulted the table, Robert, and the park.  He lumbered through the trees, ducking as he went, to avoid the downpour.  When he stepped inside the coffee shop across the street, he was completely drenched.  He took off his jacket and hung it over a chair to dry.  Even his blue shirt was wet; it clung to his body.  He looked hopefully about the room for Jerry’s blue parka.  The shop was almost deserted.  Robert ordered a tea with honey and sat at the table near the window where he had a clear view of the park and the tables.  Slowly sipping his tea, he watched the door and stared at the tables for any sign of Jerry.  In the past, whenever it rained, Robert and Jerry retreated into the comfort of the café to play their games.  Could I have gotten the day wrong?  Was it only Friday?  No, that couldn’t be.  Tom was mowing the lawn, so it had to be a Saturday.

Waves of water formed in the street.  One of the storm drains was backed up and the rain was still coming down.  Robert finished his tea and again checked his watch.  10:19.  Something has happened.  I need to find out where he is.  Robert stood up, left his money on the table, put on his jacket, grabbed his box and headed out the door.  Just like that, the rain had let up and now only a light drizzle fell from the gray clouds.  Robert walked across the street, avoiding the lake that had formed, and crossed the gravel pathway back to the tables.  When he reached the table he stopped before wiping it and sitting down on the stool, unsure of what else to do.

Robert strained to think back to anything that might give him an idea of where Jerry could be.  He remembered when they first met at these very tables, back when many men met to play chess on the weekends.  Jerry had challenged him to a game and they had ended up playing five.  They were so evenly matched it was almost uncanny.  They drew three times and split the other two.  Ever since that first time it was routine to meet and play a few games each Saturday.  Ever since he had retired and his wife Catherine had passed, Robert looked forward to their meeting all week.  Besides playing chess and getting groceries Robert rarely left his apartment.  When he wasn’t playing chess he was alone and he couldn’t stand it.

Robert opened the lid of his wooden box once again and peered inside.  The pieces were jumbled and the velvet inside was still damp.  He reached in and pulled out the white king and held it.  Rotating it slowly in his hand, he observed it, thinking.  Where could he be?  Hmm.  I don’t know any of his family.  But, there was that one day when he had to leave early.  Yes…

 

“Good game,” Jerry said laughing as he returned his pieces to their places.  “My mistake was leaving my knight undefended.  I didn’t see that trick where you pinned it to my king.  Very nice.”

“Again then?” Robert asked hopefully, placing a pawn on the second rank. 

“Well,” Jerry checked his watch, “Just one more.  I have to go meet my son for his lunch break, and it’s nearly noon.”

“Oh that’s nice,” Robert pushed his king pawn forward two squares.  “Where does he work?”

“Goldman’s Deli, it’s just down the street,” Jerry explained, pushing his own pawn forward.

 

Robert put the king back into the box, closed the lid, and stood up.  That’s it: Goldman’s Deli–‘It’s just down the street.’ I just need to find his son.  Determined, Robert followed the gravel path back to the street and stepped onto the sidewalk, black and cold from the rain.  He crossed the street and walked down Michigan searching for Goldman’s Deli.

The street was quieter than normal.  A few cars drove by, spraying water behind them.  Robert had walked this street many times, but that was long ago.  Now he barely recognized any of the buildings.  There were fast food shops, some selling pizza or burgers or advertising all day waffles.  Clothing stores with names he didn’t recognize displayed sweaters and pants he thought looked absurd.  There were new office buildings with soaring glass walls towering above him ten stories high.  Clouds still hung in the sky and the sun was nowhere to be seen, but the drizzle had stopped.  A cool breeze chilled Robert’s face and ears as he walked.  He removed his gloves from his pocket and pulled them onto his hands one at a time.  He noticed his watch on his wrist and checked the time.  It was half past 11.  Robert looked up and saw ahead of him a golden awning.  In red curly lettering it said Goldman’s Deli.  He made his way under the awning and looked into the large glass window.  He could see a long counter with a glass case displaying countless slabs of salamis, cheeses and meats.  He pushed open the door with the tinkle of a little bell.  A clean-shaven young man immediately appeared from behind double doors that Robert assumed could only lead to the kitchen.

“What can I do for you today, sir?” the young man asked, wiping his hands on the red apron he was wearing.  Robert saw “Steve” on the little rectangular nametag pinned to the man’s shirt. 

“Umm, well I was actually looking for…” Robert stopped when he realized he had no idea what Jerry’s son’s name was.  For all he knew Steve could be Jerry’s son, although they looked nothing alike.  Steve was waiting patiently behind the counter.  Robert was fidgeting with his gloves.  Then he continued, “I was actually looking for someone who works here.”  Robert shifted his weight onto his left foot unsure of how to continue.  “Do you know someone who works here who’s name…well…his dad’s name is Jerry?”

Steve was silent for a moment and Robert thought he wasn’t going to say anything until, “I’m sorry, I don’t know,” he shrugged. 

“But you don’t understand,” Robert explained. “I need to find him.  His dad is missing.  I need to find him.” 

“I’m sorry.  No one else works here today except Sarah but she comes in at noon.”  Robert didn’t wait any longer but instead turned and marched away from the counter.  He pushed his way back through the door, ringing the bell again.  I must’ve sounded like an idiot.  Only when he was outside did he realize how hungry he was.  Robert trudged the four blocks back to the park, his stomach rumbling the whole way.

            When Robert arrived again at the park he found the tables and sat on his stool.  He did not open his box and set up the pieces; he only sat there in silence and waited for Jerry.  The wind in the trees and the creaking play structure were the only sounds.  The sun finally peeked from behind a cloud just to be blocked by the city’s buildings.  Robert watched the shadows in the park grow until his head stretched ten feet away from him.  He rose to his feet and walked away from the tables in the direction of his apartment.

 

*          *          *

 

            Robert woke up on Saturday morning; it was still dark outside.  The bed creaked as he shifted his weight to get up and put his slippers on.  His muscles ached as he walked slowly to the bathroom.  It took a while for the pipes to warm up and the cold water shocked his hands.  He went back into his room and turned on the light to read.  He used to read with Catherine on these Saturday mornings; she was also an early riser.  Both of them wouldn’t have been able to fit in this bed anyway; he had left the queen-sized bed behind when he moved out of their house because he couldn’t pay the mortgage on his own.

Everything had happened at once seven years ago: first the joy of retirement, then the loss of Catherine, his move uptown, finding chess to take his mind off of his troubles.  It all led to Jerry.  Robert imagined his face: square, dark wrinkles around his mouth, deep blue eyes.  Jerry was very thin and his hair was whiter than Robert’s.  I’ll see him again today in the park.  We will play chess for twice as long to make up for last week.  For some reason Robert’s stomach wouldn’t quite let him believe this.

The sun had risen now and shafts of light poured through his window.  No clouds obscured the sky.  Robert threw off the covers and went into the kitchen to get breakfast.  The chicken soup warmed his body and he felt prepared for the day ahead.  I’ll play the Ruy Lopez, unless he plays the French Defense.  Hmm.

Dressed in layers and with his box tucked neatly under his arm, Robert strolled down the gravel path as always.  He waved to Tom who was riding the lawnmower in circles on the lawn as he walked by.  It was a warm day in November, rare by anyone’s standard, and Robert took it as a sign.  Last week was a fluke.  Jerry would be here this time and he would have a perfectly reasonable explanation.  Robert set up his pieces in high spirits.  The park was filling up as people decided to take advantage of the weather.  Small children and their parents flocked to the play structure.  A hairy white dog chased a tennis ball across the mowed half of the lawn and returned it to its owner.

Robert finished setting up his pieces and looked up, expecting to see Jerry striding towards him.  No Jerry.  I was early anyway.  He’ll be here.  Robert checked the time.  9:05.  Nothing to worry about.  But Robert felt his stomach again and he couldn’t believe himself.  The park slowly filled.  A guitarist, wearing a bright yellow scarf, stood with her case open, playing for coins.  A young couple chatted at the table next to Robert’s.  Robert waited until Tom was long gone and the sun was high in the sky.  He packed up his pieces and sat for a while longer looking at the marble squares.  The black and white checkered squares went in and out of focus as Robert stared at them.  Finally he stood up.  Stop feeling sorry for yourself and do something.  But what?  Robert began walking aimlessly in the direction of his apartment.  He stood before the crosswalk waiting for the orange hand to change into a fluorescent walking man.  When it did, he stepped into the crosswalk and jumped sideways, dropping his box on the pavement as a hulk of a truck screeched to a halt in the middle of the intersection.  Robert picked up his box and held it close as he rushed out of the street looking over his shoulder at the driver, who was waving an apology through the windshield.  Robert was still shaking a little, his heart beating a million times a minute.  Shouldn’t be driving.  Should have her license taken away.  Should be taking the bus.  Like Jerry.  Like Jerry!  I just need to take the bus Jerry takes.  It’s worth a chance. 

The 56 arrived every 15 minutes on weekdays and every half hour on weekends, but the wait wasn’t long.  Robert stepped onto the bus using the metallic railing for support.  The bus was mostly empty.  Two kids sat in the back listening to music, and an elderly lady sat near the front with her groceries in plastic bags surrounding her on the seats and the floor.  After paying, Robert had a seat so he was facing the front and could easily turn to look out either window.  The bus followed its route down Market St. making occasional stops to exchange passengers.  Market St. slowly changed from the downtown section where it was cramped with stores and tall grand commercial buildings to the quieter stretch of houses and apartments.  Robert racked his brain, trying to remember a moment when Jerry had told him where he lived.  But he couldn’t think of anything.  The harder he thought about it, the more the memories began to swirl in his head and the more confused he became.

Robert pulled the chain to signal the driver to stop.  As the bus pulled away, Robert looked around, realizing he had no idea where he was.  Jerry could be anywhere.  I might as well try a couple houses though.  Robert walked up to the entranceway of one old white Victorian and pressed the button next to the door.  He heard a faint ring from inside, footsteps, and then the door opened.  A small young woman looked back at him expectantly.  Robert thought of a quick plan.

“Um…excuse me, I am looking for a friend who lives over here, but I lost his exact address.  Do you know anyone by the name of Jerry who lives nearby?”  She gave him a funny sort of look.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, sorry,” she said before firmly closing the door.  Robert tried three more houses and received similar answers.  No one knew Jerry.  Hell, I barely know him.  Robert was going to give up when he came to an apartment building and saw the list of names over the mailboxes by the entrance.  He walked over and stood examining them, running his finger down the list as he read.  1A: David Penny, 1B: Angelina Harrington, 1C: Rose-

“Can I help you?” a well-tanned young man wearing a backpack asked, pointing to the list.  He was standing in the doorway leaning against the open door.

“Oh, I was just looking for a friend.  Um, does Jerry live here?  I’m not sure if I have the address right.”

“Jerry? Jerry Mitchell, 2B,” said the man holding open the door open.  Robert thanked him and hurried inside.  Jerry Mitchell, 2B.  What luck!  Robert climbed two flights of steps and stopped at the second landing to catch his breath.  His muscles ached, but he knew he was very close.  He could see the golden 2B on the wooden door and he knew he had found the right place.  Jerry had also moved out of his house when his wife died, just like Robert.

Robert lifted his hand and knocked three times with his knuckles, knock, nah-knock.  He could hear movement inside behind the door.  There is so much we need to talk about.  I have realized how little I know about him. How much I wish I knew…then the brass handle turned and the door opened wide.  A tall, dark man with a mean face and long black hair stared back at him.  “Yeah?” he grunted.

“Jerry Mitchell?” Robert stuttered, looking at the man towering in the doorway.

“Yeah?” he repeated.

“Sorry, I think, I think I have the wrong…” Robert trailed off and walked away.  The bus ride back toward the park took no time at all, and Robert arrived home before he knew it.  It was getting dark, but he didn’t bother turning on any lights.  He only placed his box on the shelf next to his bed, changed his clothes and got under the covers.

 

*          *          *

 

The green leaves on the trees sucked in the sunlight on this cloudless day.  Tom sat above the green rumbling engine of the lawnmower and observed the park.  Children were shouting on the play structure; parents and couples sat quietly on the benches, watching, drinking in the sunshine.  Tom looked toward the center of the park and saw an old man sitting alone at one of the granite tables.  Tom recognized his face; what was his name again?  He watched him set up his chess set, pulling each piece one by one from the box and placing it delicately on its proper square.  He used to play someone, Tom thought, but I haven’t seen the other man in months.  Tom focused again on the lawn.  He rotated the black rubber steering wheel clockwise, turning away from the old man and the benches.  He lifted his hat with his gloved hand and wiped the sweat from his forehead.  It was now summer and the grass was growing faster and taller than ever.

            Finished, Tom pulled the lawn-mower into the green wooden shed by the public restrooms.  He took off his gloves and boots and found his own clothes where he had left them earlier that morning.  When he was done changing, Tom closed the door behind him and locked the deadbolt with his key.  He interlocked his fingers and stretched his arms behind his back.  Morning shift is over, it’s time for lunch.  As Tom walked through the park toward his favorite deli on Michigan St. he passed the old man still sitting at the table alone.  Tom stopped and walked up to the man, who looked up when he heard Tom’s footsteps.

            “It looks like you could use someone to play with,” Tom gestured at the pieces, which were still set up perfectly on the marble squares.  The old man sat staring at Tom for a moment.  Tom waited, Did he hear me?  Finally, the old man opened his mouth.

            “Well,” he turned his tired head to search the park. “I was waiting for Jerry, but…” slowly a grin appeared on his face.  “He’s probably not going to make it.  Sit down.”