The Chemist's Shop Page 2

  He turned the TV off and prepared to leave for The Chemist’s Shop. The pharmacy prided itself on offering a high level of customer care and attention to detail. They filled prescriptions, prepared sterile solutions, and compounded medications when no commercial product was available. Michael was proud of the reputation his shop had developed as “the pharmacy with a heart.”

  He and Dan regularly engaged in patient counseling with their prescription customers. It included in-depth medication reviews that gave patients a better understanding of the purpose of their drugs and how they worked in the body. Dan was an excellent pharmacist, a young man of high personal integrity who took pleasure in classic literature and music. He enjoyed live theater and fishing in the mountain streams, and the customers appreciated his pleasant smile along with his quirky sense of humor. He would be a good catch for a girl with the same interests. When Michael asked him why he made himself unavailable, he answered, “I’m available, all right. I’m just waiting for the right girl.”

  ***

  Michael showered and soaped himself as he hummed the music from Swan Lake. As he rinsed off, the blue tattooed number on his forearm became more visible. It reminded him of a time long ago. He had looked at it every day in Auschwitz, when he told himself there would be a better life ahead. The warm water glistened on the tattoo, bringing the number A11328 to life.

  He was glad when people asked him the meaning of the number. It gave him an opportunity to explain that it helped prevent people from forgetting that tragic time. Some children asked if it helped him remember his phone number, others thought it was a design, but Michael always explained that it represented a terrible time in his life.

  One little girl asked, “Why was it so bad?”

  “Because it was a time when millions of innocent men, women, and children were tattooed with a number like mine and then killed by evil people. It was called The Holocaust, and the world stood silent.”

  “So, do you keep it there to remember that terrible time?”

  “No,” he answered. “I keep it there for you to remember that whenever evil raises its ugly head, you must never be silent.”

  ***

  Michael dressed, walked a short distance to his two-car detached garage, and drove his ten-year-old 1960 Chevy Bel Air to work. It was a lovely spring day in early May and he had been working steadily in the pharmacy for a few weeks. When he arrived, he greeted Dan and the two technicians, then went into the office to retrieve his long-sleeved white lab jacket.

  The staff was busy typing labels and filling prescriptions for several waiting people, a few of whom chatted with neighbors while others mulled about the shop, perusing new cosmetic items. One of the medications was for Hilda Sanders, a customer of the pharmacy since opening day. She was waiting for her prescription for eye drops to treat her glaucoma. Her husband approached the counter to pick it up. At first, the man’s slight accent drew Michael’s attention. He thought nothing of it, until he turned and stared into the man’s icy, steel-blue eyes, eyes he could never forget.

  Hans Stern.

  Michael’s lips tightened and his hands trembled at the sight of the Nazi officer.

  He recognized Stern at once. The man’s cold eyes and downturned, thin lips were a dead giveaway. It’s him! Stern’s face was wrinkled, his blond hair almost white, but there could be no doubt. Stern glanced back at Michael for a moment, but showed no signs of recognizing him. How could he make a connection? Their eyes had met only twice, briefly, more than twenty-five years ago.

  Michael boiled inside at the sight of him, but forced himself to remain calm and say nothing. In that instant, he felt two opposing but related feelings—one was anger, the other exhilaration. He would have his revenge at last.

  Chapter 3

  After the pharmacy closed, Michael stayed behind in the dim light and silence. He sat in his leather swivel chair in the office and thought back to his time in the concentration camp, when rare moments of solitude became his best friend.

  Today was not one of those times. After seeing Stern in his store, the image of him laughing as he threw Ilona’s bleeding, naked body onto a pile of jagged rocks ate at his insides. Trembling and overcome with anxiety, Michael tried to steady himself. He nestled his head between his arms on the desk and closed his eyes, struggling to erase that horrible image from his mind. Nothing helped. The nagging image persisted, and the memory of Stern’s high-pitched, diabolical laughter inflamed Michael’s anger further. Stern had been invading Michael’s dreams since the Soviets liberated Auschwitz in 1945. The evil SS officer was always in the recesses of Michael’s mind and he could not escape the tormenting visions of Stern using Ilona as his plaything, his sexual toy.

  His nightmares plagued him. He saw Stern ripping Ilona’s clothes off and smacking her until blood poured from her nose.

  One vision tormented him like no other. It was when he saw Ilona lying on the rocks with her arms stretched out toward him, begging for help, and he was powerless. He was never able to erase it from his mind, and it made sleep impossible.

  Michael thought back to a few hours earlier, when he’d laid his eyes on Stern. His face was wrinkled and worn and he appeared vulnerable. For Michael, it was a dream come true.

  A different picture entered his mind. This time, Michael was in control and imagined himself with his hands wrapped around Stern’s throat, tightening, squeezing until the SS officer’s face swelled. He imagined Stern’s face turning blue as he gasped for air, his bulging eyes erupting from their sockets and hanging along his cheeks. Strength surged into Michael’s hands. Pure joy coursed through his body as he continued to squeeze Stern’s neck tighter until it was crushed and his body fell to the floor. Michael looked at him lying dead, his face still and gaunt with his mouth open and blood gushing out of his eyes. It was over. Michael lifted his head from the desk.

  Have I become him?

  He rubbed his eyes. Killing Stern by choking him would be too easy. He had to know why he had to die, an option never given to tens of thousands of his victims. Most of the prisoners killed at Auschwitz, in their sweet innocence, could never have imagined that the unthinkable was about to occur. To be murdered just because they were Jews. Michael knew he had time on his side. His plan for Stern had to be carried out slowly.

  Like the Jews in concentration camps, Stern would never know what was coming next.

  Michael examined Stern’s family prescription records, which were under the name of Harry Sanders, and made a mental note of the details. Stern’s profile showed that he used sleeping medication and drugs to treat congestive heart failure.

  Hilda’s record revealed that she took medication for depression and eye drops for glaucoma. She also used sleeping capsules for her insomnia.

  The compounding room at The Chemist’s Shop was an area filled with chemical apparatus and a hood with an exhaust fan for preparing capsules, troches, and sterile products.

  Michael took a bottle of grain alcohol off the shelf and brought it to the office, where he poured it into a glass and added orange juice. He sat at his desk, sipped his drink, and allowed his mind to wander. He thought of how much he loved Ilona and his little ballerinas, who were going to change the world of dance, literature, and music.

  The image of Ilona lying on the ground, half buried in the rocks, was burned into Michael’s mind. He remembered her pained expression as he ran to cover her with his striped shirt. In the background, he heard Stern’s drunken ranting. The Nazi laughed and cursed, pointing to her and calling her a schlampe, a bitch, as he stood in the doorway of the barracks. Miklos held Ilona close, her blood on his bare chest.

  She whispered in his ear, “He raped me, Miklos. Why didn’t you protect me? Our daughters died. Our little babies are dead.”

  Michael looked into her sorrowful eyes begging him to rescue her. His tears fell upon her face as Ilona touched them and brought them to her lips. He comforted her as best he could. They looked at each other in what they knew wo
uld be their final gaze. Their fingertips drifted apart as Michael fought to hold on to her. Crying silently, he let out a scream when the pain of a Nazi’s boot against his back and the butt of a rifle brought him to the ground.

  It was the last time he saw Ilona. Shortly afterward, she was moved to a different part of the camp. Many months later, he learned that she had found her freedom by running into an electrified fence.

  I should have searched for a way to save my family. Maybe it was possible, even in a concentration camp. I should have tried.

  Michael continued to feel the pain in his back after he was attacked by the Nazi. He was assigned to work as a janitor, where he saw Stern’s face close-up. They glanced at each other for a moment as Stern passed him. Even with Miklos’s head tilted downward, he saw the Nazi’s eyes, cold as ice. He wanted to learn more about him, and in a rare moment, when Michael was alone, he discovered several original documents of Stern’s history in a filing cabinet folder. Each one had a photo of him in his SS uniform and his signature on the bottom. He took one and concealed it in his pants.

  Michael’s thoughts returned to the reality of The Chemist’s Shop. The pharmacy had a different feel for him in the darkness. He was used to the sound of the cash register ringing up sales, used to seeing activity buzzing around him and the staff busy with people who had questions about their medication. He fixed himself another drink, then another. The alcohol took him to a different level in his mind. It didn’t make him sleep but brought him to a quieter place, where he was able to think clearly. The drinks created mild euphoria and a loss of inhibition. It also provided a temporary escape from the pain he felt inside. He would have preferred wine or brandy, but the grain alcohol did its job and the orange juice made it taste better. The more he drank, the more his thoughts filled with anger at Stern and took him to new pathways in his brain, places where he could plan his revenge and decide how to kill Stern.

  He was glad he had said nothing to Stern when their eyes met earlier that day. Anything he might have said would’ve been premature and it would have spoiled everything. Now that it was time for justice, Michael was in control and no longer powerless. He would play a role totally foreign to his basic nature—executioner.

  Chapter 4

  Michael spent the next week thinking of Stern. Rage filled every cell of his body, but it soon gave way to contemplation and planning. He hadn’t seen Stern since their previous encounter at the store, but he knew Stern and Hilda had long lists of prescription drugs on their medication charts, so they would be back often.

  Michael was at work in the pharmacy, thinking that the next time he and Stern met, it would be different. He wasn’t sure how, but he knew that once he engaged Stern in conversation, it would lead to him making contact with Stern outside of the pharmacy. Michael was still exhilarated and excited to know that he would be the one to kill Stern and avenge the deaths of his family and others killed under Stern’s direction. He was evil and had to be punished.

  Before punishing him, Michael wanted to know what was in his mind. How could Sterns inflict such cruelty on innocent people? Michael had to take him under his control, question him about the war, and humiliate him the way he did the Jews and others before putting Stern to death.

  Michael remembered a few things about Stern that were common knowledge at the camp. He was a heavy smoker, loved to kill Jews at random, used women for violent sex, and played cards with the guards and chess with certain prisoners. He considered himself a master chess player, and when he found someone who challenged him, even a Jew, he made sure to keep him alive, rewarding him with an occasional loaf of bread. To others, Stern appeared mean and cruel, but Michael knew he was more than that. Hans Stern exhibited a depraved indifference to human suffering. He should never have been born.

  Chess was my game too.

  It was near closing time. Dan had already gone home and Michael sat in his office, reviewing literature related to drug interactions. He heard the front door open and the sound of rapid footsteps. An out-of-breath Hans Stern appeared at the pharmacy counter. He spoke to a technician and asked to speak to Dr. Ross. Michael recognized his voice. His hands trembled as he walked to the counter.

  “Mr. Sanders, it’s nice to see you again,” he said calmly. “I’m Michael Ross.”

  “How do you do? Yes, yes, I know your name,” Stern said in a heavy German accent. “Please, I come to your pharmacy because it reminds me of the apothecaries we had in Europe. The chemists were always very helpful.”

  “Thank you for telling me that. What can I help you with?”

  “I am sleeping well, but I am tired during the day. The sleeping capsule helps me, and I am happy for that, but it is not possible for me to be so tired in the daytime. I used to play chess with a friend and it stimulated my mind to stay awake, but he has moved to Albany and now I have no one. If you have something that would help me stay awake during the day until bedtime, I would be grateful.”

  Michael couldn’t believe this conversation was taking place. It was like a dream out of the past, only now Michael held the cards, or maybe the chess pieces, and Stern needed him. Michael remained calm and unstressed. It was easy for him to do that now. His plan was beginning to unfold.

  “Okay, a couple of things, Mr. Sanders,” he said casually. “First, eat a balanced diet with plenty of fresh fruits and vegetables. Substitute fish for meat, and no heavy meals or sugar drinks before bedtime. Drink a lot of water, and make sure you exercise. I’ll give you vitamin B-complex capsules. Take one twice a day after breakfast and lunch and let me know if it helps.”

  Stern nodded and said, “Thank you.”

  “We’re closing soon, but I’ll check your medications in the morning, and I’ll let you know if any of them may be contributing to your fatigue. Maybe lowering the dose of your sleeping medication would make a difference, but we’ll talk next time.”

  “Yes, I will let you know. Thank you.” Hans Stern studied Michael’s face. “Have we met outside the pharmacy? Do I detect an accent? Are you from here?”

  “I was born and grew up right here in Oneonta. Never left the States, except for my stint in the army. I lost my parents early in my life in an auto accident. My grandparents were from Europe, and they raised me. It’s their accent you hear. Nice seeing you again.”

  “Yes, and you too.”

  “One more thing, Mr. Sanders. I’m sorry you lost your chess partner. I know what it is like not having someone to challenge you and stimulate your mind. I don’t know how well you know the game, but I want to let you know that I was state champion three years in a row when I was in college.”

  “Really? We must play.”

  “I’m a little busy for chess these days, but I’ll keep it in mind. Have a good night.”

  The Nazi left and Michael heaved a huge sigh. He’d just made his first move. A smile swept across his face.

  This is only the beginning. The best is yet to come.

  Chapter 5

  It was Thursday, a day Michael reserved to stay home and use his time alone to meditate and listen to music. The horrible images of Stern shooting Jews in the back of their heads at random streamed through his mind. Stern would walk up behind them, shoot, and laugh. Now Michael would have the last laugh. He was in no rush and he relished each moment as he refined his plan for revenge.

  The slower, the better.

  Michael stuffed a scrambled egg inside a warm croissant and sipped strong black coffee as he listened to the strains of Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody wafting through the air. He thought about the first moment he and Ilona met. It was in 1922. They were both twelve and too shy to say very much to each other.

  ***

  I went with my parents to visit the wine shop owned by Ilona’s father, Istvan Kovacs. He was not only the proprietor of the shop, but was the winemaker as well and owned the vineyard. He made the sweet Tokoi dessert wine, which was famous in Hungary and all of Europe.

  I remember looking at the rows of gr
apevines growing on the sunny hillside. At the end of each row was a rosebush that added spots of color to the landscape. The grapevines usually received just the right amount of rain to make a wonderful wine. Some years were better than others, but that’s the way it was in general with crops. Grapes were no different.

  Ilona was at the shop, a young, sweet girl with black braids and a fresh country look. Mr. Kovacs introduced us and remarked with a smile, “Ilona helps with the harvest, but I always see her eating a few grapes off the vine as she placed them in her wooden basket.”

  My father, Ferenc Rosen, had become friendly with Istvan and often chatted with him about the intricacies of winemaking and The Great War, which had ended in 1918 with an armistice a few years earlier.

  I watched Ilona as she placed bottles of her father’s deep amber, syrupy sweet wine on the shelves. She wore a typical Hungarian peasant dress, embroidered with flowers showing the vibrant colors of our Hungarian flag—red, white, and green.

  I looked at Ilona as she filled the shelves. She turned toward me for a moment, our gazes locked, and I caught her slim, shy smile before she looked down at the floor. It was a vision I carried with me for life. We didn’t speak, but we knew in our hearts we had found someone special.

  Chapter 6

  As Michael drove to work the next day, he added bits and pieces to his plan to kill Stern.

  Will killing him make me like him?

  There was no time for ethics. Only action could make things right. Stern had not only killed Michael’s family, but thousands of other innocent victims too.

  Someone has to speak for them.

  He arrived at work, and it wasn’t long before he saw Hilda and Hans Stern walking through the front door. Hilda went to the cosmetic section and chatted with Briana, a pretty girl with long, flowing brown hair, hazel eyes, and a winning smile. She was a twenty-year-old college student who worked part-time at the pharmacy. She knew whatever there was to know about face creams, makeup, and hair coloring products, and she had built up quite a following of women who trusted her advice.