The last game, and libraries.
My grandfather taught me to play chess. he was a genius. spoke quite a few languages, knew the latin name for every plant under the sun. i did some research on this amazing person. during the great depression, to kept his young family fed, by working on the laundry boat that serviced the prison island of Alcatraz. He was later 'diagnosed' with super- intelligence, the poor man, and held back from fighting ze germans by the army, being rushed to collage on a scholarship to be the next Zigmund Fraud.
he played piano, and his fingers were a blur of action.
that kind of genius.
i was in awe of hin, naturally.
in chess, he killed me mercilessly every time, explaining with great passion where i failed, prompting me to think strategically. to avoid his many, MANY traps.
in chess, he killed me mercilessly every time,explaining where i failed, prompting me to think strategically. to avoid his many, MANY traps. nk strategically. to avoid his many, MANY traps.
but i never won a game.
when i was around 12, there was a period when i didn’t get to see him all that much. he was feeling bad, i was informed, obscurly.
one day, my parents took me over.
seeing him on that occasion i couldn't help but seeing that he was changed. he did not speak as precisly as before. more distressing, he could not play piano at all any more.
i was asked to play for him, ‘to cheer him up’.
i did not understand. how could my playing cheer him up, i was far from impressive. nothing like him.
then we played a game of chess. he looked at the board, as he always did. carefully calculating.
but he set no traps for me, he defended weakly.
i beat him that day. for the first and only time.
many years later, i realized i have a strange neurotic condition. i could not set foot inside a public library, without immidiately needing to run to the bathroom and pee.
the problem was absurd and was annoying me all through collage.
then one day i got a glimpse as to what was bothering me in a dream.
a flash memory of something i've totaly forgotten.
many years earlier, when i was about eight, i was sent for a weekend to be with my grandparents. i guess my parents needed a rest , dealing with only my rambunctious 5 year old brother, back home.
i stayed the first night away from home in my grandfather’s office. he had an impressive library covering many topics, many of the books falling into my hands years later.
sleeping on a cot , i was excited, going to sleep thinking about what we were going to do the following day. everything was great until i needed to pee.
living in a modest apartment, my grandparents had only one bathroom, which was just next to their bedroom. the toilet however, was perhaps the nousiest toilet in the history of the world. it made a sound that was a cross between a semitrailer and a jackhammer. it was on the other side of the wall from their bed's headboard.
so, sitting in the dark , i held on to this dilemma: go potty and wake my grandparents, or hold my own, with everything i had.
sitting there, the smell of the books and their dark silluettes taunted and threatened me. it's odd, that the smell of books, particularly old ones is my favorite, considering that that night they added to my anxiety...
i guesd i'm a weird person...
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that was the dream anyway. i am not sure what i did. but i think around five AM the resistance i had was about to pop . literally.
i’ve never seen my grandfather angry, but he had a way about him, that made you know that it wouldn’t be nice. a larger than life kind of person.
perhaps , since then, i am drawn to learning about other genius like him( beethoven , byron, samuel clemens, ted geisel , etc..)
he is truly someone i would love to meet again in another life, and get killed, playing chess with.