“Who else is on it?” Elias asked.
“Herr Seliger, Herr Feuerbach, and Doktor Carell.”
Oskar rolled his eyes. “All old men.”
Professor Affeldt nodded slowly, as if giving himself time to choose his next words carefully. “The captain made his choice based on what he has observed on the voyage.”
“What did he say?” Elias asked. “What's the holdup?”
“Yes, tell us the situation … honestly,” Frau Rosen added.
“The president of Cuba has issued a decree saying that we cannot land because we do not have visas.”
“But we have landing permits,” Frau Rosen pointed out.
“Yes, and they are apparently not the same thing.”
Elias furrowed his brow. “Then why did they sell them to us and say we would be allowed in?”
“It's a German plot,” Oskar said. “I knew it when they made us pay for a return trip, claiming it was just insurance against unforeseen circumstances.”
Others added their voices:
“Why can't they at least let us leave?”
“It's not enough to strip us of everything we have?”
“This is just like the Nazis … it never stops with them.”
Professor Affeldt shook his head. “No, in fact, this seems to have more to do with Cuba. Apparently they don't always do things in a lawful manner.”
“What will we do now?” Oskar pressed Professor Affeldt.
“Tomorrow a representative from the American Jewish Joint Distribution Committee in New York City is coming. They are pleading our case.”
Oskar insisted, “We need to take action and get this situation resolved.”
Professor Affeldt held up a hand to him. “I have said this many times today and I will say it again … all we can do for now is wait.”
Professor Affeldt tried to move away but the crowd wouldn't let him, barraging him with more questions. Would they at least be allowed ashore to visit with their loved ones while everything was cleared up? Did they have enough food and water to last them?
Thomas shifted around the group, heading for where Priska had been standing on the other side. But once he maneuvered by all the people, she was gone.
Chapter Fifteen
Over the next day, all manner of small boats— rowboats, skiffs, catamarans—anchored alongside the ship. A Cuban man called up to the passengers, offering brightly colored fruit.
“Do you have any pineapples?” Thomas asked.
He held up a coconut and Thomas shook his head. “Pineapple?”
The man offered a bunch of bananas. On the third try, he produced a pineapple. Thomas took a few coins from his pocket. He dropped one down to the man and waited. “More?”
The man nodded.
Thomas dropped another coin down. The man threw the pineapple up to him. Thomas caught it. The sharp points prickled his hands.
Down below, a man in another skiff called up in German, asking for Lisbeth Cohn. Moments later Lisbeth ran to the railing. At first Thomas thought she might go straight over the side of the ship, but she stopped and held out her hands. The man blew kisses to her and told her not to worry. She picked up Margot and, heaving her over her giant belly, held her above the railing. Margot had a puzzled look on her face, and Lisbeth kept repeating through her tears, “There's Vati. Wave to Vati.”
Thomas heard Priska's voice behind him. “What craziness.”
Thomas held the pineapple toward her. “You said the first thing you would do in Havana was have a pineapple.”
She smiled. “Is that a peace offering?”
Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Will it work?”
“Come on,” she said. “Let's go find a way to cut this up.”
At the bar they asked the bartender for a plate and knife.
“I'll do one better for you,” he said, and took the pineapple. He returned moments later with it neatly cored and sliced, accompanied by two bowls of sweet cream. “It tastes delicious with cream on top.”
“Thank you,” Priska said.
“Yes,” Thomas mumbled, still skeptical about trusting any kindness from the crew. “Thank you.”
The bartender nodded. “It's the least I can do.”
Priska took a bite and proclaimed, “Delicious.”
Next to them, a man downed a drink and ordered another brandy and water.
“You're not mad at me anymore?” Thomas asked.
Priska let out an exaggerated sigh. “I guess not.”
She smiled and took another bite of pineapple. He thought she seemed oddly happy given what was going on, and he asked, “Aren't you worried about what will happen to us?”
She shook her head. “It'll get sorted out with time. If the landing permits were no good, they wouldn't have given them to us. We wouldn't have kept going if we were just going to have to turn around.”
Thomas stared at her. Before they had arrived in the Havana harbor, her outlook had seemed stubbornly optimistic. Now it seemed only foolhardy. He wondered if her father had lied to her about what was happening. Thomas wanted to protect her too, but he wouldn't go so far as to lie to her.
“You don't believe it will all work out?” she said.
“I'm not sure.”
Priska swirled the cream in her bowl. “You have to have faith.”
“I'm trying to remain hopeful.”
“I didn't say hope. I said faith. There's a difference.”
Thomas squinted.
Priska explained, “Hope is wishing for something. Faith is believing in something.”
She took a few more bites of pineapple, then put her spoon beside her bowl and declared, “I, for one, think we need to do something.”
“What do you mean?” Thomas asked. He couldn't imagine how they could do much of anything.
“Something to distract people. I was thinking of a chess tournament …. We'll get lots of people to play.”
“I'm not sure that's what we need,” Thomas said.
“That's precisely what we need,” she argued. “Something else to focus on.”
Thomas scooped up the remaining bit of cream in his bowl. He had learned there was not much sense in trying to dissuade her when she had an idea in her head. And chess was easier for him than hope or faith. “Well, I suppose we could ….”
“Good, now how do we set up a tournament?”
“We'll have four rounds. No one will be eliminated so everyone can keep playing, regardless of how good they are, but as the rounds progress we'll end up with the best players playing each other.”
Priska took a last bite and put down her spoon. “Come on, then, we have work to do.”
Priska and Thomas split up and canvassed the ship, asking people if they wanted to play in the tournament. Thomas was surprised at how many people said yes. He began to think Priska was right—this was just what they needed. They met up again in the social hall and Priska handed Thomas her list. He scanned the names—Wilhelm and Jürgen, of course; Paul; other men he didn't know; and even a few women. His breath caught in his throat as he read one of the names at the end of her list: Manfred. Before Thomas could say anything, Priska said, “I couldn't very well tell him he couldn't play.”
“Why not? You could have said it was for passengers only.”
“He's probably not very good anyway.”
What Priska didn't know, of course, was that Manfred was very good. And for that matter, Thomas didn't see who could beat him. Surely not Jürgen, unless he got lucky. Perhaps Wilhelm. Otherwise it would have to be someone Thomas didn't know, or Thomas himself. Although the idea of playing Manfred again was daunting, it also sent a little spark up Thomas's spine. He might get his chance at revenge after all.
Thomas sighed. “I guess we have no choice but to let him play.” He sat down with the list and started drawing up the matchups. In the first round Thomas would play Steffi Safier, a woman he didn't know by name. Manfred would play Paul.
When the matchups wer
e set, they posted the schedule on the bulletin board outside the dining hall and asked the purser to make an announcement over the loudspeaker. A few moments later they heard: “A chess tournament will begin at two o'clock this afternoon in the social hall. The first-round matchups are posted.”
Priska gave Thomas a satisfied smile. Even Thomas couldn't help but be pleased. Instead of standing around, they had set something in motion.
In the social hall, they moved tables together and set up the four chessboards. Marianne and Hannelore decorated a banner that read ST. FRANCIS INAUGURAL CHESS TOURNAMENT.
When they had finished, Thomas asked Priska, “Where should we hang it?”
Priska chuckled. “How about right over Hitler?”
They settled for the wall above the tables where the tournament would be played. Priska filled a pitcher and glasses with water and set them on a side table. She surveyed the room and proclaimed, “We're ready.”
Thomas checked the clock. They still had half an hour until two. As they waited, Priska asked, “Are you nervous for your first game?”
Thomas shook his head. Perhaps Steffi Safier would be an excellent player, but the only person he was truly nervous about facing was Manfred.
Priska checked the clock again. Still fifteen minutes to go. She rose and made sure the water glasses were filled. With seven minutes to go, there was still no one there, and Priska walked to the chessboards. “Are the pieces all set up right?”
“Yes,” he assured her.
“What if no one comes?”
“They signed up. They're coming.”
“They could change their minds.”
“Then you and I will play each other,” Thomas kidded.
“Some game that will be.”
The door swung open and in came Paul and Claudia. Priska said a little too loudly, “Welcome to the St. Francis Inaugural Chess Tournament!”
“How clever of you to organize this,” Claudia said.
Others soon followed, and Thomas saw Priska take a deep breath. Manfred came and stood alone at one side of the room. At five minutes after two, Priska moved into the center of the room. “Thank you all for coming to the St. Francis Inaugural Chess Tournament. The first games are set to begin. Good luck to all.”
Thomas took his seat across from Steffi Safier. Manfred sat next to him, playing Paul. Steffi Safier reached out to shake Thomas's hand, and they began to play. It was a straightforward and one-sided game, with Thomas defeating her promptly, in only eighteen moves. He was done so quickly that he was able to watch Manfred play Paul. Paul was a nervous player. His eyes darted around the board, and he cleared his throat repeatedly between moves. In comparison, Manfred looked even more poised and calm. Thomas soon saw that Manfred's style hadn't been an aberration. If Thomas held out any hope that Manfred's win against him had been luck, it soon disappeared. Manfred chiseled away at Paul's pawns until they were weak, doubled, isolated, and then ultimately gone. It happened so smoothly, so subtly, that after they had finished, Paul kept staring at the board and rubbing his chin. Finally he shook Manfred's hand and turned to face Claudia.
She pecked him on the cheek. “A tough loss.”
Paul blinked. “I don't even know where I went wrong. It just fell apart.” He glanced over to where Manfred was pouring himself a glass of water. “He's very good.”
Thomas heard Jürgen murmur to Wilhelm, “He'll be the one to beat.”
Thomas was still thinking about Manfred as he sat down for his second game. His opponent was a man named Franz, who had won his last game with a brilliant knight sacrifice that had raised a small commotion among the growing number of spectators.
Franz was old enough to be Thomas's grandfather. He had deep-set eyes that made him look intelligent and serious. As they arranged the pieces, Thomas noted how Franz did everything slowly and methodically. Before the game began, he linked his hands together and cracked his knuckles, something Thomas assumed he did before every game. Thomas wondered when that little habit of Franz's had begun. Likely many years ago. Franz had probably played thousands of games and learned from every one of them. Against such an experienced opponent as Franz, Thomas knew he couldn't rely on his own endgame skills—Franz would no doubt be familiar with king and pawn endgames from the thousands of games he'd played. Instead Thomas decided to avoid piece trades, making the game complicated and tactical. In such positions, he could rely on his quick wit and outcalculate the older Franz. With this plan in mind, Thomas opened with the risky King's Gambit, known for its highly tactical nature. As he played the Gambit, Thomas felt confident. He was playing as he imagined Lasker would—using psychology to outwit his opponent before the first move was even played. Franz shrugged as he took Thomas's pawn sacrifice, not rattled by Thomas's aggressive opening choice.
In return for his sacrificed pawn, Thomas had a strong attack, and he worked hard to coordinate his pieces on the kingside. Just as he expected, the game soon became complicated.
“Why did he do that?” Claudia asked behind Thomas.
“Shhh,” Franz said, and the crowd tittered before quieting again.
Thomas looked over at Manfred, who was playing Wilhelm. If any player would have the presence of mind to beat Manfred, Thomas believed it would be Wilhelm. But he could see from the board that Manfred was dominating the game. He forced Wilhelm's pawns onto the same-color squares, leaving him practically immobilized and without options. Manfred's space advantage grew larger and larger as Wilhelm trapped himself with his own pieces. It was as if Manfred searched out whatever small weaknesses his opponent showed and capitalized on them. If Wilhelm had proven to be no match for Manfred, then Thomas feared no one could beat Manfred, least of all himself.
Franz cleared his throat. Thomas looked back to the board. It was his move. He rubbed his eyes, trying not to get lost in the web of variations. But he could barely keep track of it all. He would calculate a move four moves deep, only to find the variation irrelevant because of an unexpected move by Franz. Soon pieces began to trade, and Thomas's attack looked to be fading. He glanced over at Manfred again. He wasn't even playing him and Manfred was still affecting his game.
Under the table, Franz tapped his foot. Thomas stretched his neck from side to side. He looked back at the board and there it was. The best move was staring right at him. It was as if the pieces had moved since he had looked away. He played it immediately and looked up at Franz to gauge his reaction.
But Franz's face remained stoic, revealing neither pride nor disappointment as the game continued. Franz went down a bishop, but he didn't seem upset or anxious. Thomas found himself thinking ahead instead of concentrating on the board. He saw Manfred stand up and shake Wilhelm's hand. The game was already over. Manfred had won. Thomas turned back to the board. He took a deep breath but his chest was tight all of a sudden. Everything had fallen apart. Franz had forced a trade of pawns, and now, even winning by a bishop, Thomas wouldn't be able to queen his rook's pawn. He thought hard about ways he could salvage the game, but no progress could be made. As Thomas trapped Franz's king to the eighth rank, Franz looked up at Thomas with the first hint of emotion he had shown during the game. “Stalemate,” he said with a wise smile.
“What's that?” Claudia said from behind Thomas. “Did one of them win?”
Thomas shook hands with Franz and stood up to leave, feeling unsteady on his feet. He heard someone telling Claudia that it was essentially a tie. He had not lost. Thomas knew that. But it was little consolation for a game he had thought he would win. Manfred had infiltrated his mind and made him play poorly again.
“That was a bold strategy,” Franz said to Thomas. “Starting with the King's Gambit. Impressive.”
At Franz's compliment, Thomas felt his anger fade slightly. “Thank you. You were a tough opponent.” As he spoke the words, Thomas wondered if he was being too hard on himself. Franz was clearly a very skilled player and more than four times Thomas's age. Perhaps it wasn't such a comedown to have en
ded in stalemate. Still, if Manfred hadn't wormed his way into Thomas's head, he was sure he would have won.
“I've played a few games in my lifetime,” Franz conceded. A smile flickered across his face. “Do you know I saw Lasker beat Tarrasch? Back in '16.”
“In Berlin? When Lasker won five straight games after a draw in the first?”
Franz nodded. “Someone has taught you your history. You would have been only a baby in '16.”
“I wasn't even born yet,” Thomas said. “But my father told me all about Lasker. He used to watch him play at the Café Kaiserhof.”
“One of the finest players.” Franz tapped the side of his head. “He could read an opponent like no one else.”
“My father encouraged me to model my game after Lasker's. He said Lasker didn't always look for the best move but for the practical move.”
“Mmm,” Franz agreed. “Just so. Maybe you'll be able to see him play someday. If we all make it to America, that is. If we get these Cubans to come through on their promises. Lasker was one of the smart ones—he got out back in '33.”
Thomas had heard his father's version of the Lasker-Tarrasch game many times, and each time it was as exciting as if he didn't already know the outcome. Now he wanted to hear Franz's. He leaned forward, forgetting all about the stalemate. “ Lasker-Tarrasch, what was it like?”
“First you must consider the circumstances. It was the middle of the World War. Tarrasch had lost one of his sons in the war, and two of his other sons had died as well. He was in an unstable frame of mind. He had the advantage for much of the last game, and it looked as if Lasker was lost. His position was inferior, and he made a blunder on move fourteen that gave Tarrasch an overwhelming edge. Everyone watching that day thought it was all over. But Lasker wasn't the sort to give up. He knew how to play psychological chess, and he made the game complicated to rattle Tarrasch's nerves. It worked. It took him thirty moves of patient fight, but it worked. He won back the advantage and the game.”
Thomas glanced out the window. He would have liked to stay and keep talking to Franz, but he noticed the Ortsgruppenleiter conferring with Kurt. “Excuse me,” Thomas said to Franz. “And thank you again for the game.”
The Other Half of Life Page 12