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The Jeweler

Mike Schneider

    As Heinrich returned Thursday night from his four to midnight shift as a janitor, he worried someone might recognize him as a former concentration camp guard.
    Things had been good until now. He had worked as a custodian for General Motors, first in Elyria, Ohio, then Sandusky. While his job was in Elyria, he lived in Sullivan Township, a sleepy little community about 25 miles to the southwest, with few people. When the company transferred him to Sandusky he moved his family to Castalia, 10 miles from the job and about a thousand people. His low profile position, out of the public eye, had kept him off the feds’ radar for more than 20 years after he, Marta, and Vera arrived in America in 1955.
    But in 1976 he had again been reassigned, this time to the Parma plant, nearer to Cleveland, which had been ok for a year. Then the United States Department of Justice announced it intended to revoke the citizenship of a retired Seven Hills auto worker named John Demjanjuk, claiming he was ‘Ivan the Terrible,’ a sadistic Ukrainian prisoner-of-war guard at the Treblinka death camp, in Nazi occupied Poland, during World War ll.
    Government prosecutors should have known better, he thought. As a typically proud Russian, Heinrich felt people from any place other than Mother Russia simply didn’t measure up. However, if associated with Treblinka in any way, even the dumbest Ukrainian, or the dumbest person from anywhere, would know better than to live in Seven Hills, just 12 miles from Shaker Heights, the southern tip of the Jewish enclaves of Cleveland’s northeastern suburbs. The ignorance of federal prosecutors had seriously cracked the shell of the peaceful world he had built for himself and his family.
    As Parma was an hour’s drive from Castalia, during the week he stayed with his sister, Knapa, and her husband, Antonio, in Cleveland’s Little Italy where they owned an Italian restaurant people affectionately referred to as the spaghetti palace. Every Friday at midnight he drove back to Castalia, returned to Parma in time for his shift Monday afternoon.
    Now, due to the ineptitude of the justice department, that had to end. Every evening the local and national news swirled around Demjanjuk/Ivan the Terrible, rekindling memories of Treblinka, not only in the minds of former Jewish prisoners who had been there and were lucky enough to make it out alive, but also the relatives of those whose lives ended there, and Jewish people in general. It promised to be a long case, years not months. He could no longer take a chance on being spotted, so today he went in early and filed paperwork to resign and freeze his pension. Tuesday night would be his last shift. He figured he would find some kind of job in or around Castalia, perhaps in nearby Bellevue, or Monroeville. The smaller the town, the better.
    He called Marta during a break that night and told her the news.
    “That’s wonderful! We will love having you home all the time,” she said.
     ‘We’ included their daughter, Vera, and her four-year old twin boys, Jake and Toby. They had moved in eight months earlier when her husband, Charlie, took off with another woman leaving Vera and the twins with unpaid rent, utilities about to be shut off, and little food in the pantry.
    Heading to Knapa’s Heinrich glanced at his watch, then looked at it again, a habit he had developed carrying a pocket watch as a boy growing up in Leningrad, where his father was a political operative for the Communist Party.
    ‘Twelve-thirty, enough time for a beer or two at Marco’s,’ he thought.
    He favored Marco’s as it was close enough to Knapa’s he could walk home if he ever outdrank his sobriety, which, in fact he had never done but why take a chance stopping someplace farther away.
    Paul was sitting at the bar when he sat down and asked for a Rolling Rock.
    “How’s it going tonight?” Heinrich queried.
    “About the same. Cavs are still licking their wounds from last season, Indians lost, as usual, Browns say they’re ready for their first exhibition game and looking forward to a good season. They think Brian Sipe is going to come into his own at quarterback this year.”
    They talked a little more about sports, then switched to grandkids and the Italian Fisherman’s Club Paul was always trying to get him to join.
    “All they know is Lake Erie, Paul. There’s nothing challenging about going where all the charter boats happen to be congregated, dropping a line in that bath tub and pulling up perch. Or trolling with downriggers for three or four hours to get a couple walleye. I’m a bass and panfish man. Give me an inland lake and some structure, that’s the kind of fishing I do.”
    He finished his first beer, looked at his watch again, twice, figured he had time for one more. As he drank it an older man who had been sitting several stools down approached him.
    “I saw you check your watch a few minutes ago. I’m a jeweler, it looks like something quite special. You aroused my curiosity,” he said.
    “You obviously have 20/20 vision, no cataracts, and a good eye for watches,” Heinrich said as he held his arm out so the man could see it.
    “An old Rolex. I’ve had it many years. Still keeps good time.”
    “It’s lovely. May I look closer?”
    Heinrich took it off, handed it to him. The man pulled a loupe from his pocket, thoroughly inspected it, then handed it back.
    “It appears to be in excellent condition. Would you consider selling it?”
    “I might if the price is right.”
    “I will research it tomorrow, will you be here tomorrow night?”
    “No. I stay in Cleveland during the week, go home to Erie County on weekends. Will leave tomorrow night right after I clock out.”
    “How about Monday night then?”
    “Sure. I’ll make it a point to stop by.”

#

    Saturday morning the grandkids’ explosive happiness woke him at 7:30.
    “Poppa’s back!” they yelled in unison when they saw his cap hanging on the hall tree by the front door and came running into the bedroom.
    “What are we going to do today, poppa?” Jake asked as they jumped on the bed. “Can we go to the ice cream store again?”
    “Of course, little ones. Of course. But first we have to drive up to Lake Erie and get some peaches grammy wants to freeze.”
    “I love peaches,” Toby said.
    “I like ice cream better,” said Jake.
    In addition to getting peaches and ice cream cones, he took the boys “treasure hunting” at the beach, getting them to dig in the sand with spoons, then momentarily distracting them by pointing at some gulls flying over the water, while dropping a couple shiny new quarters in the hole and covering them with just enough sand so they could easily discover the “treasure.” He also took them grocery shopping, and to the hardware store.
    Sunday he carted the whole family to the Toledo Zoo, where the twins finally expended all their energy, along with most of his, as they ran from the lions to gorillas to polar bears, and nearly every other exhibit. Jake even found a peacock feather. Heinrich bought another for Toby. On the way home he wished he could sleep all the way back like the boys but didn’t in the least mind fighting off sleep during an hour of highway driving, in exchange for watching them have such a good time. Although it added some stress to their lives, he loved having his grandkids under the same roof.

#

    When Heinrich left for Parma at two o’clock Monday afternoon, the twins cried like they always did.
    “Baby boys, it’s ok,” Marta said. “This is the last time he will do this. Poppa’s coming home tomorrow night. After that he will be here every morning when you wake up.”
    On the Ohio Turnpike he set the cruise control at 55, settled back in the seat and thought about the future. Getting away from Cleveland would take a big load off his mind, the constant worry of being discovered. He never knew when some Nazi hunter might identify him. Or if federal marshals might walk into work some night, brandish hand cuffs, and carry him off to jail. Vera and the boys would be traumatized, Marta would be lost. She, of course, knew he had been a concentration camp guard but it didn’t bother her. It did bother him though, always, because he could face life in prison, or worse, if anyone found out.
    Partial retirement crossed his mind, too. Actually, did more than cross it as he started crunching numbers in his head. They had always lived thriftily and saved well. He only had to wait eight years to collect his Social Security, his pension even earlier if he wanted, although waiting longer for each one would result in a higher monthly income. Maybe he’d look for part time work. Better yet, work for himself. He knew the ropes of custodial and janitorial work inside and out, from offices to warehouses to assembly lines. It probably would not be too difficult to pick up an account here and there. Clean offices something like every other night from 6 to 11, he thought, or apartment houses during the day, maybe work 20 or 25 hours a week, have more time to enjoy the grandkids.
    He decided that whatever he decided it would beat working in Parma, sleeping in Little Italy four nights a week, and having the constant worry that sooner or later he would be outed and his life destroyed.
    George told him they were having a cake baked for him in the morning and the whole crew would take a break around nine o’clock for cake, punch, and a little going-away party. He didn’t want it but knew he couldn’t get out of it as it had also been the tradition for janitorial crews at Elyria and Sandusky.
    Driving to Knapa’s after work he almost forgot about meeting the jeweler at the bar. He knew the guy wouldn’t buy the watch but he was a nice man so he would meet him. And a beer would taste really good. It had been a scorcher in the plant, outside temperature had been above 90 until 9 o’clock, even now it was still 87.
    Heinrich realized he owned a valuable timepiece, periodically followed watch sales at Sotheby’s and Christie’s. Back in December one like his sold for $3250 plus the 10% buyer’s premium that brought it to $3575. The jeweler would probably offer $1500 to $2000. That’s what most had offered over the years. He didn’t care if he sold it, figured it was always good for a rainy day.
    The man hadn’t arrived yet when he got there, which was kind of nice as it gave him an opportunity to say his goodbyes to Paul and the rest of the regulars he had met, and often conversed with, over the past year. He would miss them.
    He had almost finished his third beer when the jeweler finally showed up. He had been so involved talking with his friends he had forgotten about him.
    “I’m sorry,” the old man said. “I had a thousand things to do before I could get away. Our main water line broke just inside the house Saturday when we were out of town, flooded our entire basement. We’re still cleaning up.”
    “No problem. I’ve been enjoying myself. Sorry about your flood. I’m guessing you didn’t get a chance to check out the watch?”
    “No, I did. It’s a nice one. Perhaps we can discuss a price.”
    “Yeah, sure. Would you like a beer?”
    “No thanks. Too late for me to start. Can we go to a booth?”
    “Of course, I’ll be right there,” he said as he ordered another Rolling Rock.
    “I like your Rolex. You’ve kept it in very good condition. Surprisingly good condition,” the jeweler said when Heinrich sat down.
    “Yes, I got it when I was 24, knew right away it was a good one, protecting it became second nature to me. It’s been on my wrist every day through 20-plus years of working as a custodian.”
    “That’s amazing.”
    The man looked him in the eye.
    “I won’t lie to you,” he said. “I have a buyer for it. A very good customer. I’m really acting as an emissary on his behalf.”
    “Ok. So what are you thinking?”
    “Well, sir, I would make a small but reasonable profit to cover my time if you would take $4000 for it.”
    Heinrich almost choked but quickly pulled out his best poker face, hoping he hadn’t looked too happy.
    “I was thinking $5000,” he said.
    “I’m afraid that’s a little too steep for him. Would you consider splitting the difference, $4500?”
    “Why not,” he said.
    They shook hands. The jeweler stood up, “I’ll be right back, going to my car to get the money.”
    “I’ll be here,” Heinrich replied.
    As soon as the guy was out the door Heinrich let out a muted, “Yes!” and took another swallow of his beer. Forty-five hundred dollars would ease the transition from full time employment to semi-retirement and buy the equipment he’d need for his upcoming entrepreneurial adventure, that now looked a lot more lucrative than it had five minutes ago.
    When the jeweler came back he motioned to Heinrich from the door. He got up and walked over to him.
    “I don’t want to exchange the money in here, you might not make it home,” he said as he turned and walked out, Heinrich following him.
    The jeweler turned up the short, well-lit blind alley between Marco’s and Luigi’s Pizza Palace. A dumpster for each business stood against the appropriate wall.
    “Hold on a second, I had four beers, got to take a leak,” Heinrich said as he walked to the Luigi’s side of the alley, faced the corner formed by the dumpster and the wall of the building.
    When finished, he zipped up, turned around and gasped, wide eyed, when he saw the Glock the old man was pointing at him, its silencer making the barrel twice its normal size.
    “Oh my God! You’re going to rob me of my watch?”
    “Shut up! Take the watch off and lay it on top of the dumpster. Then take five steps back while still facing front,” the old man said, holding the gun steady as a granite gravestone.
    “I can’t believe you’re taking my Rolex.”
    “Oh, I’m not just taking the Rolex, I’m also taking your life...Ivan.”
    “What!”
    “You heard me. I was 99 percent sure it was you when you looked at the watch twice when checking the time, the same way you always did at Treblinka.”
    “It wasn’t me. I’m not Ivan, I’ve never been to Treblinka. You’re making a terrible mistake.”
    “Then the number confirmed it,” he said, paying no attention to what Heinrich was saying. “Numbers never lie you know. The ‘6-1-27’ the original jewelry store etched on the back? That’s the number that was on it the day my father presented it to me upon graduating from the Berlin Institute on 6 January 1927. And it’s the same number that was on it in November 1944 when you took it from me at Treblinka.”
    The color drained from Heinrich’s face, leaving him looking like a live corpse. He couldn’t speak. The moment he had lived in constant fear of for more than 30 years had arrived.
    The jeweler took the watch from the dumpster, slipped it into his pocket.
    “Do you remember the cruel, sadistic line you used every time a prisoner asked what time it was? I do. You always gave them the time, then said, ‘Now you can figure out exactly how long you have left to live. Every Jew should be so lucky!’”
    “But—”
    “Quiet! Don’t say another word because now I’m going to return the favor. You are going to die in exactly six seconds. I chose six because it’s one-millionth of the number of innocent Jews you and the Nazis slaughtered in Poland, Germany, and other countries during the Holocaust.”
    A hundred thoughts of how to make a miraculous escape raced through Heinrich’s mind during those six seconds, but he knew there was no way out.

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