echoed.
âWhoâs there?â I called out.
The only reply was the continued scuff of unhurried steps. Two figures appeared at the top of the stairs. One, a tall young man, grinned unpleasantly. His companion had a dour look and was holding a revolver.
He said, âHello, Jew.â
Five
Two weeks before Gulkoâs murder, Kopelzon had invited me to a private recital he was giving at the house of the shipping magnate S. I. Raetsky. Afterwards we dined together at A lâOurs. Usually after a recital Kopelzon would be expansive and excited, quite full of himself, but that night he was preoccupied and agitated.
âYou are either dissatisfied with your playing or you are having trouble with a woman,â I said, trying to animate him.
âIs it true you are treating Anna Petrovna?â
âYes,â I said, somewhat guardedly.
âAre you sleeping with her?â
âNo,â I said, pretending to be more taken aback than I really was.
âHave you fallen in love with her?â
âIs this why you are so morose tonight? Because you failed to seduce her?â
âWho says I failed?â He summoned a grin, though it took some effort. âAll right,â he said, âI failed. For once.â
âWhy donât you let me treat you?â I said.
âTreat me?â he exclaimed with some aggression. There were times when I thought Kopelzon might despise me. âWhat for?â
âYour very alarming priapism.â
The hostility in his expression faded. âYour own lack ofinterest in these matters is of much greater concern,â he said with a smile.
We had finished the meal and the wine. He ordered champagne and brandy.
âI have a new patient for you â Avrom Rozental,â he said. âIâm serious â heâs quite mad.â
âI hadnât realised you knew Rozental.â
âWeâre actually quite friendly,â he said, though rather vaguely. âAnyway, heâs going to need your help if heâs to play in the tournament.â
âDoes he want my help?â
âIâve talked to him about you.â Again, there was a vagueness, a hint of evasiveness. âWhen will you see him? Tomorrow?â
âWhat are his symptoms? Why do you say heâs mad?â
âYouâll see for yourself. By the way, Rozental has no money to speak of. I can pay something towards the cost of his treatment ââ
âThere may be no treatment,â I interrupted him. âBut if there is, you owe me dinner, nothing else.â
Kopelzon took my hand and squeezed it. âThank you, Otto,â he said. âYou donât know how important this is.â
The following day Minna showed Kopelzon and the famous Avrom Chilowicz Rozental into my office. I had never before seen Rozental in the flesh, though like thousands of others I had followed in the newspapers his triumphal sweep across Europe. His game against Rotlewi at Lodz in 1907 was his masterpiece; I had studied it as closely as I had the case histories of Anna O., Dora and Little Hans. On examination, everything was revealed to be perfectly logical. Yet such were the dizzying depths of imagination it seemed the work of a conjuror.
Kopelzon and I exchanged some commonplaces andattentions. Indicating the chessboard, he asked if I had a move ready for him. I apologised yet again and begged his indulgence.
âAre you saying you want a draw?â he said.
âWould you mind if I took another day or two to think about it?â
âBy all means,â he said expansively, glancing at Rozental. âBut I think youâll find itâs a draw.â
Kopelzonâs performance was intended for Rozentalâs benefit, a way to put the great master at his ease. Rozentalâs taciturn gaze wandered over to the Jaques pieces and rested there. His features remained impassive. I felt embarrassed by his scrutiny of our feeble
Dave Stone, Callii Wilson