The Wisdom of Al

My older Cousin Al was an interesting man. He was the James Bond of my youth. I assumed he was a top CIA agent since he often flew off to spend several weeks in Europe and the Middle East austensibly to do high level finance operations for a big international communication firm. Sure. 

Al would bring back exotic art and antiques and often unique hand carved chess sets. Once he brought back a Jaguar convertible. I think it was bullet proof. Anyway, he taught me how to play chess in my teen years. Al amazed me as he beat me every time in a dozen moves or so, moving only a few pieces on the board. He was of the old school. Show them no mercy. He wouldn’t even pause to pretend he was thinking about his next move. I watched him deftly move his men like you would watch a magician  trying to figure out how he did the trick. 

Years passed. Al eventually retired early and moved to coastal Maine. He lived in a big shore home next to the Bush complex. I lost track of him. He was my in-law cousin and after divorcing my biological cousin he divorced the rest of us too. 

So here I sit in the lawyer’s office. Al’s estate was divided among a couple of his blood relatives except for this box which was given to me.  The box was a standard Staples small. The tape was carefully placed with all seams sealed well. The box had no marks or dents. The box had my name written on a large label. Al was speaking to me from the beyond. This was our final game.

I somehow could not open this box. It sat in my modest living room for several months. I was fascinated but frightened to open it. Could there be money? Could there be secret anti-ballistic missile documents? Could there be pictures of his exotic travels? Or would he have a diary in the box which revealed his crimes and weaknesses. Maybe he had a family in Budapest. Maybe he had adopted children in Stockholm. Maybe he assassinated the prime minister of Lebanon. Would he finally reveal his true identity? Like at that magician show, part of me wanted to know and part of me wanted it to remain magic.

I finally decided to open the box. I set the time and place. I made the opening moves in this final chess game. At 11 PM after pouring a fine Cabernet I took a few sips and carefully cut the tape. I opened the box top and removed the crumbled paper. I was not surprised to see the paper was a mix of foreign newspapers- Italian, Saudi, French and some other language. He was distracting me. I dug down a bit and found a few chess books. One caught my eye “Chess for Dummies”. Yes, Al was here. In a smaller box was a wooden container. I opened it slowly to reveal a gorgeous hand carved chess set. The pieces were ivory with very intricate carvings. It was beautiful.

I almost threw out the rest of the packing but the newspapers were fascinating even though I couldn’t read them. It was near the bottom that I spotted the envelope. It also had my name on it. I quickly opened it. I took a gulp of my Cabernet and read his last words to me.

“Chess is life. Live life fully. Don’t play defensively. Always explore and dominate the board. Respect others. Study their moves and be prepared to counter them. Always be creative and surprise your opponent. Losing is an opportunity to learn and improve. Never give up until the game is done.” 

I sat quietly in the semi-dark room. The magic remains. I set up the board and contemplated my opening move and Al’s likely response. I toasted Al. I wonder if that Jaguar was bullet-proof?