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On even numbered mornings Erik goes to the park to play chess, unless it is the Sabbath. On odd numbered days he does chores, unless it is the Sabbath. He feels so old. The skin of his face stretches tight over the bones. The skin of his arms sags away from the weak mortal flesh. His thoughts feel sluggish these days too, as though his intelligence and life both drained away with his other powers. And perhaps they did, it is not an unreasonable assumption that these too were tied to his abilities, and are now gone forever.
Erik shakes his head to dispel his morbid thoughts and returns his attention to the board. He would not let his mind wander until it was lost like some of the other elderly men at the park. HE WOULD NOT. Through sheer force of will, he would not let that happen. He may be lowered to the level of these ants for now, but he has already seen signs that it’s not permanent. He just does not know whether the full restoration will come in time to save him from his new mortality.
He does not think about the game as he later walks down to the library. There is no point to dwelling upon past defeats, only to planning for the future. And today the future he plans for is the worst-case scenario: that his powers and health do not return in time. He takes a book from the world religions section, and sits down with it at a large table. Erik growls low in frustration at the slowness of it all; these are all things that at one time he could have pulled from the electromagnetic fields of the internet surrounding him as he moved through the humans’ society, but he had not cared to do so then and now he has to consume the information the human way. He does not use computers now; it just reminds him of what he has lost.
This afternoon Erik is finally starting on Judaism; his search for answers and hope has brought him full circle back to his childhood, back to Poland. There is so much he has forgotten over the intervening decades, and more that he has deliberately pushed away. What relevance to him was it that the Lord had created humans in His image? The Lord had continued to create in the current era, and some mutants were created in the image of the humans, but others were created in new fanciful images, even more beautiful than that of the humans. The Lord would not have continued to create had the humans been a perfect reflection of His image.
And just as how killing animals was no sin, but could indeed be a blessing when done as a sacrifice to the Lord, killing humans, the Lord’s first imperfect creations which even He had seen fit to replace, could also be no sin. But Erik had also killed mutants. Only a few such as Shaw directly, but he was responsible for the deaths of many of their number at Alcatraz and earlier, and for many more mutants’ involuntary de-evolution. It was one thing for the mentally weak to choose to return to their roots, but for the strong to be taken down involuntarily… He had been cruel to Raven – to Mystique – he was willing to admit that, now that he had been brought low as well. She had been the first to understand his vision – a world where they could all live free, reveling in their powers, as opposed to Charles’ vision of them hiding and sniveling among their inferiors – and she had fought for him, for them all, until the end of everything that she was. He had reverted to her slave-name, he had rejected her, in shock. She had been nothing more than a victim of those who wished to oppress his people, again. He would not bow to oppressors again. He would not. But he would give Mystique the honor she deserved.
Erik has much to atone for, this he knows. His mind begins to wander over the many other mutants he has hurt, the many other places he has been (Cuba, Westchester, Moscow, Liberty Island, Alcatraz, Annandale-on-Hudson…), and it isn’t until the young man standing beside the table clears his throat that Erik becomes aware of his presence.
“Is this seat taken?” The young man’s voice is breathy with weakness as he leans on the chair he indicates, but at the same time it holds undertones of richness from when the man was more healthy. He looks to be in his late 20s, and his white skin is pallid, as though the man has been ill for quite some time. He wears a loose-fitting baseball cap (Yankees) and appears to be shaven underneath it. His athletic T-shirt fits loosely on his frame, as though he has lost a lot of weight.
Erik blinks and shakes his head again. Rising slightly from his seat he says “of course, go ahead. I’m sorry, I was lost in my thoughts.”
The young man pulls the chair out shakily and sits heavily in it, then leans across the table to offer Erik a hand to shake. “I’m Chuck.”
For a split second Erik looks at the hand and the man possessing it suspiciously, then quickly dismisses his thoughts further. “I’m Erik,” he says, reaching out to take the hand and shake it. Chuck’s hand is cool and the grip firm but not strong – it is the shake of a man confident in himself and his abilities, and it does not fit on someone as sickly as he appears to be. Discomfited by the mismatch, Erik rises. In his years as Magneto, he had trained himself to be suspicious, and it is not a habit Erik has lost with his abilities. “I’m actually done for the afternoon, so you can have the entire table to yourself.” It’s not exactly a lie, Erik hadn’t decided previously whether to go to the Senior Center for dinner, but if he is going to catch dinner it is time for him to head off to that. He touches his hat respectfully to the younger man, Erik has always been good at faking when needed, and returns his book to a cart before leaving the library. Erik shakes his head again to dismiss the sense of déjà vu he’d gotten at shaking Chuck’s hand. Something about losing his powers seems to have brought him a step closer to senility overnight. Maybe the man’s name wasn’t even Chuck.
Erik waits for the crosstown bus, readying his reduced fare pass for when it arrives, and firmly pushing down his shame at his weakness when the driver engages the pneumatic device to “kneel” the bus lower for him to step into it without having to step up. His right hip has been bothering him lately after all.
The young man is already engaged in a chess game when Erik arrives at the park two mornings later. Erik stops abruptly upon recognizing the Yankees cap and its wearer, and considers turning around and leaving upon this invasion of his space, but it is the sixteenth of the month, and it’s a Friday, so it’s a chess day. Erik takes a deep breath and continues into the area. The young man has managed to get a seat at a chess table in the shade; although the most elderly gentlemen usually fight over the coveted shaded tables, they have yielded to this youth’s obvious illness. His slender fingers move a piece and then dart to the side to hit the button on the timer, indicating the other man’s turn. Returning his hand to his lap, the young man raises his head from the table and his eyes unerringly seek out Erik’s.
Later, they talk over a game of their own. Erik wants to admire the skill that beats him so handily, but he fears the truth is that in his current state even a child who just learned the rules could triumph over him.
On Sunday Erik is glad to get out of the house again, and heads to the park earlier than usual. Chuck is apparently also an early riser, and they play a few games together in silence. The game requires no words, and they can express their emotions (surprise at an unseen move, admiration for a clever lure, disappointment at a gambit discovered) without words. As the sun shifts and they finish a game, Chuck looks up at Erik, raises a black eyebrow, and flicks his brown eyes at the next table over where the seats are still in the shade. With a silent nod Erik begins collecting the chess pieces while Chuck picks up the timer and painfully moves himself and it to the next table. As Erik returns the pieces to the new board, Chuck takes his hat off to scratch his head, and Erik sees the patchy shave job of his hair, and raised scars where the hair does not grow.
Erik raises a single eyebrow at this sight – two can play at that game – silently asking the question but not pressing the issue should Chuck not wish to answer.
“Surgery,” he says in his quiet voice that somehow still commands all attention. “I was in a coma. I got better.” He smirks at this last line, and Erik knows just enough pop culture to get the reference.
Erik falls into a new rhythm with the addition of Chuck to his life. It was an interesting coincidence that they had run into each other not only at the library but also at the park playing chess that first week, but in a city of nearly ten million people such happenstances were commonplace. Had it happened anywhere else Erik would have been suspicious, especially with the way that Chuck’s mannerisms reminded him of another friend of a similar name. But that man is sadly dead and gone. Chuck is an interesting addition to Erik’s life of endless unchanging days descending into night.
Soon it would be the High Holy Days, and Erik decides to research them at the library one sunny late summer day. The leaves on the trees possess the deep dark green that they will only hold briefly before they soon begin their fade towards yellow, orange, red, and finally brown.
Erik finds a quiet study room far from the main hall where Chuck usually finds him. They’ve been hushed one too many times for his taste – funny how they could hold full conversations without words where they are allowed to talk, but could not refrain from speech where silence is required – and besides Erik wants to actually read today. His book for the day is on the importance of atonement during the week when the Lord has passed judgment but has not yet finally closed the Books of Life and Death for the year.
He is immersed in a section about whether confession should be private or public when there’s a tap at the glass to his room. Looking up, Erik sees Charles waving from outside, head free of hair, as old as himself though not as wrinkled, eyes containing the same wisdom beyond his years that he had possessed when they first met in their 20s, fingers pressed to a temple. Shaking his head in a double take, Erik realizes it is actually his new friend Chuck, not the friend who is gone. Dust you are, and to dust you will return, Erik thinks. And then, I may be getting old, but I will not give up. I know reality when I see it.
Chuck waves but he neither makes a move to open the door nor a gesture to request entrance. He does however hold up his book for Erik to see the title and gestures for Erik to do the same. Erik does. Chuck’s book is an illustrated history of the New York Yankees. Each man chuckles at the other’s choice, and then Chuck waves again and continues on past Erik’s room.
“So you’re a Yankees fan,” Erik starts when he next sees Chuck, after having missed their last chess day due to the Sabbath. Erik carries the chess pieces while Chuck has the timer, as has become their habit.
Chuck touches the brim of his hat with a hand that has gained significant flesh since they first met. “Well, when I woke up this hat was next to my bed. I don’t even know who brought it to me.”
“Whomever it was must have known you were a fan,” Erik replies with an eyebrow raised.
His companion chuckles. “Actually I never was. But now that I have a new lease on life, I figured I might as well learn to be one.” Chuck shrugs deprecatingly, and flicking a glance at Erik and away again, continues, “So you’re a Jew.”
Erik smirks. “What excellent powers of deduction, what gave it away, the book? My missing our last game?”
Chuck blushes and looks away under the cover of placing the timer on their chosen table. “Actually, sometimes when it’s warm and you’re concentrating hard on the game, you roll up your sleeves.”
Oh. Erik has no response to this, so pulls out two pawns as he sits, one of each color. “I forget whose turn it is to start first,” he says holding out his fists with one pawn in each hand. It’s a habit of his to not look at the pawns’ colors when placing them into his hands. You cannot give any secrets away if you do not know them yourself. Years of being rival to a telepath had taught Erik to add elements of randomness to his plans. Even if his own thoughts were shielded, those of his brothers were not.
Chuck smirks, clearly suspecting a ploy. “You may or may not remember, friend, but I do.” But he chooses a hand anyway.
They play in silence as has become their custom. Three games in, Erik volunteers, “I haven’t been very observant for most of my life.”
Chuck raises a questioning eyebrow in response.
Erik focuses on the game. He used to have such a good poker face, but he does not know whether he still maintains that. Perhaps not, perhaps that is why Chuck wins three games out of every four. Better that than Erik’s mind slipping. “I used to think… that the rules did not apply to me.” He risks a glance up at Charles, no, at Chuck, but his chess partner respectfully keeps his eyes on the board. Erik moves his d pawn to capture Chuck’s on e5 and gently depresses his timer button. Before he’s barely done removing his hand, Chuck takes his knight with his bishop and slaps the timer. Under the guise of thinking (after all, despite Erik’s more deliberate thought process, he has never run out of time), Erik muses out loud, “But now,” and he gestures vaguely in the air to indicate the frail body that he has been forced to occupy for the past few months, “I find myself appreciating my mortality.”
White queen captures bishop. On his turn, Chuck makes a sympathetic noise while examining the board, and simply takes a pawn. Before hitting the timer however, he says “I understand you, friend. I know how you feel.” Erik looks up into his eyes, and knows he is sincere.
“Happy New Year, or should I say shanah tovah?” Chuck greets him this morning with a wide grin.
Erik returns it with interest. “And you too! I brought apples,” he offers, pulling two out from his bag. “Organic galas, from the farmer’s market yesterday.”
“Oh what a coincidence,” Chuck says as he fishes around in his own bag and pulls out a jar of honey. “I’m surprised I didn’t run into you when I got this yesterday.”
“You were at Union Square too?” Erik inquires.
“Is there another?”
Erik laughs. “Technically, but none worth visiting.”
They share slices of apple, dipping them into the honey from city rooftop bees, neither managing to keep their fingers fully honey-free but using their other hands for the chess pieces. For a change they talk. They speculate on where the bees might have found enough nectar in the concrete jungle of the city, and rejoice that they managed to do so, as well as finding nectar untainted by the city air. Although the evenings have begun to have a slight bit of autumnal bite, this day is sweltering, and Erik keeps tugging at his collar with his clean hand as they talk. The young man opposite him has opted for an athletic shirt on this warm day, and he now fills it at his proper size once again. Finally Erik decides that it is a day for new beginnings, not worrying about the past, and he unbuttons the cuffs of his sleeves and rolls them up deliberately. As he does so, he observes that Chuck maintains eye contact throughout.
“Do you want to look?” Erik interrupts Chuck’s move, and holds his right forearm forward, facing his friend. Chuck blinks once only, his brown eyes never straying from Erik’s gray.
“Do you want me to?” he asks softly.
Erik thinks about this surprising question for a moment. It was not one anyone else had ever asked him, they had simply been greedy to look the moment he let his guard down. Yes. If Erik wanted anyone to look, it would be this new friend who showed his respect by not even looking until invited. The tattoo was something from his past, had been with him for all his present days, and it would come with him into his future, be that into a grave or limitless once more. “Yes,” he says aloud.
Then and only then Chuck looks down at the numbers sloppily tattooed onto Erik’s arm in Auschwitz. 214782. Even if he were able to forget the number after his experiences, Erik had always been able to feel the metal in the ink, and that would never let him forget the number drilled into his skin. Of all the losses he feels from the lack of his power, that one is surprisingly the thing he misses the most. It is as if he has lost a piece of who he was.
Erik watches Chuck looking at the numbers, as if trying to burn them into his own mind. Chuck finally looks away and makes eye contact with Erik. After a few more moments of awkward silence, Chuck reaches up his left hand to scratch at the hair just under his hat, and looks back down to the chess board instead of at Erik’s arm. A wry grin covers the younger man’s face as he realizes he is checkmated, and that this is why Erik has let the clock run for so long.
Looking back at Erik again, Chuck says, “You just did that to distract me!”
Erik huffs out a laugh and crosses his arms over his chest, not hiding his number, but not flaunting it either. It is just another piece of who he is.
It is nearly a week before Erik works up the nerve to do what he knows he must. He cannot wait just over a week as that would be on the Sabbath, and any longer than that would be past the Ten Days. He leaves it to the very last day that he could get away with it. He says nothing to Chuck as they play chess. He says nothing as they walk together to the downtown bus. He says nothing as they take the bus. He says nothing as they get out of the bus together, but as Chuck begins to ascend the steps into the library Erik hesitates.
“Are you tired, old friend?” Chuck puts an extra teasing emphasis on the “old,” but Erik does not reply. Something in his face apparently alarms Chuck as he runs back down the steps and puts a hand under Erik’s elbow. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, fine,” Erik says weakly and runs a hand over his face. “I just… Let’s stroll through Bryant Park for a bit.” Chuck gives him a funny look, but walks alongside him anyway.
Erik walks much more slowly than he once did. It’s not the guilt. It’s not nerves. This time he’s willing to admit it’s just his age. But that doesn’t obviate the need for him to do this.
“I am not the man you think I am,” he finally blurts out. Chuck’s eyebrow twitches slightly, but he resists raising it. Erik decides it is easier to talk if he doesn’t watch Chuck’s face. “I… have done some things I am not proud of.”
Chuck starts to say something, but Erik holds up a hand. “No, let me get through this. I need to… say some things. Make amends. The man I sinned against no longer lives, for which I am partially responsible, so I cannot confess to him.” Erik stares fixedly at the grass to his right, with Chuck on his left. “You… you remind me of him.”
Erik hears Chuck take in a short, sharp breath, and he stops talking. Erik looks at Chuck’s shoes. Somehow this is the hardest thing he’s ever done in his life. Harder than moving the Golden Gate Bridge. Harder than when he first learned to tap into his sorrow and joy to move the radio telescope dish. Even harder than driving the coin through Shaw’s brain while he knew Charles was connected to his mind. Asking forgiveness from a man who cannot give it, asking for it from a man who is not the man who must forgive, this is the hardest thing.
“We… I went to a dangerous place to… to recruit someone, and I knew he would be there. We were each there separately to recruit her. I knew his techniques with this person well, as we had both recruited her together once before. He was my friend, and my rival.” Erik glances up at Chuck’s face. It is blank. It is strange to Erik to call Charles his friend aloud; it was always Charles who admitted their connection. While Erik was civil and friendly, he never labeled him such where others could hear, or even where Charles himself could hear. Or at least not where Charles could hear it aloud.
“The entire time my friend spoke to the recruit, I goaded her, telling her of the worst sides of what he was saying, telling her what he feared to say, telling her what she feared to hear. In the end… she snapped.”
Erik can remember the moment so clearly when he was thrown across the room, out through the kitchen door, and was slammed into the cabinet under the sink. He tried to stand with all his not-inconsiderable physical strength, and all the strength of his power. At first he watched in awe as she lifted Charles from his chair. Then he watched in terror as he saw the walls of the room beginning to disintegrate, and he called out to Jean to stop. And finally he watched in despair as Charles crumbled and blew away with her tornado.
The strains from a guitar play on the other side of the park. After a few repetitions of the arpeggios, a soft voice begins to accompany the finger-picking. “I close my eyes, only for a moment and the moment’s gone…”
Erik blinks a couple times and realizes that his eyes are wet. Why could this one man always bring tears to his eyes, even now when he isn’t here? He hasn’t finished the story, and he doesn’t think he can, but he has to end it somehow. He looks up at Chuck’s eyes for a moment. “It’s my fault that she snapped, and now he’s gone.”
Erik looks back down, at his own shoes this time, and scuffs his feet. “So. Yeah. I shouldn’t have done that, and I’m sorry.” He starts walking again, away from Chuck and towards the music.
“Don’t hang on, nothing lasts forever but the earth and sky.”
He hears Chuck’s footsteps catching up to him, walking beside him and one step behind. Their loop of the park takes them back towards the library, both men walking in silence for the duration, both wrapped in their thoughts. Erik isn’t sure if what he has said was enough, but in the end it’s not Chuck that he sinned against. It’s not Chuck’s forgiveness he craved, and it’s not Chuck’s forgiveness that he would never have. And forgiveness wasn’t required, but the confession was just the start. He would remember the sin for the rest of his life. He would atone for it however he could. He would humble himself and act differently towards his brothers, be they mere humans as he is now, or mutants should he ever be restored.
“It slips away, all your money won't another minute buy.”
When they reach the entrance to the library once more, Chuck begins climbing the steps, but Erik begs off. He doesn’t see the need to tell Chuck that it is so he can head home to pray for atonement. Maybe after this he would be baal teshuva. He doesn’t know how much time he has left after all, or if it would be enough.
Charles stands on the steps of the library watching Erik head across the street to the next block over to catch an uptown bus. For once it is his own thoughts that are in turmoil, rather than those of another person whom he is monitoring for one reason or another. There were multiple times in that conversation when he was tempted to reach into his old friend’s mind and see what he was harboring there, but as always he respected Erik’s privacy, even if Erik hadn’t believed so for decades.
Charles waits a few minutes after Erik disappears before he turns and circles the building back to the park. When he reaches the guitarist he drops a few dollars in his guitar case for obliging his silent song suggestion earlier. Charles may not have snooped on the details of Erik’s thoughts during his confession, but even from just his face and his few disjointed words Charles could tell his friend’s turn of thought. The musician strikes up the next song on Charles’ mentally suggested playlist, and as he continues on west towards the subway, Charles hopes his old friend finds peace before his now-shortened time runs out. It was not fair that Charles had found a way to extend his own time while Erik’s had been drastically shortened by his loss of power. Both were simply trying their best to help their people to survive a cruel world.
“Tomorrow's rain will wash the stains away, but something in our minds will always stay.”
Ororo would appreciate this song, but Charles has much he wishes to do before he reveals himself and returns to Westchester.
Such as play some more chess against his old friend.