Restitution (39 page)

“Ah, Mr. Král, it's a pleasure to see you back in the city.” One tall, rather austere-looking woman whom Theo knew to be the chair of the commission stepped forward to shake his hand.

“Madam,” replied Theo, bowing respectfully. “It's indeed a pleasure to be back here. How have you been? The leg is better, I trust?” He pointed to the cane that the commissioner was leaning on. Theo had befriended her a couple of years earlier, and their association had proved beneficial.

“The leg is something I must tolerate,” the woman declared. In addition to her height, she was reed thin, and stooped shakily over her cane like a sapling bending in the wind. Her oversized glasses slipped down on her angular nose as she peered over them at Theo. “We have no choice in these matters, do we? But you're young and fit. You aren't yet familiar with the aches and pains of arthritis.”

“I must say,” protested Theo. “Despite your complaint, you are looking quite well, better than the last time I saw you.” Theo smiled broadly at the commissioner, playing her with the skillfulness of a virtuoso.

“I can see that you've been busy,” the woman continued, smiling back and indicating the paintings behind Theo. “Let's see what you have brought today. I'm sure this won't take us too long.” She turned to address the other members of the commission. “Mr. Král has been doing business with the Gallery for some time. He is well acquainted with our rules, and works well within our regulations. I'm sure you will all agree with me on this.”

She motioned for Theo to display the paintings he had brought. Working quickly with the aid of his nephew, Theo lined up the art until there was a long row of paintings in front of the commission. When the paintings had been assembled, the commissioner signaled to her committee and they went to work. One by one, they approached the first painting, examining it carefully, peering at the name of the artist and the date it had been painted, just as Theo had done when he had selected these pieces. A brief conference followed among the commission members, and, when they were satisfied that a painting had passed their test for export, one woman wrote the name of the selection on a form she carried and it was stamped for approval with the official seal of the National Gallery and the Czechoslovak government.

The commission moved quickly, inspecting and stamping the forms like goods on an assembly line. “Show me that! Look at this. Yes, yes. Next!” they proclaimed as they passed each canvas. Theo had done his work well, selecting only those paintings that he knew would pass the practiced eyes of the committee members. There was only one work that appeared to cause the inspectors some concern. Theo watched as they moved closer to study the canvas in question, and then stepped back, huddling in a circle and conferring in half-whispers, like athletes surrounding one another to discuss their next strategic play. One gestured back to the painting while another one shook her head. Theo waited and wondered if perhaps the painting in question was
too good
to be released by the Gallery. Finally, the commissioner raised her hand, glanced over at Theo, and then indicated that the painting was approved. The form was stamped and they moved on.

Theo observed these proceedings from one side of the long room, attentively assessing the progress of the committee members as they walked from painting to painting. His face betrayed nothing of his careful scrutiny. He appeared confident, almost indifferent to the actions of the inspectors. Finally, the members finished walking down the line and the commissioner conferred with them one last time. Then she dismissed them with a bow and turned to limp toward Theo, leaning heavily on her cane. “An interesting collection, Mr. Král,” she said.

“I trust everything is in order,” replied Theo, accepting the form that the commissioner extended to him. Fifty paintings were listed on several sheets of paper, followed by fifty all-important Gallery stamps.

“Yes, well, there was one painting that caused the members of the commission some unease. But I convinced them that it could be released. I do have your best interests at heart, Mr. Král, as well as ours.”

“I'm most grateful for your generous support,” Theo replied. “In addition to the fee I will pay for the release of the paintings, I'd like to add a small bonus for yourself.”

The commissioner shook her head in a weak gesture of protest.

“Of course, I insist,” continued Theo. “And I have a wonderful bottle of cognac at my hotel that I'd like to send to you. I recall it's a favorite of yours.”

“You're too kind, Mr. Král,” the commissioner beamed. “You're welcome to do business with us anytime.”

Theo bowed again.
This is too easy,
he thought. If he could keep this ridiculous woman in bribes and good liquor, he'd indeed be doing business successfully here for some time. He checked the stamped form once more and proceeded to the main office of the Gallery, where he paid the several hundred Czech crowns that he was being charged to export fifty paintings. It was a pittance, he thought as he returned to the main room and, with the help of his nephew, began to roll and package the paintings using the tubes that had been delivered by the blacksmith. When the artwork was secure, he turned to his nephew. “You'll deliver these to the post office for me,” he said. “This should cover the shipping fees and a little something for you.” He peeled off a few more bills from his wallet and shoved them into the hands of the smiling young man. The entire amount that he had paid – price, export tax, shipping fees – was nothing compared with what they would fetch in Canada.

The sun was shining as he left the building and walked down the front steps to his car, the first time since his arrival, and its warmth penetrated his suit jacket. All had gone according to plan, and this sunshine greeted him almost as a reward for the work he had done. Today had been another good day, but Theo knew that it was time to return to Canada. Perhaps it was the corruption on every corner, or the constant sense of being under observation. Whatever it was, Theo now felt the need to get out of Czechoslovakia like a burning itch under his skin. He turned his face upwards and closed his eyes for a moment. There was still the matter of Karl Reeser's paintings. His meeting with Richard VandenBosch at the Canadian embassy awaited him the following and final day.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Prague, March 20, 1990

THEO WAS WAITING in front of the dry goods store even before the proprietor had arrived. He nodded at the man who unlocked the door, and bounded up the stairs at the back to knock on the door of the old blacksmith. Their transaction took only minutes. Theo thanked the man for the delivery of the four aluminum tubes to the National Gallery the previous day and accepted the fifth one with gratitude. In return, he placed a wad of American bills in the old man's hands. The man pocketed the cash, first glancing out the front window as if he was afraid that someone might be watching, even here in his own apartment.

“It's always a pleasure to do business with you, Mr. Král,” the blacksmith said.

“Likewise, my friend,” replied Theo, smiling broadly. “I don't know how many more times I'll be making this trip. I guess it will depend on the results of the election.”

The man shrugged. “Do you think after forty years, things will change so fast? They never do. I'm here if you need me, and happy to oblige.” He patted his pocket, bulging with the money Theo had given him.

The two men shook hands and Theo left his flat carrying the large cylinder, which he deposited in the back seat of his car. It was a tight squeeze, a fact that gave Theo a moment of pause. He wished he could conceal it in the trunk or further down on the floor of his vehicle, but that was impossible. Luckily the drive to the embassy would not take long.

Pulling away from the curb, he merged with the busy morning traffic in the midst of its rush-hour surge to work. The Czech drivers lived up to their reputation for recklessness, ignoring the speed limits and weaving around each other like jockeys at the track, each trying to get to the head of the pack in some imagined race for first place. It was almost as if the drivers, who were so subjugated in every other aspect of their lives, could experience a sense of freedom here on the road. Theo joined in, dodging and zigzagging like the true native he was. Before long, he could see the Canadian flag of the embassy ahead of him and he turned off the main street to approach the gated driveway, stopping at the guard post and rolling down his window.

“I'm here for a meeting with Vice Consul Richard VandenBosch,” he announced to the guard. The man stepped outside of the small house and approached Theo's car, glancing suspiciously at the bright aluminum tube stretching across the back seat and over the passenger side of the car. Theo waited, smiling calmly and confidently.

“Your name?” the guard asked.

“Theofil Král. Mr. VandenBosch is expecting me.”

Without replying, the guard returned to his post and picked up a telephone. A minute later, he emerged to point Theo through the gates and into a spot in the embassy parking lot. Theo entered the building and was directed down the long, dark corridor to Richard VandenBosch's office.

“Greetings, Mr. Král! I've been waiting a long time for the arrival of the man who will take Karl Reeser's paintings back home to him.” Richard VandenBosch welcomed Theo enthusiastically and launched into the conversation as if they were old friends. “Have you been in Prague long?” he asked, inviting Theo to sit. VandenBosch perched himself on the edge of his desk.

“A few days,” Theo replied, sinking into a chair and facing the vice consul. “I'm planning to leave tonight, if all goes as planned.”

VandenBosch paused. “I can't even ask how you intend to get the paintings out of the country, though I understand that you know something about art.”

Theo smiled pleasantly but said nothing.

“I will say, though, that I support whatever it is you are doing,” Richard VandenBosch continued. “These paintings have been held hostage in this country for long enough. It's time they were returned to their rightful owner.”

“I'm originally from Czechoslovakia,” Theo offered. “I know how the Communists work and I am quite familiar with their regulations regarding property they deem to be of value.”

“Yes, well, we diplomats have been subjected to the
regulations
of the Communist overseers ever since we arrived here. I know that I am a guest of this country's government, so I have to be careful of what I say. But letting these paintings fall into government hands would be a crime as far as I'm concerned.” He thumped his hand on his desk. His mop of sandy brown hair flopped down over his glasses as he shook his head emphatically.

Theo watched him, somewhat amused. He already felt a kind of kinship to this man who shared a last name with his artistic hero, Hieronymus Bosch, and he marveled at the fact that Richard VandenBosch was almost as invested in the paintings as Karl was. He cleared his throat. “Yes, Mr. Reeser is certainly anxious to have his paintings back. So, if you don't mind, I'd like to collect them and get on my way.”

VandenBosch paused, seeming to pull himself together. “You probably know that Mr. Reeser and I have been corresponding for some time over this. I think he was becoming quite hopeless about ever seeing his family's possessions again.”

Theo wondered for a moment if those were some of the letters that Karl had speculated were being opened by the secret police. He did not voice this aloud. Instead, he focused on the task at hand. “I have a letter here from Mr. Reeser, authorizing you to release the paintings to me.” He reached into his jacket pocket and removed the letter that Karl had given to him before leaving Toronto.

VandenBosch took the letter and read it quickly, nodding his head. “Everything seems to be in order here,” he said and then looked up. “Mr. Reeser may or may not have told you that we have been displaying several of his paintings here in the embassy. Why not enjoy them while we have them, right? But, about a week ago, we moved all of the paintings into a small building off the courtyard where you will be able to pack them up undetected. The last thing we want is for some nosy non-embassy person in the building to wonder what you're transporting out of here.”

Theo nodded. He had seen what appeared to be outside workers in the halls and grounds of the embassy and was grateful for VandenBosch's forethought.

“If you'll follow me, I'll show you where the paintings are.” The vice consul stood and walked briskly out of his office with Theo on his heels. The two men left the embassy building and headed across the enclosed parking lot. Their first stop was at Theo's car. Following VandenBosch's directions, Theo pulled the car out of his parking spot and drove up close to a small wooden structure, almost hidden from view by the surrounding garden. He parked again and got out, pulling the large aluminum tube from the back seat and hoisting it up on his shoulder. VandenBosch tugged the heavy door of the building open and motioned Theo inside. He stepped into a dusty, dimly lit room, filled with old desks, a number of empty filing cabinets, and chairs stacked atop one another. This storage shed had no windows and little light except for the glow cast from one naked bulb suspended from the ceiling.

“Little chance of anyone seeing or disturbing you in here,” Vanden-Bosch muttered as he proceeded to a canvas sheet in one corner of the room. He flung it aside ceremoniously and stepped back. “Mr. Král, may I present the four paintings,” he said, with a slight bow and a wide grin.

Everything seemed to fade into the background as Theo turned his attention to the first canvas that stood leaning against the wall of the shed. It was
Le lavabo à l'école maternelle
by Geoffroy. Face to face with the oil painting, Theo was even more impressed than he had imagined he would be by the detail on each child's face, and the light and dark of the artist's shading. Theo examined the work with the same attention he gave to the paintings he routinely assessed for export, taking a moment to appreciate the simplicity of the faces of the children gathered together. And even in the muted light of this dusty room, Theo could see that the painting was in remarkable condition, given the years that had passed and the state in which the painting had been kept. This was a museum piece, he thought. The National Gallery would never have agreed to part with it – not even with the bribes that Theo might offer.
Pity
, he thought.
This one would bring me a fine price if I could sell it back home.