Restitution (11 page)

Karl nodded. “They were fine. I'm actually enjoying the classes. My English and Spanish are becoming almost as good as my French, Latin, and German.” With his strong aptitude for languages, the classes were proving to be a gratifying challenge.

“Good,” his mother replied, “because English may come in quite handy for you.” She paused and smiled at the puzzled expression on her son's face. “Let me tell you about my telephone conversation with your father today.”

Marie went on to explain that Victor had made an important contact in Paris earlier that week. He had been working feverishly, desperate to find a country willing to accept them. Rumors were rampant about where to go and which country might be offering visas. As everyone was discovering, there were fewer and fewer legal avenues open. But two countries in particular, Canada and Cuba, had the reputation of having immigration officials who might be willing to accept bribes in exchange for providing those all-important entry documents.

“Your father is worried that the Cuban visas might turn out to be forgeries. That's what people are telling him. Can you imagine arriving in a country only to be turned back because the papers are counterfeit!” Marie exclaimed as she inspected the placement of the last of the dishes on the dining room table. She turned again to face Karl, her face shining. “But Canada! Your father believes that we have a chance to get genuine entry papers to go there. He's met a man who's willing to help us.”

The man was George Harwood, a Canadian official stationed in Paris, working as an agent of the Canadian Pacific Railway in a section known as the Department of Colonization and Immigration. His job was to find and recruit suitable employees to work for the CPR in Canada and to find immigrants who could work the land. “These immigrants are not necessarily meant to be Jews,” continued Marie, “though I imagine there are many, like your father, who are trying to get hired on just to be able to get the papers. But, more importantly, your father has learned that Mr. Harwood is a man who will take money under the table. And that's what we're counting on. Remember, money talks, Karl.” She was quoting what the corrupt lawyer had said before he had swindled them out of a large amount, and Karl wondered if Mr. Harwood's intentions were any more legitimate.

“Mr. Harwood is here in Prague; he's come to meet some prospective recruits. And I've invited him to dinner here tonight!” Marie turned to face her son. “Oh, Karl, we must remain hopeful that this plan will work, and we must impress Mr. Harwood, no matter what. Now, I have so much to do.” With that, she flew out of the dining room, calling instructions to Leila.

George Harwood was a charming and talkative man, who happily accepted Marie's hospitality as if he were a long-lost friend. “It's so lovely to enjoy a home-cooked meal, Mrs. Reiser,” he said patting his rather large stomach. He finished off his third plate of food and washed it down with another glass of red wine. From his portly stature he looked as if he had enjoyed many a good meal. “I can't tell you how tedious it has been to dine in those hotel restaurants night after night.”

Marie, ever the gracious hostess, smiled warmly. “We're pleased to welcome you, Mr. Harwood. As you can imagine, I haven't had many opportunities to entertain lately. I miss the dinner parties we used to have. This is a treat for me as well.”

Marie had gone out of her way to prepare a banquet. All of Karl's favorites were there:
– garlic soup – to start, followed by
hovìzí
with
opekané brambory
– beef with roasted potatoes – for the main course. Dessert was the best surprise –
, dumplings with blueberries hidden inside mounds of delicately chewy dough. With restrictions on shopping for Jews, it was difficult to know how she had managed to acquire all of these delicacies. Leila must certainly have helped.

There were other guests for dinner that evening: Mr. and Mrs. Zelenka, the couple that owned the flat that Karl and his family were renting. They also wanted entry visas to Canada, and hoped that Mr. Harwood would be willing to help.

“You have a lovely home here,” Mr. Harwood said, finally pushing away from the table and leaning back in his chair.

“We are very comfortable,” said Marie. “And lucky, thanks to the Zelenkas. But I wish you could see what we left behind, Mr. Harwood. Our books, music, furniture, artwork.” She went on to describe the four large paintings. “They were really quite special. I think I miss those most of all.”

“I love the arts, too,”” said Mr. Harwood. “My family owned a music store in Winnipeg, where I grew up.”

“My son, Karl, has been studying English,” said Marie. “I hope he gets to use it in your country.”

Karl and Hana watched and listened from their spot at one end of the dining room table. They had been told to dress for the evening. Karl wore his best suit, while Hana had on a silk dress in the softest shade of green. It set off her curly red hair and vibrant eyes, but she was quiet. The presence of these guests reminded her of those days in Rakovník when the house had been overrun with unfamiliar faces. The preceding couple of months in Prague had been a welcome opportunity to have her family to herself, notwithstanding the circumstances under which they were there. Karl was glued to the conversation, anxious to hear word of when the family might be leaving and when he would be reunited with his father.

“The country doesn't want us here anymore – that is becoming abundantly clear. But they're making it impossible for us to leave.” Mr. Zelenka was speaking and his face was red as he gestured in the air angrily with his knife, hardly noticing the bits of food and gravy that flew in all directions.

“Perhaps things are not as bad as some would suggest.” This statement came from Mrs. Zelenka, a thin woman dwarfed in size and personality by her outspoken husband. “My parents will never leave, no matter what, and I'm still not sure I can leave them behind. They believe that because they are elderly, no one will bother them. ‘What would Hitler want with old Jews?' my father often asks.” She smiled and others at the table joined her.

“We will all have to leave eventually. That's what I think,” continued Mr. Zelenka. “Hitler's right-hand man, Eichmann, is here in Prague right now, trying to push all of us out. He's even established a branch of the
Zentralstelle für Jüdische Auswanderung
. They say that if you sign up with this Central Office for Jewish Emigration you'll receive an exit visa. Simple as that! But is it?”

“If Jewish families register with this organization, doesn't it mean that they have to transfer all of their capital and property into the hands of the Nazis?” Karl asked from his spot at the table, no longer able to resist contributing to the conversation. “That makes it impossible for most families to leave.”

“Exactly my point!” Mr. Zelenka's head bobbed emphatically. “They want us out, but then they create all kinds of obstacles to our leaving. Some are suggesting that this branch of the SS is merely a front. Jews register to leave and once they come forward, they are arrested and never heard from again.”

Marie recounted the story of how the lawyer had swindled her out of a large amount of money. “Not only that, but he threatened to report us to the Gestapo.”

Mr. Harwood nodded sympathetically. “It's no easier to get in anywhere, as I'm sure you all know. It was possible a few years ago. But now, Canada and many other countries are reluctant to take in Jewish refugees. There's a fear that we'll be flooded with families escaping Europe. Besides, few countries want to alienate Hitler these days.”

“Not even Palestine,” added Mr. Zelenka, shaking his head. “One would have thought that Jews could go there. But the British are worried that there might be another Arab uprising like the one in 1936. So those doors are closed as well.” The Arab revolt against mass Jewish immigration had lasted off and on for three years and had prompted a renunciation of Britain's intent to create a Jewish national home in Palestine.

There was a moment of silence at the table. Then Mr. Harwood said, “Thankfully, for you and others, I'm able to bend the rules to allow selected immigrants into my country – not an easy task, I assure you.” He stopped short of saying that it would cost these families dearly for the privilege of entering Canada. The details of that would come later.

“We are all so fearful of Hitler's plans,” said Marie. “Here, there are more and more restrictions emerging on a daily basis. Now Jewish doctors and lawyers can't practice; professors and instructors can't teach.”

“And what about those who are being arrested?” asked Mr. Zelenka. “They call it protective custody, whatever that means. Who's being protected? And where are they going? No one seems to know.”

“First Austria, then Czechoslovakia. What next?” Marie lowered her head and closed her eyes.

“Poland!” declared Mr. Zelenka. “Hitler recognized a valuable prize when he took Czechoslovakia. Not only did he get this vast land, but also it paved the way for further conquests. He's already denounced the non-aggression pact with Poland and he's demanding the return of Danzig to Germany. Mark my words: Poland is next.”

“Will no one come to Europe's aid?” Mrs. Zelenka whispered these words.

Mr. Harwood shook his head. “President Roosevelt has outlined a peace proposal for Europe, but it doesn't look like Hitler is going to listen to it. I'm afraid we're headed for all-out war.”

There was silence at the table as each guest digested this pronouncement. Karl was angered by the discussion. How was it that they had become fugitives? They were being forced to leave their homes and were being treated like criminals for no reason. They weren't wanted in their home country, and they weren't wanted elsewhere. None of it made sense. Karl's family had barely acknowledged its Jewish background, but now it seemed to glow above their heads like a spotlight.

“Enough talk of war,” said Marie, shaking her head wearily. “Please enjoy the wine, the meal, and our hospitality, Mr. Harwood. Let's talk of happier things. Let's talk of a future in your country.” She raised her glass and said, “To Canada. And to peace!” The others joined her in the toast.

Shortly after that, the Zelenkas said their good-byes and went upstairs to their flat. Marie walked over to Mr. Harwood and extended her hands to him. “I know that you and my husband have discussed the terms under which we might be able to get into your country,” she said, referring to the bribe that would buy them their precious entry visas. “We will complete our part of the agreement. Please fulfill yours. Do not let my family down.” She spoke these last words fervently, staring Mr. Harwood in the eyes and clutching his hands in a forceful grip.

Mr. Harwood nodded. “I'll meet with your husband as soon as I get back to Paris. When the details are in place, I'll arrange your visas through the consulate there,” he said, bowing slightly. “Thank you again for the lovely evening.”

Within days, Victor called his wife at a prearranged time on a public telephone to report that the monetary transaction with George Harwood had been completed and the entry visas to Canada would be issued. Karl didn't know how much money had passed between his father and Mr. Harwood, though he believed it must have been a sizeable amount. What was important was that one more hurdle had been cleared to enable them to leave.

With the visas seemingly secured, Marie turned her attention once more to acquiring the exit permits, the final and perhaps most important documents standing in their way. It was dangerous to try to arrange a meeting with the Gestapo. Notwithstanding the power of attorney in the hands of Alois Jirák, Marie knew that she would risk having to disclose their family fortune if she were to meet with Nazi officials. And she worried that by concealing their wealth, she was jeopardizing the safety of her family. If the Nazis were to discover this deceit, not only would they confiscate the estate, but they would probably also arrest the Reisers. The Gestapo did not need a reason to take a Jew into custody. Marie could chance none of this.