Restitution (19 page)

The postal clerk returned and placed a small box on the desk between them. It was square, possibly holding a book or two, thought Theo. But more important than its contents was the condition in which this parcel had arrived. The paper was ripped and hung in strips, as if it had been torn apart and then hastily repackaged. The string had been retied, and tape had been applied haphazardly to hold the shreds of paper together. The clerk's face, red before, now seemed almost to explode with color as he gestured apologetically at the pile of paper and string. “It arrived like this from Prague, Mr. Král,” he said. “I don't know what happened to it. Looks like it got kicked around a bit.”

Theo knew instantly what had happened, though for a moment he couldn't speak. Anger rose in his throat like bile. This was no accidental damage. The package had clearly been torn apart and then rewrapped. It looked as if someone had been searching for something here, and Theo was certain that the ones doing the inspecting were the Czech secret police. The young clerk was speaking again, though Theo barely heard him through the fog of fury that he felt at this assault on his property. “You'll have to sign here, Mr. Král. Just so we know you accepted the parcel as is. If there's any damage to the stuff inside, you can fill out this form as well….”

The young man was still talking but Theo was already on the move. He signed blindly, grabbed the package and stumbled out of the building and toward his car. Once inside, he spent a minute calming himself before peeling aside what was left of the packaging so that he could view the contents.

It was indeed a book, a gift from his parents, as the enclosed card read. This book was a detailed exploration of the history and meaning of Tarot cards, a topic near and dear to Theo's heart. This volume was unavailable in Canada and his parents had been promising they would send it for some time. But if the paper that enclosed the box had been torn apart, it did not even begin to compare with the damage to the book itself. The front cover was ripped at the edges and had been peeled back in layers as if to reveal something hidden within the cover or concealed in the spine. Pages were missing along with the back cover. And, as Theo held the ruined book in his hands, he knew exactly what it was that the secret police had been looking for. It was common knowledge that they regularly searched for microchips containing information about their government and possibly concealed in books, gifts…or even paintings.

There was nothing subtle about this defacement of his property, and no attempt on the part of State Security to hide its search. Their message here was loud and clear:
We are watching you and we are suspicious of your activities
. And there was nothing Theo could do about it, no complaint that he could lodge, and no form from the post office that could help him. And all this practically on the eve of his departure for Prague. He would be extra vigilant, he assured himself, as he tossed the book on the passenger seat and revved the engine of his car. He would not be deterred. If anything, this arrogant gesture on the part of the Communist police goons only strengthened his resolve to retrieve Karl Reeser's paintings. His trip was only days away.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Prague 1947–8

SHORTLY AFTER Marie and Arthur's departure to Prague, Karl and Phyllis gave up their apartment in the west end of the city and moved into the family house on Rosedale Heights Drive. There they waited for news from Marie. It was difficult to get information. Through sporadic letters and even more infrequent telegrams, Karl was able to learn the full details of what unfolded in Prague only many months later.

When Marie and Arthur returned to Czechoslovakia, they took up residence in a spacious flat in Prague and began to take stock of what had happened to the country following Nazi Germany's surrender. Like many European countries, Czechoslovakia was in the process of rebuilding, and in April 1945, the Third Republic of Czechoslovakia came into being. This was a coalition government consisting of three parties: the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia – Komunistická strana
– the Czechoslovak Social Democratic Party, and the Czechoslovak National Socialist Party. At the time there was great support for the KSÈ, which had strong ties to the Soviet Union, the country that had liberated Czechoslovakia in the final days of the war and was now directing much of its future. The
was determined to become the country's primary political force.

In the spring election of 1946, Edvard Beneš, who had resigned in the aftermath of the Munich Agreement, returned to Prague and was formally confirmed to his second term as president of the republic. However, the election results gave the
a majority of the vote. More importantly, the Communists were able to gain control of all key ministries, with power over the police, the armed forces, education, social welfare, agriculture, and the civil service. The Communist leader, Klement Gottwald, became prime minister. He was viewed as a moderate who would respect the Czech tradition of democracy; this was reinforced when he proclaimed his desire to lead the country to a thorough “democratic national revolution.”
⁷

It was into this new and promising political climate that Marie and Arthur arrived. Those early days in Prague were good. The country seemed to be thriving in the promise of prosperity for all. It almost felt to Marie as if life had returned to what it once was. There was a free press in place, freedom of religion, equal rights for women, an independent judiciary, jobs, and the right to education and recreation. Wealth was being restored, and art and music were thriving.

In the early days, Arthur was happily reunited with his son, who had managed to survive the war in one of the concentration camps of Poland. Karl could only imagine Arthur's joy at this happy discovery. Almost immediately, Marie started looking for news of the fate of the Jewish community in Rakovník. The first discovery was devastating. Not one other Jewish family in their hometown had come through the war intact. Apart from the Reisers, only George Popper had survived. Everyone else had remained in town when Marie had packed up the family and fled to Prague, and all had been arrested by the Gestapo shortly thereafter, eventually perishing in Hitler's death camps. The grief cut deeply as Marie remembered her friends, her neighbors, the dinner parties with the Poppers – everything was gone. It was unthinkable. The Rakovník that she had known no longer existed.

The only thing that remained was the house on Husovo
the central square, and Marie focused on it as though getting it back would restore one small piece of the world she had once known. She discovered that the family home had indeed been confiscated by the Gestapo shortly after they had fled. When Marie inquired as to the property's current status, she learned that the house was now in the possession of the Czech government and had been converted into the local headquarters for the Communist party. Despite her best efforts and those of the attorney she had retained, there was nothing she could do to reclaim the house. Everything that Victor had worked for, everything that they had built together, their entire estate had vanished, swallowed up first by the Nazis and now by the Communists.

But Marie would not stop there. Seized by the realization that she would never be able to reclaim the family home, she believed that there was perhaps one part of the family property that had escaped Nazi confiscation. And that was the four paintings that she had left in the possession of Alois Jirák. Marie clung to the hope that the paintings had been moved to Jirák's son-in-law's home in the country for safekeeping, and had remained safe there, out of the Nazis' hands. To Marie, the paintings seemed to represent, more than anything else, the freedom that the family had once enjoyed. They were all that remained of the family's legacy.

Marie tracked down Alois Jirák. Mr. Jirák, she discovered, had made it through the war with his family, living in his estate outside of Rakovník. Like many Czech citizens, he had managed to do his work and remain under the radar of the Nazi machinery.

Marie's reunion with him was not a friendly one. All of the respect that he had shown to Victor when they had done business together was gone, replaced with a cold reserve and disdain for Marie and her circumstances. After a short and awkward greeting, Marie got down to business.

“I'm not here to talk about our estate,” she began. “The property is gone – in the hands of the government now. And I realize there is nothing I can do about that.”

Mr. Jirák nodded, his eyes narrowed, and he stared at Marie without responding.

“I'm grateful that you handled our power of attorney back then,” she continued. “You helped my husband and me to hold on to the funds that enabled us to get out of the country safely. Not everyone would have helped in that way.”

Mr. Jirák continued to stare.

“But before we left Prague, I entrusted you with four paintings that hung in our home in Rakovník.”

At that, Mr. Jirák raised his eyebrows slightly. “Paintings?” he asked.

Marie nodded. “Yes, four of them. Surely you remember. At the time, you said that you were going to take them to your son-in-law's estate in the country. You said they'd be safer there in case the Nazis came looking. I'm assuming you still have them and I'd like to take them back now.”

Mr. Jirák turned his head and gazed away. A long moment passed and neither spoke. Marie held her breath in anticipation of what Mr. Jirák would say. Finally, he turned back to face her.

“Yes, I remember now,” he said. “Four of them, you say?”

Marie nodded.

“Right. Well, I'm afraid they're gone. The Gestapo came to search Václav's house – my son-in-law, Václav Pekárek. Everyone was being searched, you know. You think only the Jews were in danger? Well, that's not the case. We all were. The Nazis wanted everything they could get their hands on.” Mr. Jirák paused. When he said the word
Jew
, Marie sensed his contempt and she felt her anger rising. She fought to control herself.

“At any rate,” Mr. Jirák continued. “They searched the home several times, went through all of our things, and, on one such search, they confiscated the paintings – took them off the wall and carried them out the door. Who knows what became of them. I did my best, you know,” he added. “As you yourself said, there were not many like me who were willing to help you and others in your situation. Be grateful you got away with your lives. Not everyone was as lucky as you were.”