Restitution (32 page)

Karl interjected. “You're right, of course. But it is a beginning – something to be optimistic about, wouldn't you agree with that?”

Phyllis was quiet and eventually she rose, cleared the dishes, and left the room. But when Karl read of the fall of the Berlin Wall on November 9, he was even more optimistic about the possibility of change within his former homeland. That wall, which had stood as a physical and political symbol of oppression for thirty years, was opened up in a single night. The events which followed in Czechoslovakia were immediate and rapid. On November 17, more than fifty thousand students who were part of the Socialist Union of Youth turned out for a mass demonstration. The date was significant, as it marked the fiftieth anniversary of the murder of a Czech student, Jan Opletal, by Nazi soldiers during the Second World War. His death was commemorated annually in what was known as International Students' Day. On that day in 1989, armed forces were on alert for what they anticipated would be an all-out riot. The students, and others who joined them, marched toward Wenceslas Square, where they were surrounded and eventually beaten by riot police. But the regime's decision to use force against the protesters would have consequences, and this demonstration was only the beginning. Within days, more peaceful marches were held and the numbers of protesters grew to over two hundred thousand. On November 27, a general strike was called, with workers demanding a new government. Millions of Czechs and Slovaks walked off their jobs. Under this intense pressure, the Communist Party of Czechoslovakia announced that it would relinquish power and step down. Gustáv Husák resigned on December 10, and on December 29, 1989, Václav Havel became the new president of Czechoslovakia. His political party, known as the Civic Forum, became a voice for revolutionary change in the country. In his “Declaration of the Civic Forum” speech, Havel proclaimed:

The situation is open now, there are many opportunities before us, and we have only two certainties.

The first is the certainty that there is no return to the previous totalitarian system of government, which led our country to the brink of an absolute spiritual, moral, political, economic, and ecological crisis.

Our second certainty is that we want to live in a free, democratic, and prosperous Czechoslovakia, which must return to Europe, and that we will never abandon this ideal, no matter what transpires in these next few days.
¹¹

This overthrow of the Communist government became known as the Velvet Revolution, one that had miraculously happened quickly and without bloodshed. Graffiti appeared on the walls of buildings in Prague that said “Poland, ten years; Hungary, ten months; East Germany, ten weeks; Czechoslovakia, ten days.”
¹²

In Prague, a dissident was hurriedly released from jail so he could join the cabinet as the minister responsible for, among other things, the secret police! The unattainable was being achieved, and Karl watched these events unfold with great anticipation. A revolution was taking place inside his former homeland, and a peaceful one at that. A new democratic government was on the horizon, and with it, the promise of a complete restructuring of the political and social agenda.

Surely this would also eventually result in a lifting of the regulations governing the export of goods. Perhaps if he just waited a little longer, the paintings might become accessible to him without all this scheming and planning. More than fifty years had passed since his family had had possession of the paintings. Surely Karl could wait a few more months. How jubilant it would have made his parents to think that the country might be opening up now, providing a route to regaining their property as it woke from its long coma.

But any hope of an immediate change in Czechoslovakia's policy of investigating and persecuting its citizens faded when Karl became suspicious that his mail was being opened and inspected. A letter which had been sent from his old friend, MiloÅ¡ Nigrin, arrived with tape sloppily applied across the seal. And MiloÅ¡ subsequently wrote to say that he too had received a letter from Karl which had been delivered opened. When MiloÅ¡ went to the post office to casually inquire about this, he was told that the letter had indeed been inspected by the secret police. This sent Karl into a frenzy of worry. “No wonder everyone is paranoid there,” he fumed bitterly to Phyllis as he held up the letter from MiloÅ¡, the evidence of what he believed to be police tampering. “Each time the citizens think they can taste freedom, the Communist goons remind them that they're still being watched – we're all being watched.” His voice rose and shook with a sudden ferocity. Perhaps Phyllis had been right to be so circumspect about the news emerging from the country. Change would not happen so quickly.

“But what do you think it means?” Phyllis asked. “Are they really suspicious of you or is this just what they do to everyone?”

“Who knows?” Karl replied, shaking his head. “I'm most concerned about MiloÅ¡. He has nothing to do with this; he doesn't even really know why I was in Prague in the first place. I don't want him implicated in something that is my affair and mine alone. But if State Security is indeed suspicious of the business I was conducting while in Prague, then MiloÅ¡ could be targeted just for having been seen with me when I was there. It's absurd!”

“And what about Jan?”

“Of course! He's just as vulnerable. More so!” Karl squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head, more convinced than ever that someone must have become suspicious when they saw him, Jan, and Richard carry the paintings out of Jan's apartment and into the waiting van – maybe the old man who had poked his head out the door of his flat, or the old women walking by on the street. They had appeared to be harmless, but no one, he reminded himself, no one could be trusted in a country that hunted for traitors and trained its citizens to do the same. And if Jan were arrested, it would be a short path to the whereabouts of the paintings. Ranting didn't help, Karl knew. But he felt so powerless and deceived. What good was a new democratic government when, at the end of the day, it still resorted to its old tricks? A wolf in sheep's clothing, that's what you could expect from Czechoslovakia, old or new.

Karl became increasingly concerned about the frank correspondence he had been having with Richard VandenBosch, in which they had both openly discussed the paintings, their current whereabouts, and the plans for their future. When he received a letter from Richard that appeared to have been opened and then resealed with tape, he knew with certainty that his mail was being scrutinized. His subsequent letter to VandenBosch cautioned him as follows:

Many thanks for your letter…which by the way arrived resealed with transparent tape. I mention this, because I experienced repeated instances of non-delivery of mail to two of the persons with whom I met while I was in Prague last May. That is one of the reasons why I would like to meet with you privately, even if it must wait until you visit Canada in July of next year. If by chance you may be somewhere in Central Europe before then, I could probably arrange to meet you there…

Now, more than ever he needed to get the paintings out of the country. But a plan still eluded him. He even asked VandenBosch for help in locating someone to assist him. Richard replied by saying:

I must apologize for my tardy reply to you in recommending any lawyers. The Canadian embassy from time to time uses the lawyers at Advokatni Poradna 1, Narodni 32 (dum Chicago), Prague 1… Unfortunately, we cannot attest to their competency in this field. I hope this will be of some help…

This did not appear promising. But that same letter contained some news which was even more distressing. In it, VandenBosch indicated that, in light of the changing political scene in Czechoslovakia and elsewhere, the embassy would be undergoing a massive staff turnover in the coming months. He personally would remain in Prague for another year. But the changeover in staff would probably necessitate the removal of the paintings from the embassy and their relocation elsewhere. His letter had a tenor of urgency when he wrote:

On another note, have you had any success in obtaining exit permission for your paintings? The staff will be changed over this summer and will probably result in the removal of your paintings elsewhere for storage. I would be somewhat relieved if they could be in your possession before this summer. I shall be here for a further year and, if possible, shall be available to assist you…

“The paper says that Prague citizens are popping champagne and dancing with joy on Wenceslas Square.”

Karl, Phyllis, Hana, and Paul had once more gathered for dinner in the Reeser home. Their conversation was filled with news of the changing political events in Czechoslovakia and other countries. Phyllis held a copy of the
Toronto Star
in her hands and was pointing to a column which declared:

Sirens wailed, horns honked and bells pealed…in Prague and other cities to mark a dramatic opposition victory that ended the Communists' 41-year domination of the government.
¹³

“The people there have been deprived of political expression for so long they don't know what to do with themselves,” she said. “These are extraordinary events! The entire Communist party leadership structure has collapsed. And not just in Czechoslovakia. Gorbachev is signaling that he is willing to end the Communist party monopoly on power in the Soviet Union. Hungary and even Bulgaria are hinting at free elections. Lithuania and Estonia will follow suit. You must admit, it sounds like a hopeful future.”

Hana nodded, though she remained silent.

Karl frowned. This time he was not being quite so optimistic. “I'm concerned about the men who will replace those who have resigned. The Communist party veterans are not going to walk away so easily. They'll want a place in this new government. And, as you have suggested more than once, a Communist with a new title is still a Communist.”

He spat the words out and then went on to detail the letters that he and Richard VandenBosch were exchanging. “With the fall of the Communist government, the entire Canadian embassy is restructuring. The paintings may have to be moved elsewhere. I still don't trust that a new government will be any more likely to open up the borders to allow valuable property to be exported. And I'm terrified that if our artwork is moved, it will be exposed in public and subject to investigation.” He went on to describe how his recent letters had been opened and likely inspected by whatever was left of the secret police. “Nothing is changing quickly, in spite of what we read of free and open elections.”

There was a long moment of silence at the table as each person digested this pronouncement. Finally, Karl spoke. “At least VandenBosch is getting to enjoy the paintings. I just wish they were hanging on our walls.” Another long pause, and then, once again, he voiced the need for an honest smuggler.

At this, Hana sat up in her chair. “Oh, how could I have forgotten to tell you this,” she said, suddenly animated. Hana explained that she had told some Czech friends about the paintings and the problems her family was facing getting them out of Prague. “Someone mentioned a contact, a man who has brought art from Czechoslovakia to Canada on several occasions.”

Karl was out of his seat in a flash. “Who is he?” he demanded. “How do I get in touch with him?”

“I'll find out his name and how to contact him,” Hana replied. “My friend was a bit vague with the information, but I'll follow up.”

A day later, Hana telephoned Karl. “His name is Theofil Krái,” she said. “That's all I have — a name and not much information. But you won't believe this. He lives here in Toronto and practically around the corner from your house!”

One of the many letters sent from Richard VandenBosch in Prague to Karl in Toronto.

*
VandenBosch later confirmed that three paintings were hanging in the embassy offices.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Toronto, February 14, 1990

THERE WAS NO SNOW falling outside the front window of Karl's home that February evening. Tiny flakes of ice crystals practically danced off of tree branches, and then hung in the gray twilight of the setting sun before disappearing, swallowed up by the swirling wind. Karl, Phyllis, Hana, and Paul sat in silence, staring at the frost-covered streets, awaiting the arrival of Theofil Král, the man who had quickly become known simply as “the smuggler.” Karl had had a short telephone conversation with him several nights earlier, after Hana had managed to track down his contact information. In that conversation, Karl had talked briefly about the paintings and the need to get them out of Czechoslovakia expeditiously. Král had expressed interest in the project, promising nothing and giving little information about himself. He had agreed to meet with Karl and his family.

“He didn't say that he'd do it, did he?” asked Phyllis. “I mean, he didn't actually commit to going to get the paintings.”