Restitution (38 page)

“They are all wonderful,” he began. “I see that you have amassed quite the collection of fine art.”

“But we're willing to give them up for the right price.” It was the woman who finally spoke this time. She tugged nervously at a large cameo at the nape of her blouse. “It's simply impossible to move ahead in the world these days. Not that I'm complaining, of course. I'm just a nervous wreck over this.” Her husband stroked her arm, hushing and soothing her.

“It's indeed difficult,” Theo said sympathetically, marveling at how greed could consume a family. “But take heart in knowing that some families in Canada will derive great pleasure from your beautiful paintings. I know I can find good homes for them.”

At that, the couple beamed. “We so appreciate your understanding,” the man said. “Which ones would you like?” He was eager now to complete the transaction. Theo indicated the paintings he wished to buy and offered the couple a price. “I'll pay you in American dollars – an additional incentive of course.” American cash was essential when it came to buying foreign cars, and much more desirable than the devalued Czech crowns.

“But it's so little!” the woman exclaimed. “They are worth ten times that.”

Theo nodded. “Of course. But again, please remember that I am providing a service to you as well. The government will tax you heavily on these paintings if you wish to sell them overseas, and, at the end of the day, may not even release them. I'm willing to take them off your hands for cash, and try to pass them through the government red tape myself. But there are no guarantees for me either. I take a risk each time I purchase art. And I must take that into consideration with the price that I offer.”

There was silence in the room, and then the couple bent their heads together and began to whisper feverishly. Theo waited patiently. How different these people were from Karl Reeser, he thought as he watched their animated exchange. It was self-indulgence that had motivated them to buy art in the first place, and it was avarice that was driving them to unload it now. Karl had neither of these qualities. He was strong-willed, of that Theo was certain. But there was nothing selfish about his desire for restitution. Karl's motivation was passionate and personal and generous. It was true that Theo identified more with the couple standing in front of him than with the man who awaited his return in Toronto. Nevertheless, one made him dig in his heels and go for top dollar, while the other inspired him to take greater risks for smaller gain.

The man and his wife were still muttering, their voices rising and falling as they gestured at the walls of their home and then at Theo. He had been through this same scenario many times and knew it was just a matter of time before they would relent, just as most of the others had. But to be on the safe side, he stepped forward slightly and threw his last card on the table. “I know how difficult this must be,” he said in a voice dripping with false compassion. “Please don't think I am pressuring you. If you think you can do better elsewhere, then I will step aside and wish you luck.” He turned as if to leave.

“No!” The man responded quickly and exactly as Theo knew he would. “No,” he repeated. “We accept your offer. There are too many other things for us to worry about now.” This he said as much to his wife as to Theo. “Please come into the study and I'll draw up the paperwork.”

Theo nodded slightly and followed the man into his office. There, he reached into his breast pocket and removed a leather wallet, counting out the agreed-upon amount in American dollars and handed it over to the man. In return, he received a handwritten letter listing the paintings and a signed agreement releasing them to Theo.

“A colleague of mine will come by later today to pick them up,” Theo said as he finished his business and was escorted back to the front door. He bowed courteously to the couple and reached out to shake the hand of the woman. “Once again, I wish you the very best of luck.” She smiled faintly and Theo left.

Once on the sidewalk, he could barely contain himself. The woman had said that the paintings were worth ten times what he had just paid. In truth, once they were cleaned and restored in Canada, Theo knew he would be able to sell them for at least fifty times that amount. The day was going well. By the time evening rolled around, Theo had visited five such homes and had bought more than fifty paintings. He contacted the National Gallery to confirm his meeting with them Monday morning. Then he made a quick call to a young nephew of his who agreed to make the rounds of the homes he had visited and collect the selected art.

That night, Theo arranged to meet some old friends for dinner and drinks in a secluded bar in the old city. He had earned this celebration, he thought, as he bought a round of drinks for his group and silently toasted the profits that he knew would come from this business trip. Early next week, he would deal with the hurdle of securing Karl Reeser's paintings. And, of course, he still had to meet with the staff of the National Gallery and get their approval to transport the artwork he had purchased that day. But the weekend would be for his own pleasure, and Theo was looking forward to reentering the Prague social scene.

He spent the next two days and nights going to bars, restaurants, and clubs. He met with old friends and sat at outdoor cafés, downing espressos and sipping wine. He dropped money like a gardener scatters seeds, and his friends and acquaintances scrambled to pick up the crumbs, basking in the pleasure of being wined and dined. Women flocked to him, and he chased several of them with the same passion that surfaced in his pursuit of fine art, selecting only the best from the group and adding them to his list of acquisitions. He had few thoughts of Toronto and the freedoms to which he was accustomed there. Theo understood and was equally at home in Prague society, despite the oppressive atmosphere.

He knew he was being followed during that weekend. Early Sunday morning, when he left his hotel to escort his date from the previous night back to her home, he noticed a black car parked across the street. He wondered if it had been there the day before. Shadows in the bushes, phantom figures emerging from behind brick facades, cars that were there one minute and gone the next – maybe the ghosts of Prague were real, Theo thought. They were the secret police. The goons were not that good at concealing their surveillance tactics. You knew you were being followed when the same face would appear behind you three or more times a day! Or, more likely, they didn't care to hide their presence. There was nothing subtle or discreet about State Security. It excelled in intimidation and coercion. And nothing heightened one's paranoia more than the
thought
that one was being followed. The police knew that and used it to their advantage.

Briefly, Theo wondered again about the information that Karl had shared about his mail being tampered with. Were the police here because they knew about Karl's paintings and had somehow linked Theo to their retrieval? Did they know that the paintings were at the Canadian embassy, and were they already plotting to intercept them? His phone at the hotel was probably being tapped as well. But as quickly as any of those thoughts entered his mind, they were dismissed. His eyes were more watchful than those of the authorities, and his senses were keener. They were idiots, he continued to tell himself, puppets of a regime that was dying and yet desperate to make its last stand.

Early Monday morning, the telephone rang in Theo's hotel suite, arousing him from a deep sleep. It was his blacksmith friend calling with the news that the aluminum tubes were ready.

“I've delivered four to the National Gallery, as you requested,” the man said. “The other one is waiting here for you. That's what you wanted?”

“Yes, that's correct,” Theo responded, sitting up in bed, alert now.

“And when will you come and pick it up?”

Theo quickly went through his agenda in his mind. Today was his meeting with the officials at the National Gallery. Tuesday morning he was due to meet with Richard VandenBosch. “Tomorrow,” he replied. “I'll come by your flat early in the morning.”

“It wasn't easy,” the man continued, carefully choosing his words. “I pulled a lot of strings to get my suppliers to deliver.”

“And I'm grateful, as always to you, my good friend,” Theo replied with equal care. “We'll settle all of this when I see you on Tuesday.” He hung up the telephone and then picked it up again to make a call to Adolfo Flores.

“You're up early!” Adolfo's thunderous voice greeted him as soon as he identified himself. “I expected you would be partying all weekend and be in no shape to get up today.”

“It was indeed a good weekend,” Theo replied, easily. “I'd forgotten how much there was to do in this city.”

“Not too hung over, then?”

Theo ignored the remark. “Can you get away? Come meet me here at my hotel. We'll have coffee in the restaurant downstairs.” Theo rubbed his hand across his temple and squeezed his eyes shut. “I guess I could use some.”

A half hour later he was waiting in the hotel café, now fully awake, sipping an espresso and reading a local newspaper while he waited for Adolfo. Several stories caught his attention. American Ambassador Shirley Temple Black had recently been named as envoy to Prague, one article said. The former child star had taken up residence in a sixty-five room palace filled with antiques. “The Czechs are polite, industrious, very clever, intelligent people,” she had been quoted as saying about her hosts. “I think they are going to perform miracles.”
¹⁴
Theo chuckled, wondering about the artwork that he might have acquired from such a home.

“You look better than I thought you would.” Adolfo eased himself into the booth across from Theo and nodded to the waiter to bring him a coffee.

“I'm here on business, Adolfo. Have you forgotten that?”

Adolfo laughed softly, waiting for the waiter to pour his coffee before continuing. “So what's on your mind, since you seem to be all
business
?”

Theo glanced around. The coffee shop was full of customers on this Monday morning, mostly tourists with cameras dangling from their necks, noses buried in the pages of guide books. Here and there, lone businessmen were wolfing down breakfast. No one seemed to take notice of him, but he instinctively lowered his voice and leaned forward. “I will have the package we discussed ready for you on Tuesday – tomorrow. I should be able to deliver it to your embassy before noon.” He heard Adolfo draw in his breath and paused. “Will that be a problem?” Everything hinged on Adolfo's availability to drive the paintings into Germany.

“No, no, that should be fine,” Adolfo finally replied. “I'm due for a trip across the border. I can leave right after you get there.”

“Good,” Theo replied. “I'll have the artwork packaged as usual. I'm not sure yet how big the bundle will be, but I'm hoping it won't be too conspicuous.”

“I'll cross over at Waidhaus,” Adolfo continued, already thinking ahead to the journey. “And meet you at our usual spot. We'll make the exchange there.”

“And I'll have your final payment with me. Have you thought about what you'll do if anyone stops you?”

“I'm protected, remember?” Adolfo replied easily. “I should have no trouble. But what about you? You could be searched, you know.”

“I won't have anything in my car worth searching for,” Theo replied.

“I'm not talking about being stopped at the border,” Adolfo went on. “I'm talking about being stopped when you leave the embassy with your
acquisition
.” This time Adolfo was the one to glance around and over his shoulder.

Theo nodded slowly and pressed his lips together in a tight smile. When he finally spoke, he was somber and grim-faced. “You can be sure, my friend, that if I so much as smell trouble, I will pull out. If you don't hear from me by one o'clock tomorrow afternoon, you can assume it's off.” A few minutes later, the two men rose to go their separate ways.

Theo headed outside to pick up his car. All around the hotel, posters bearing the image of Václav Havel were plastered on windows and walls. Hawkers lined the pavement peddling campaign buttons for Civic Forum, the political party that Havel led and that had brought down the Communist regime in November. Only months earlier, at his presidential address, the new leader had proclaimed, “The future is again opening for us. Our home may once again become a favorite and sought-after place in Europe.”
¹⁵
The posters reminded Theo once again that changes were on the country's horizon.

Prague had always been known as the golden city, full of castles and churches, statues and monuments. Even when its buildings had fallen into disrepair under Communist rule, it had remained one of Europe's most architecturally alluring cities. Now the dirt and the brooding gloom were being lifted. In and around Theo's hotel, buildings were being renovated at a breakneck pace, trying to make up for the years of neglect as the country was repositioning itself as a free-market state. The Communist nightmare was ending, but the country was far from being able to shake off its effects. Even the fact that Theo had to contend with the National Gallery's rules for the export of valuable goods was evidence that the country was still in a gridlock, trying to move forward with a new government and new autonomy, and still stuck in its old political rut.

The meeting with the officials at the Gallery had been arranged for ten o'clock that morning. Theo arrived early to ensure that the paintings he had bought from local families had indeed been delivered there, and that the transport tubing was also on hand.

The National Gallery was housed in different buildings within the city, the largest being the
. He parked his car close to the building, entered, and was directed up the stairs to the main auditorium. There he was relieved to see the paintings waiting for him, along with the containers he had ordered. His nephew, Martin, stood off to one side, a gangly youth who waved at Theo as he entered. Theo winked back at him. Also waiting in the room were several women who identified themselves as the members of the commission who would approve or reject Theo's request to export the artwork. These were wealthy wives of businessmen and Communist officials who worked in the arts community. Though they were all older than Theo, some significantly so, he felt instantly at home in their presence.