Restitution (4 page)

Karl in Rakovnik with his dog. Lord.

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Now known as Žatec in the Czech Republic.

CHAPTER TWO

Rakovník, September 1937

WHEN KARL RETURNED to school that fall, it was as if nothing had happened. If his classmates knew about the anti-Semitic graffiti that had defaced the front of his home, no one commented on it. In truth, no one, other than Karl's family, seemed to care.

Karl stood to one side of the front lawn of the one-hundred-year-old public high school, watching students enter the building. He smiled and waved at George Popper, who returned the greeting. It was a pity that George was a year ahead of him in school. He could have used the solidarity of another Jewish boy in his class. Besides, no one touched George, not even the thugs who had it in for Karl. As a star pupil, George's quiet intelligence had gained the respect of students and teachers alike, religion notwithstanding.

Another student walked by and nodded at Karl. It was Rudolf Puchold, the son of Karl's art teacher. Mr. Puchold was one of the few teachers whom Karl actually liked and admired. Though Karl was not strongly academically inclined, he thrived in Mr. Puchold's art class. But Mr. Puchold taught more than just art; he also taught graphics and drafting, technical skills that Karl was drawn to, that called on his creativity and attention to detail. Though Mr. Puchold's son, Rudolf, was also several years older than Karl, they had formed an odd friendship, born from their common love of photography.

As a bar mitzvah gift on his thirteenth birthday, Karl had received a Leica camera from close family friends. He had known nothing of cameras or photography before that, but took an immediate interest in the craft, snapping pictures of anything and everything in his path. He took shots of the scenery in and around his home, posing agreeable family members and taking candid snaps of those who weren't interested in posing. His dog, Lord, was a frequent, albeit uncooperative, model.

The camera became Karl's best friend, helping him cope with his shyness. In his photographs, he could be bold and daring, capturing anything from grand landscapes to intimate portrayals of individuals and events. His photographs reflected an emotional connection with people and land, a keen eye for detail, and an expressive curiosity about the world around him. He felt alone without his camera; he felt complete with it. The camera had become his voice, and when he held it to his eye, he could step into conversations and respond to what he saw, heard, and felt.

Rudolf Puchold Senior and Victor Reiser were acquaintances. In fact, Mr. Puchold had done several oil paintings that hung in the Reiser home, one of which was a full-length portrait of Victor. It was a formal painting – Victor in a gray suit and fedora, seated in a chair, staring confidently through dark-rimmed glasses. The portrait now graced one wall of the Reiser family's home. When the two men discovered their sons' mutual interest in photography, they arranged for the boys to go on a hiking and photography vacation together.

Victor was keen for Karl to have a holiday different from the family's usual chauffeur-driven tours of Switzerland, or Karl's stays at Swiss camps to improve his French. This adventure with Rudolf was nothing like those vacations. The boys spent two weeks together, hiking and camping in the Tatra Mountains. They slept in tents and cooked on an open fire. They snapped pictures of mountaintops that emerged from shadowy clouds, fields that overflowed with sunflowers and daisies, and rivers that rushed from the mountains to fill the ponds and streams below. Rudolf owned a Leica just like Karl's, and Karl learned much about photography from the mentorship that Rudolf provided on that trip. But it was a one-time experience. When the boys returned to Rakovník, they retreated to their separate lives and, except for nodding in acknowledgment as they had done this morning on the first day of school, they rarely spoke to one another.

“Where did you disappear to all summer?” Karl heard MiloÅ¡ Nigrin's voice and turned around to greet his friend, shaking hands with him and smiling broadly. “Were you locked up in your darkroom?”

Shortly after returning from the camping holiday with Rudolf, Karl had convinced his father to construct a darkroom for him on the main floor of Victor's office in a back room where Lord usually slept. Several of Victor's employees had knocked together some two-by-fours to create a frame for the enclosure, and hung heavy burlap curtains to darken it. Karl spent endless hours inside, learning the art of developing film mostly by trial and error, but also with the help of some instruction books. The first rolls that he worked on were a disaster. He emerged from the dark with sheets of blank pages, having immersed the film for either too long or too little time in the chemicals. But over time, and with continued practice, his skills had improved. The darkroom was another convenient place that Karl could retreat to when he wished to avoid the company of others.

“Sorry to hear what happened to your house,” MiloÅ¡ continued.

Karl nodded, grateful for the support. He often wondered how it was that his friend could remain so untainted by the anti-Semitism that lurked around every corner of town. It would have been so easy for Miloš to be drawn into that club that treated Jews like second-class citizens. But the fact that Karl was Jewish was a non-issue as far as Miloš was concerned. He never joined in with the taunting that plagued Karl, and in fact cultivated their friendship with no concern for any consequences for himself. The two boys swam together at the pond, talked openly, and visited one another's homes. Yet after the vandalism of his house, Karl had withdrawn even from Miloš, and this was the first opportunity the boys had had to talk since then.

“My parents were upset about it, too,” MiloÅ¡ added. “You must have been so angry.”

Karl nodded again. He was not much inclined to talk about the incident anymore. But Miloš was not about to give up.

“Do you know who did it?” he asked.

Karl shrugged. “Could be anybody.” He pointed at a group of nasty-looking boys standing off to one side, leaning against the school building as if they were its keepers.

MiloÅ¡ stared along with him. “Well,” he finally said, “I think it was sickening.” He turned back to Karl. “Let's go bicycling later today. I haven't seen you in a long time.”

Karl nodded his assent and the two boys shook hands again just as the bell started ringing. Then they lined up to join the throng of young students marching up the stairs of the school and into the main auditorium.

The headmaster stood at the podium at the front of the hall eyeing the class with a severity that never seemed to leave his face. He quieted the room with one look and welcomed everyone, reminding the students that the coming year would be challenging. He then proceeded to conduct the census that always marked the beginning of the school year. On the first day of the fall semester, each student was required to stand and proclaim his religion out loud. In addition to academic subjects, one hour a week was set aside for religious studies, and this vocal declaration of religious affiliation would determine the students that would be assigned to the various classes. Karl shuddered as, one by one, the students rose and spoke aloud. The majority of students were part of the
, or Czech Brothers, the national religion of Czechoslovakia at the time. Many were Protestant, and some were Catholic. A few stood and declared, “
Bez vyznání
” – without affiliation. When it was his turn, Karl stumbled to his feet, lifted his chin, and proclaimed, “
Hebrejský
” – Hebrew – in front of the entire school body. Then he quickly sank down, hoping that the burning in his stomach and chest did not show on his face.

The religious affiliation of each student in this school was a foregone conclusion; the oral declaration merely confirmed what the headmaster and entire student body already knew. So why conduct this public spectacle? There was no question for Karl that the sole purpose of this exercise was to further humiliate and alienate him from this community. But this year, the feeling of estrangement was worse. Perhaps the attack on his home that summer had affected him more than he had been willing to admit. Maybe the growing unrest in countries around Czechoslovakia was more serious than he had realized. Or maybe his mother's heightened anxiety and dire predictions of the future of the Jewish community in Czechoslovakia had penetrated his thinking more deeply. Whatever it was, Karl knew that when he stood to declare himself as a Jew that day on the start of a new academic year, he was making himself vulnerable in a way that he had never experienced before.

CHAPTER THREE

Rakovník, March 1938

IT WAS DIFICULT AT TIMES for Hana and Karl to reconcile what was happening outside Czechoslovakia's borders with the daily life they lived in Rakovník. School continued as if there were no difficulties elsewhere. They were in different grades and attended separate public high schools, both of which were known for their high academic standards and strict discipline. Hana and Karl learned Latin, French, and German, along with mathematics, history, geography, and other subjects. Their German teacher did mysteriously disappear at one point, and no one seemed to know where he had gone or why. But Leila continued to speak German to the children, as she had been doing for years, and they became more and more fluent in her native language.

And then, events in Germany took a new and terrifying turn. It was a particularly cold and blustery evening in March 1938 when Hana and Karl returned home from the cinema. As they entered the house, they were still in an animated discussion about the American film actress, Jeanette MacDonald. Their cheeks were flushed from the damp wind that had blown through the streets, whipping leaves and debris up into their faces. Hana unwound her woolen scarf and cap and shook her curly red hair free. Lord and Dolinka were there to greet their masters, barking and jumping up and down enthusiastically. But when Karl and Hana walked into the salon, the stone faces of their parents instantly quieted them and their pets. At first, no one spoke. The only noise in the room was the sound of people cheering from the radio behind the heads of their parents. And the voice that shrieked loudest of all was unmistakably that of Adolf Hitler.

“What's going on?” Karl began. The looks on the faces of his parents alarmed him.

“Shh!” his father barked, further disquieting Karl.

This was not the first time he had heard Hitler's voice on the radio. On each previous occasion, the members of the household would stop whatever they were doing, nearly hypnotized by this man's fanatical pronouncements, each one ending predictably with an anti-Semitic tirade.

“They've taken over Austria.” When his mother finally spoke, there was both rage and alarm in her shaky voice. “The Nazis marched into Vienna today. No one stopped them,” she added bitterly.

“Listen to the crowd cheering,” her husband added. “No one stopped them because they welcomed it. That maniac is being treated like a hero in Vienna.”

Hitler's voice rose from the radio as he declared, “I have in the course of my political struggle won much love from my people, but when I crossed the former frontier, there met me such a stream of love as I have never experienced. Not as tyrants have we come, but as liberators.”
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And sure enough, the voices of the masses shouted in return,
“Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!”

“I knew this would happen,” Marie stated somberly. She had the same stricken look she had worn the day the house had been vandalized.

In the weeks to come, she continued to hold fast to her belief that it was only a matter of time before Czech Jews would be targeted by Hitler. The details of the
Anschluss
were particularly shocking and depressing for Victor, who continued to insist that the family was still safe while declaring his contempt for the international events. But eventually even he had to acknowledge that the situation was deteriorating. Under pressure from his wife, Victor also began to buy up foreign currency to safeguard the family's funds.