Restitution (8 page)

Besides, he liked the man who had asked him to take on this job. Theo could see that Karl was decent and trustworthy. In introducing Theo to the paintings, Karl had first talked extensively about his family's past. At the thought of Karl's story, Theo lifted his eyes from the photographs, swiveled in his chair, and stared out the window behind him. The history behind these paintings, lovely as they were, intrigued him – a family's escape from the grip of Hitler's campaign of hatred, and the property they were forced to leave behind. Theo had been born in Prague in 1952, years after the end of the Second World War, and raised in a country firmly entrenched in the dogma of Communism. What did he know of those who had suffered in the Holocaust? In truth, not much. An adored son of a wealthy family, there had been little deprivation or discipline in his upbringing. It mattered little to Theo that Czechoslovakia was an oppressive and authoritarian state. He knew how to work and move within the system. Even his name elevated him above others. Theofil Král – “Theofil” was Latin for “loved by God”; “Král” was the Czech word for “the king.” Theofil Král. His name said it all, a combination of deity and monarchy joining forces in the growth and development of this confident, and at times arrogant, young man.

It certainly helped that members of his extended family had risen to senior positions within the Communist party. He himself had been a member and his brother-in-law was second in the chain of command within the government, which meant that Theo and his family were protected and assisted in all aspects of their lives. Theo took advantage of the family patronage, even going so far as to use his brother-in-law's influence to avoid being drafted into the army. Theo had decided to go to university and had chosen the prestigious Film Academy of Prague as the place he wished to attend. Everyone knew that the Academy accepted only twenty students a year, and only the top elite of the Communist party were considered. Placement in the school was seen as a reward for loyal service. The class had already been picked in the year that Theo decided to apply. Undaunted, he called on the assistance of his family to make the necessary arrangements and walked into the office of admissions. When he walked out a couple of hours later, he had been admitted. He knew nothing of film or art at the time and spent the next month preparing for the program by reading introductory books on the history of art.

Theo smiled at the memory of those days at the Academy and turned back to his desk. He had learned much about fine art in those years, had nurtured his natural creativity, and had developed a keen eye for oils. He couldn't paint, but he knew what was good. And Karl's four paintings were wonderful, as amazing as the story behind their acquisition and subsequent existence. He stared again at the photographs lined up in front of him. If they could speak, what stories would they tell? This artwork had been hidden away for more than fifty years. The paintings deserved to be set free, he thought. It was time to bring them out of hiding, to return them to their rightful owners, extricate them from the captivity of a previous war and an overly zealous totalitarian government. And Theo knew that he was the perfect man – perhaps the
only
man for the job.

CHAPTER SIX

Rakovník, March 15, 1939

BEING WOKEN in the middle of the night was never a good thing, Karl knew. You were roused in the middle of the night when someone died, like his grandmother had years earlier, or when someone was sick and about to die. No one woke you at that hour to tell you all was well. So when Karl's mother shook his arm to awaken him from a deep sleep at the crack of dawn on March 15, 1939, Karl was instantly alert.

“What is it? Is someone sick?” Karl asked, sitting up in bed and squinting into the darkness.

“Get up, Karl. Get dressed at once.” His mother's face moved in and out of the early morning shadows, an eerie silhouette fading and reappearing. “I'll tell you everything once we're all downstairs.”

She turned and left the room. Karl paused, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. A second later, he threw back the covers and leaped out of bed, shuddering as he crossed the room to get his clothes. It was cold in the house, but it was apprehension that made him tremble. He dressed quickly, ran down the stairs, and joined his mother in the salon. Hana and Leila were already there. Hana looked pale and she glanced nervously from her mother to Karl and back. Marie was pacing across the floor, looking more distressed than Karl could ever remember. Karl stood silently in the center of the room waiting for his mother to speak. Finally, she turned to face her children.

“Hitler is going to invade,” she said. “His troops will march into Prague today.”

The unthinkable was about to happen. In recent days, President Hácha had been ordered to Berlin and given an ultimatum by Hitler: surrender Prague or it will be bombed. In the end, Hitler had not lived up to the commitments he made at the Munich conference. Appeasement had failed.

“It was the
plukovník
who told me,” continued Mother. The colonel had returned to Rakovník a week earlier, and once again he had been staying in the Reiser home. “The commander was called away in the middle of the night. Before he left, he informed me that the army had been ordered to lay down its arms. There will be no resistance.” Mother's face was drawn and tight. She looked as if she had aged years overnight.

Karl was shocked and his mind was racing, trying to grasp the magnitude of what his mother was saying. After all the conversations with his parents, after all the newspaper and radio reports, after all the debates back and forth about what to expect and what might possibly happen, this was the end result. Hitler had once again deceived the world, laughing off his promises to respect established borders. And Czechoslovakia was about to become the next casualty in his campaign.

“We're leaving,” Mother announced to the stunned room. “Children, pack some clothing – nothing else. We don't want to arouse suspicion. Leila, gather your things along with some essentials from the house. Tell Kalina to bring the car around in an hour.”

Karl struggled to understand what his mother was saying. “What do you mean?”

“We have to get out of here immediately,” she said. “Before he left, the commander advised me that it would be better for all of us if we left Rakovník as quickly as possible. He told me that directly. I know what that means, Karl. It means that as Jews we are no longer safe here.”

Karl nodded and looked away. The officer had given them a warning that was meant to save them. He must have known they were Jews all along, though he never acknowledged it explicitly.

“With the Nazis on our doorstep, who knows what will happen to us,” continued Mother. “We're going to Prague and from there we'll find a way to get out of the country. I don't know how, but I do know that we can't delay. Once we're in Prague, I will contact your father.”

At the mention of his father's name, Karl glanced up at his mother. Victor was away on business, traveling in Holland and France. He was due to return in a few days. Two weeks earlier Karl and Hana had returned home from school to find another stranger in their home meeting with their father. When Hana and Karl had entered the dining room, Father was deep in conversation. This was not unusual. Father frequently entertained business associates in their home. Mixing business with family life was a way of life for him, particularly as his office was only steps away from his living quarters.

“Hana, Karl, come in.” Father gestured to his children to enter the dining room. Karl walked in to meet the gentleman who rose from a chair to face him. Hana, always more tentative with strangers, hung back awkwardly. “This is a colleague of mine – Alois Jirák,” continued Father. “And these are my children.”

Introductions done, Karl sat down at the table, curious about the purpose of this business meeting, while Hana continued to hover at the entrance to the dining room.

“Mr. Jirák and I were discussing my upcoming business trip to Paris and Amsterdam.”

Alois Jirák was tall and well dressed. He was older than Victor by about a dozen years, and though he had little hair left on his scalp, he appeared vigorous and sharp. “I'm confident the meetings in Paris will go well,” Mr. Jirák said. “The market is strong these days, notwithstanding the political unrest here and abroad.”

At that time, a grain monopoly existed in Czechoslovakia, and Victor sat on the board of the organization that controlled the export of agricultural products. This board set grain prices and established the regulated schedules by which farmers would deliver their produce; it was in effect a forced pooled selling system. Victor's role abroad was to represent the board as he met with other businessmen like himself.

“Will you be gone long, Father?” asked Karl.

Victor shook his head. “Several weeks at the most. Hana,” he added. “I believe you know Mr. Jirák's grandson. He attends your school and is in your grade, a boy named Jan Pekárek?”

Hana thought a moment and nodded but did not reply.

“Children, tell your mother that we will have a guest for dinner. Alois, you will join us, of course.”

Mr. Jirák nodded. “Thank you, Victor. I'd be delighted. You can tell me how my grandson does in school,” he added, bowing slightly to Hana. “His father, my son-in-law, does not give me much information.” Mr. Jirák smiled, trying to engage Hana in conversation, but she would have none of it.

As they left the room, Hana turned to her brother. “Why do we always have to have strangers at our dining room table?” she asked.

Karl shrugged. “I like having company in the house. It's less boring that way.” Besides, he was truly interested in this man – Alois Jirák. His father clearly trusted him, so that was enough for Karl. “Do you know who his grandson is?”

Hana nodded. “Jan Pekárek. He's one of those
.
*
He lives in KruÅ¡ovice, I think, and he's bussed in every day. I don't have too much to do with him, but he's a good student.”

The events of that evening returned to Karl's mind now as he sat listening to his mother talk. Shortly after that dinner with Alois Jirák, his father had departed for his business trip. Karl stared at his mother and she returned his look evenly.

“It's my decision to leave, not your father's,” she said, reading her son's mind. “I know what I'm doing. I know what's best.”

Karl looked away. He knew that if his father were here they would not be leaving so quickly. But in Father's absence, Mother was taking charge.

“Where are we going to live?” Karl asked. It was one thing to run from their home, but where would the family run to?

“We'll go to the flat that your father rented in Prague, the one owned by the Zelenkas. At least we have a place to go to.”

“But, Mother,” continued Karl, “do you think it's wise for us to go to Prague? Isn't that where all the trouble is going to be?” Karl couldn't help but recall the radio report of the annexation of Austria, when hundreds of thousands had come out to support Hitler. The Jews in Vienna had been targeted almost immediately.

“I have to believe that we'll be safer in the big city,” she explained. “Few people know us there, and fewer still know that we are Jews. We will lose ourselves in the midst of that large population.” Clearly, Marie believed that neither the Catholic marriage certificate that she and her husband had in their possession nor their false baptismal documents would help conceal who they were in Rakovník. “It won't be for long,” she added. “This is only the first step, but it's the best option we have for the time being.”

For the first time, Hana spoke. Her voice was small and uncertain. “But, Mother, what about the house? All of our things?”

Karl glanced around the room at the furnishings, the carpets, the grand piano, and the books on the shelves. The four paintings that Mr. Schmahl had given the family hung on the walls of the salon.
What about the paintings?
wondered Karl. His mother had said that they were the most valuable works of art that they owned.

Mother was visibly shaken. “We can't worry about any of that right now,” she stammered. “We'll worry about that later. Go! Get ready. There isn't much time.”

Mother left the room with Leila following close behind. Leila had not spoken a word during Marie's announcement, though her face spoke volumes, lined, broken, and etched in grief. With the fall of Sudetenland, she had already lost her country once. Now it appeared that she was losing her home for a second time. At least she was going with the family to Prague. Their fate would be her fate. She would not be left behind.

Karl turned to Hana who had sat motionless during the entire discussion with their mother. “What do you think?” he now asked as Hana stood to go to her room.

She shrugged. “It will be an adventure,” she said. “That's the way I'm going to think about this. Besides, we've done nothing wrong. So what could anyone do to us?”