Restitution (9 page)

Karl sighed. At thirteen, perhaps Hana was still too young to appreciate the enormity of what was happening to their country and what was about to happen to their family. He envied her this detached, seemingly unconcerned attitude. As for Karl, he was anything but relaxed. He climbed the stairs to his room, moving slower now, struggling to comprehend what was about to happen. They were leaving their home – the home in which he had lived for his entire life. They were leaving everything behind and fleeing, perhaps for their lives, or so his mother was suggesting. And they were heading straight for Prague, the eye of the hurricane, the site of the impending invasion.

Karl entered his bedroom and glanced around. What to pack? His mother had said to bring only clothing, but that meant that everything of personal importance and value would be left behind. The camera was a must, he thought, throwing it into a bag, though he wondered what if anything he would be able to photograph. His books lay open on his desk and he suddenly realized that he had only two more months left of school. His
matura
, the final exams for which he had been studying for months, would now be abandoned as well. He would not complete high school. There would be no graduation.

With his bags packed, Karl descended the staircase, walking slowly this time, taking in the details of his home as if he were seeing them for the first time. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned to go to the front door when something in the salon caught his eye. It was his mother. She was circling the room, stopping in front of each of the four large paintings that had graced the walls for months now. As Karl watched, she reached out to touch the painting of the young housewife, her face almost as pensive and distracted as the model's.

“Mother?” Karl whispered.

Startled, Marie withdrew her hand and turned around. “Are you packed, Karl?”

He nodded and glanced up at the painting behind her. She followed his gaze.

“It seems silly, doesn't it?” she asked. “To be so attracted to these paintings and to be so sad about leaving them. They're just things after all, so unimportant compared to our lives. And yet….” She paused, looking back at Karl and then again at the painting. “I can't help this feeling,” she continued. “I wanted to have something to pass on to you and Hana one day. And now, I'm not sure if we'll have any of it.”

Karl stared, unable to respond.

“Come,” she finally said. “It's time to go.”

When all the bags had been loaded into the car, Marie, Hana, Karl, and Leila climbed in, squeezing next to one another and next to the dogs that were also accompanying them. There had been one final discussion with Mother about the fate of their beloved pets and in a moment of weakness she had acquiesced to the pleas of Karl and Hana.

The sun was just beginning to rise over Rakovník. A layer of frost covered the town and Karl's breath formed a steamy circle over the window as he gazed out. It cast his town in a white, hazy shroud. Once more he shuddered. War was on the horizon, but here it was eerily quiet, a kind of peacefulness that was a complete antithesis to what the country was facing. He breathed in deeply, trying to savor the calm.

“Let's go, Kalina,” ordered Mother, and the car began to inch forward, driving the family eastward toward Prague. Karl did not look back.

*
The literal translation is “someone from over the fields.” It refers to someone who is from the country.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Prague 1939

THE WEATHER HAD TURNED quite miserable by the time the Reiser automobile rolled through the streets of Prague. Snow was falling in a steady cascade in one of the worst storms of the season, blanketing a city that lay in wait for its opponents to strike. Few people were outside and those who walked had their heads and eyes down, keeping the business of the world at bay.

The family car headed straight for the villa in the Vinohrady suburb of Prague at 20 Benešova ulice, a beautiful section of the city with tree-lined streets and impressive private homes. It did not take long to unload their luggage and settle into the spacious apartment.

Within hours, just before noon, a gray column of soldiers, tanks, and motorcycles began to roll through the streets. Hitler's army had arrived and his limousine led the military parade. Generals came next, followed by marching soldiers, their faces set and staring ahead, their boots clomping through the snow in perfect synchronicity.

In the hundreds and thousands, the citizens of Prague came out to witness the arrival of Hitler's victorious army. They emerged slowly from their homes, shops, and businesses to line the streets and watch the takeover of their country. But there was little cheering, no chanting of slogans, and few sounds of adulation. They would accept their fate, but would not welcome it. Unlike their neighbors in Austria, the people of Prague were not pleased by Hitler's appearance. Many wept and openly jeered at him. For others, his invasion was met with stunned and stony silence.

Karl and his family remained indoors during the army's arrival. They stayed out of sight and listened to the distant sounds of marching, wondering what would happen next. During this time, Karl's mother paced frantically in their new living room. She was anxious to find a way to contact her husband.

“I can't imagine what your father must be thinking,” she said as she approached the window to glance outside. As she turned away, the satin drapes fluttered closed behind her, blocking the view of the city as the snow continued to fall. “I'm sure he's been trying to call the house all morning. He'll be beside himself worrying about what's become of us.”

Marie was reluctant to use the telephone in the villa to contact her husband. She feared that police or censors might be tapping phones, listening in on conversations. The family's goal was to be as invisible as possible – no overt contact with the outside world, nothing to draw attention to themselves, particularly as Jews. But by mid-afternoon, Marie could not stand it any longer. She announced to her children that she was going out to find a public telephone.

“I'm terrified that he's going to make the mistake of returning and I can't let him do that,” she said. “At least one member of this family is safe outside Czech territory. He'll be more help to us from France right now than he could ever be here.” She pulled on a heavy wool coat, wrapped a scarf around her head and neck, and headed out into the streets.

While his mother was gone, Karl wandered through the villa from room to room, inspecting this new, temporary home. It reminded him of his home in Rakovník with its tall ceilings, grand chandeliers, and fine Oriental carpets. There was a spacious garden in the courtyard at the back, now covered with snow and looking rather bleak.

Karl longed to watch the activity surrounding Hitler's arrival. He imagined the dictator crossing the Charles Bridge and emerging from his limousine at Hradèany castle, ready to inspect his troops on this historic occasion. Unbeknownst to Karl, Hitler would make a speech that day, declaring the entire western region of Czechoslovakia to be a German territory called the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia and under the rule of German-appointed Reich protector Konstantin von Neurath. In reality, this part of the country would be totally subjugated to Germany. Slovakia in the east would be declared an independent state under its president, Jozef Tiso, another of Hitler's pawns. Karl knew none of these details then, but he envisioned the Czech flag that flew over the Prague castle being lowered, and replaced with the swastika. And as he pictured the takeover of his country, a vile taste rose in his throat. He wanted to spit in Hitler's face, just as Hana had spat at the photograph of the SS officer in the photography shop window.

When Marie returned, Karl rushed to the door to greet her and hear the details of her call to his father. As expected, Victor had been frantic with worry over his family's whereabouts. When news of Hitler's invasion had reached him in Paris, he had called the house in Rakovník repeatedly but no one knew what had become of his wife and children. The family had left early in the morning and had told no one where they were going. For Victor, it was as if his family had disappeared into thin air, and he feared the worst. And, just as Marie had anticipated, Victor wanted to join them in Prague.

“It took everything in me to convince your father not to come back here,” Marie explained, rubbing her tired eyes. She pulled a lace hankie from her sleeve and wiped her brow.

“How is Father?” asked Karl.

“A nervous wreck,” his mother replied. Marie looked so distraught that Karl could only imagine just how difficult it must have been for her to persuade her husband not to rush to his family's side. “But now it's up to him to find a way to get us out of here. And it's up to us to stay out of the clutches of the Nazis.”

It still felt somewhat unreal to Karl that the danger could be so imminent. But he was becoming increasingly impressed by the accuracy of his mother's assessments. Karl barely recognized his mother these days. The woman who had quietly stood behind her husband's authority all the time that Karl was growing up was emerging as a person in charge. Were it not for her, they would certainly never have left Rakovník so quickly.

Three days after Karl and his family arrived in Prague, Victor traveled to Zurich to finish off the business that had taken him out of Czechoslovakia in the first place. While he was there, he met with a notary to have his power of attorney turned over to Marie in Prague. Thanks once again to his wife's foresight, Victor had at his disposal a sizeable amount of family money that had already been transferred to the Crédit Lyonnais in Paris. Marie would now be in control of what was left of the family's estate and fortune in Czechoslovakia.

A few days later, Marie met with a notary in Prague and arranged to have her power of attorney assigned to Alois Jirák, the same colleague of their father's whom Hana and Karl had met in their home weeks earlier. Not only was Jirák a trusted business associate of Victor's, but, more importantly, he was Christian. Marie and Victor feared that the Nazis might freeze the bank accounts of all wealthy Jews, and hoped that placing their estate in the hands of a non-Jew would protect it from confiscation. In Germany it was already illegal for non-Jews to help Jews hide their holdings. But those laws had not yet arrived in Czechoslovakia.

The discussions for how to proceed with these arrangements were all done by telephone. Marie had found a payphone at the Hotel Paris in the center of Prague. There, she could talk with her husband uninterrupted, and she spoke frequently with him, awaiting his calls at preappointed times, and then returning to relay information to Karl and Hana. Once these financial plans were in place, Marie arranged to meet with Jirák in Prague to seal the agreement.

When she did, she had one more important request. “There are four paintings that we left behind in Rakovník,” Marie said, describing the artwork. “They are the largest paintings we own, wall-sized oil paintings that are hung in the salon. You can't miss them. I would be devastated to see them destroyed, or worse, to think they had been taken by some Nazi thief. So I want you to take personal custody of them. Do whatever you must do to keep them safe.”

Jirák nodded. “I understand,” he said. “And if the Nazis search your house, I don't want them taken either. To be on the safe side, I will hide the paintings at my son-in-law's estate. He lives in the village of KruÅ¡ovice, close to Rakovník. His name is Václav Pekárek. As you will recall, his son, Jan, attended school with your daughter. The paintings will be safe there. You can be confident of that.”

Marie nodded. Jirák was so sincere, and appeared so earnest, that her fears about losing the works were immediately laid to rest. Her husband had trusted this man and she would do the same. With these arrangements in place, her mind was temporarily eased.

After Marie outlined her agreement with Jirák to him Karl asked, “Will we ever see our home again?”

Marie had difficulty answering her son, and she looked away. After several minutes, she turned back to him. “We can't worry about that right now,” she said. “For the time being, we're safe and our belongings will be safe. The most important thing now is to get out of the country and to do it quickly.”

Marie was right. This was not the time to worry about other things. The immediate order of business was to find a way to get out of the country, and do it while conditions were still relatively stable. The Nazis had predicted they would receive the same kind of reception in Czechoslovakia that had met them in Austria. Expecting the support of the masses, they anticipated moving quickly with new laws, including anti-Jewish measures. But because the citizens of Prague did not flock to show their adulation for the conquering army, few restrictions were imposed on Jews in the early days of the takeover, and Karl and his family were able to blend easily and quietly into life in the country's capital.

Almost immediately, Marie had arranged for Hana to go to school at a local public high school. Hana, bored by the inactivity and confinement of their villa, had been only too delighted to begin attending classes.

“I told you it would be a new adventure,” she told Karl confidently as she headed out for classes one bright morning. The snow and cold had left Prague almost as quickly as it had arrived, and while it was still rather gray and bleak outside, the assault of winter was retreating.

“Just be careful, Hana,” warned Karl. He did not want to jolt his younger sister out of her easy state of mind, but Karl had listened to his mother's dire predictions about the fate of Czech Jews for too long. For him, it felt as if the country was waiting for the guillotine to fall. Still, Hana laughed easily as she walked out the door.

School was not an option for Karl. He had already missed his final examinations in Rakovník, and it would be impossible to find a place where he could register for exams in Prague without drawing too much attention to himself. He imagined the conversations with school officials; “Why did you leave your home town just as your
matura
was taking place? Why did you have to leave so quickly? Why could you not wait a few more days – a few more weeks?” These were questions that Karl was not prepared to answer. Although school had never occupied the most important place in his life, he mourned the loss of the completion of his education just as he mourned the loss of his home. He often wondered if their house had been plundered, either by Nazi soldiers or by greedy natives of Rakovník who couldn't wait to be rid of their Jewish neighbors. Was everything they had once owned now gone?