Restitution
RESTITUTION
Restitution
A family's fight for their heritage
lost in the Holocaust
KATHY KACER
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Kacer, Kathy, 1954-
Restitution : a family's fight for their heritage lost in the Holocaust / by Kathy Kacer.
ISBN 978-1-897187-75-3
1. Holocaust, Jewish (1939-1945)âReparationsâFiction. 2. Reeser familyâFiction. 3. Art theftsâEuropeâHistoryâ20th centuryâFiction. 4. Jewish propertyâEuropeâHistoryâ20th centuryâFiction. 5. World War, 1939-1945âConfiscations and contributionsâFiction. I. Title.
PS8571.A33R48 2010Â Â Â Â Â Â C813'.54 Â Â Â Â Â Â C2010-900608-9
Copyright © 2010 Kathy Kacer
Edited by Colin Thomas
Copyedited by Alison M. Kooistra
Designed by Melissa Kaita
Cover photo and frames © iStockphoto
Printed and bound in Canada
Second Story Press gratefully acknowledges the support of the Ontario Arts Council and the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program.
Published by
S
ECOND
S
TORY
P
RESS
20 Maud Street, Suite 401
Toronto, ON M5V 2M5
www.secondstorypress.ca
The names of three of the people in this story, Theofil Král, Adolfo Flores, and George Harwood, have been changed to protect their identities. Král's and Flores's identities have been further obscured by changing events in their lives.
To Karl Reeser, with my deepest appreciation,
and for Ian, with love
CONTENTS
PART III A CHANCE AT RESTITUTION
Toronto, March 14, 1990
THEO PICKED UP THE ENVELOPE and quickly counted the money inside. One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, and one, two, three, four, five hundred dollars â and double that when this mission was completed and the paintings had been delivered. He placed the envelope of cash inside the drawer of his bedside table, pulled a suitcase from the top shelf of the closet, opened it on the bed, and began to pack.
“Will you be gone a long time?” A young woman entered the bedroom, carrying a glass of wine. Theo reached for the glass and placed it on the bedside table before drawing her into his arms. She nestled there for a moment.
“Not too long,” he murmured before pulling away. The young woman rested languidly on the bed while Theo resumed his packing, chiding himself for allowing the momentary distraction. He paused and closed his eyes, mentally ticking off the list of tasks facing him, and ordering them in sequence.
The trip to Prague would last exactly one week, barely enough time to do everything that was needed in order to retrieve these paintings. First and foremost, he needed to arrange a meeting with the diplomat at the Canadian embassy. Securing the custom-made equipment to transport the artwork was next, but that would not be a problem; his sources were always on standby for such jobs. Then there was the issue of getting the paintings out of the country and across the border. That could prove difficult. Many people would be watching his movements and too many would be all too willing to report a smuggler to the authorities. If anyone caught wind of an illegal scheme, the consequences would be swift and severe.
The young woman roused herself from the bed and moved to his dresser. She rummaged through a pile of clothing and retrieved a thick woolen sweater. “It'll be cold and damp in Prague,” she said. “I checked in the newspaper. You'd better take this, just to be on the safe side.” Theo didn't respond. He took the sweater and threw it onto a stack of clothing next to his case.
This was not the first time he had undertaken to retrieve fine art from Prague. His dealings were legal most of the time; he bought and sold paintings with the consent and authorization of the state-controlled National Gallery. But every now and then, a special job would come up, one that required circumventing official regulations. This was one such assignment. And it called for an expertise that few other than Theo possessed. He referred to it as
recovering
art, and this was an art form in and of itself as far as he was concerned. Some might call it stealing, and it was certainly no secret that Theo profited from these excursions. But he was not a dishonest person, and, in this case, his mission would be to reunite a family with what was rightfully theirs.
The man who had contacted him had presented a convincing case that had moved Theo. This man and his family had been denied their property for fifty years, ever since they had been forced from their homeland at the start of the Second World War.
Now that's stealing
, thought Theo, smiling wryly. That was the real crime. Not what he was about to do. He was doing a good deed, helping someone recover his lost property. Besides, there was something wonderfully dangerous about this mission, and Theo was attracted to risk like a moth to light.
After all, what is life without adventure?
he often asked.
The young woman came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his chest. “I don't like the idea of you going to Czechoslovakia,” she whispered. “I don't think it's safe.”
“Don't worry about me,” he said easily. “I'll be fine.”
There were many who thought Theo was careless or indifferent to the details and dangers of his work, and he sought to cultivate that impression. In a business such as his, it was easier to pass under the radar of suspicion if one appeared detached. But when it came to his business affairs, he was meticulous and thorough.
“I've heard you say that before,” she replied, trying to make her voice sound light.
“And I've been right each time, haven't I?” He checked himself. It wasn't good to joke about this or to get too cocky. He knew all too well that in Communist Czechoslovakia state spies were everywhere and few people could be trusted. Recently, the politics of all the Soviet Bloc countries had been changing, governments crumbling before the eyes of the world. There was talk of democracy and a lifting of restrictions. But Theo knew that talk was just that. In practice, people could still be searched, property confiscated. He could certainly be arrested and imprisoned if his activities were discovered. But he knew how to deal with the Communists. After all, he had been a loyal member of the party himself at one time.
Theo turned back to his packing. It was too late to worry about any of this. He had thirty-five hundred dollars burning a hole in his bedside table, and thirty-five hundred more to come when he was home with the merchandise. He had to remain focused on the task at hand. He had his connections in Prague â trusted accomplices in the foreign diplomatic mission. They would help as they had done in the past. Theo was confident of that. Besides, if the situation became too tricky, he would back off immediately. He was no fool when it came to his own safety.
“Will I hear from you when you get back?” This woman was as persistent as she was beautiful.
Theo didn't respond. He threw the last articles of clothing into his suitcase and zipped it up. Then he turned back to the woman.
“I'll miss you,” she said. “You never answered my question about how long you'd be away.”
This time, he smiled and replied, “With luck, I'll be back in a week.”
RakovnÃk, Czechoslovakia, August 1937
IT WAS EARLY MORNING in the Reiser household. The sun crept up over the wide window ledge and floated into the second floor bedroom, casting a warm glow over sixteen-year-old Karl's face as he slept. Noises of an awakening city followed. Shopkeepers released their awnings and pulled their stalls into place on the street below. Cars honked their horns in the busy square, their engines sputtering and popping as they drove by. Voices blended into a fusion of salutations and acknowledgments. The town of RakovnÃk in western Czechoslovakia was coming alive. Karl resisted the urge to join in and nestled into his blankets. He had been dreaming, and for a moment he pushed his mind to go back to that place just before awakening, where fantasy and reality merged. He had imagined himself bicycling through the countryside, deep into the woods, and then past fields of sunflowers en route to the river. School had broken up for the summer vacation and Karl had dreamed of lazy adventures and swims in fresh water so cold it took his breath away.
The sounds from the street below his window were daily background music to Karl's mornings, lulling him in and out of wakefulness. But on this morning something was different, interfering with the peacefulness of the approaching day. This wasn't a sound, but a feeling, and it was strangely wet and sloppy! The dream forgotten, Karl rolled over in bed to see the panting face of Lord, his Great Dane, licking his hand and urging him to get up. Lord's ears perked up at the sign of movement from his young owner.
Karl reached over to pat his dog, wondering briefly how Lord had managed to get into his room, past the watchful eyes of his mother. She would not be pleased to discover the dog here. Karl groaned and rolled back over, burying himself under the covers and trying to find that quiet place where sleep might once again claim him. But Lord would have none of it. He nuzzled the bed sheets, and gave a low raspy growl.
“Shhhh,” Karl commanded, rolling over once more. “Don't you realize you'll be banished from the house forever?” He reached over to scratch affectionately behind Lord's ear. Everyone, his parents included, had thought it was brazen of him to name his dog “Lord.” But Karl had insisted on the name for this majestic creature. Lord sighed and rested his head on Karl's bed. “Those pleading eyes won't help you,” Karl whispered. “And mother will think I'm the one who let you in here.”
How did Lord get past everyone in the first place?
he wondered again.
