Restitution (25 page)

“The paintings were kept in my father's home, and we only found them after he and my mother had died.” Jan was talking and Karl pulled himself away from the paintings. “My grandfather said that the Gestapo searched the home on several occasions – even interrogated my father about the paintings.”

Karl wondered about this. He couldn't imagine how it would have been possible to conceal four such large paintings, particularly if the Gestapo was intent on finding and confiscating them. But he didn't question Jan.

“After I read the documents that had been left behind, and realized that there was a dispute about the ownership of the paintings, I felt uneasy about it,” Jan continued. “That's why I contacted you. I'm convinced that the paintings are yours.”

Karl was gratified to hear Jan proclaim that he and his family were the rightful owners of the paintings; it was absolute exoneration for the legal dispute that had taken place between his mother and Jan's grandfather. And yet, this moment was met with deep regret that his mother had not lived to hear this pronouncement. This vindication was wedded to another sorrow as well. Karl knew that Czechoslovakia would never surrender these paintings to him. The restitution of Jewish property was unheard of here in a country that had fenced itself in behind a myriad of complicated laws that enabled it to justify what the Nazis had done. In fact there were three injustices here: Jewish property had been taken during the Nazi regime, not returned to the rightful owners after the war, and stolen again by the Communists. But that thought only strengthened Karl's resolve to get the paintings out of Czechoslovakia. Right then and there, he vowed that one way or another he would transport these family heirlooms to Canada.

With a deep sigh, Karl stepped back from the artwork. Then he and Jan lifted the four paintings and laid them gently back onto the bed. Karl rewrapped and tied each one in its paper and string, once again laying sheets between the canvases to protect them. With one last glance, Karl replaced the down comforter and tucked the quilted bedcover back in place, as if he were tucking his children in for a long night. He hated to leave them, but there was much to do and his mind was racing with the speed of a locomotive.

“I'll drive you back to your hotel if you'd like,” Jan offered. Karl gratefully accepted. Before leaving the apartment, Jan went to his desk, opened a drawer, and withdrew two rusted windshield wipers. “Everything is in short supply here in this country as I'm sure you've noticed,” he said in response to the quizzical look on Karl's face. “Even these old windshield wipers are valuable. People are likely to steal them if I don't remove them from my car every night!” They left the apartment, walked down the long staircase, and emerged on the street. Jan's jalopy was as dilapidated and decayed as the wipers. It squealed and sputtered its way through the narrow streets, finally and miraculously coming to a safe stop in front of the InterContinental Hotel.

The two men had said little to one another during the car ride. When they reached the hotel, Karl finally turned to face Jan. “I have to figure out how I'm going to get the paintings to Canada,” he began. “I'd like to try to do something while I'm here in the country.” The less he said to Jan about sidestepping government regulations, the better. Besides, at this point, he had no concrete plan, only the determination to do something in the few days he had available. “I will call you on May twenty-fourth, after I've returned from the high school reunion.” He wished with all his might that he didn't have to attend the gathering. It felt like a bigger nuisance than ever, and a hindrance to proceeding with the important work of getting the paintings out of Prague. But he had no choice. The reunion was the reason he had been granted entry into the country, and following through on that plan was essential to keeping his alibi intact. “Thank you,” he added, somewhat awkwardly.

Jan nodded. “I leave the plans in your hands, and I look forward to hearing from you.”

As soon as he entered the hotel lobby, Karl headed for the front desk. He had the documents that Jan had given him specifying the ownership of the paintings and documenting the legal dispute between Jan's family and his own. He needed to photocopy these papers before his meeting at the Canadian embassy. All his hopes rested on the possibility that someone there would be able to help him. At the front desk, he was directed to a small business center in the corner of the lobby.

“Excuse me,” he said, stepping up to speak to an attractive young woman behind the reception counter. He reached into his jacket pocket and removed the letters that Jan had given him. “I'm wondering if you might photocopy these papers and letters for me.”

The woman glanced down at the papers and then up at Karl. She eyed him suspiciously and Karl felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. There was important evidence contained in those letters, information that documented the paintings, their presumed value, and the dispute that had taken place between his family and Jan's. Could she be one of the informers that were placed in every business and company to report on the activities of locals and even guests? Karl had unwittingly, and perhaps foolishly, provided personal information to this complete stranger. In that moment, he wished he could reach across the counter, withdraw the papers, and disappear from the lobby. But it was too late.

“A moment, sir.” She turned her back and moved into a small office behind the desk. Karl could hear the copy machine being turned on and the cover raised. The buzzing of the machine was loud and with every click, Karl realized that the woman was making two copies of each of his documents. Even here in this four-star American hotel, the secret police were close at hand. One photocopy of the papers would be for Karl. But where would the second copy be sent? He didn't know, but every fiber of his being told him that he needed to get his plans in place for the transport of the paintings and do it soon, before the authorities became suspicious and moved in on him.

“Here you are, sir.” The woman returned and placed the documents in Karl's hands. He thumbed through them. The originals were all there along with only one duplicate of each, just as Karl had suspected. A second wave of fear gripped him. He cleared his throat, thanked the woman behind the desk and proceeded up to his room, being careful to double-lock and bolt the door behind him.

Karl slept little that night. He tossed and turned, wondering and worrying about everything. Would he be able to come up with a plan to safely export the paintings back to Canada? Would someone at the Canadian embassy be prepared to help him? Would Czech authorities stop him before any of this could come to pass? He had just handed the evidence of his family's history over to a hotel staff person and probable Communist disciple, who had collected the evidence that the authorities would need to come after him and Jan. Perhaps he had already blown his chance to recover the paintings.

Along with this jumble of thoughts and uncertainties, Karl also reflected back on his meeting with Jan Pekárek. It was hard for Karl to determine how he really felt about the grandson of Alois Jirák. Certainly he was grateful that Jan had contacted him and was prepared to return the paintings. But Karl couldn't deny that he was also deeply suspicious of him. After all, were it not for Jan's family, Marie would have reclaimed the paintings years earlier. She would have fulfilled her dream of being reunited with her treasured belongings, the paintings would have already found their true home in Toronto, and Karl would not be here risking his safety! And while Jan was doing the right thing by returning their family possessions after his grandfather had vigorously tried to prevent it, Karl didn't believe that this made Jan a hero. It merely made him an honest human being. In the end it didn't feel to Karl as if Jan was doing anything
generous
by making this offer of restitution. It felt as if he was simply putting something to rest, and in doing so, he was cleansing his own hands of the misdeeds of his family members.

Was he being harsh in judging Jan in this way? Perhaps so. But emotions that he didn't fully understand and couldn't control were battling inside of Karl. He had seen what the loss of their family property had done to Marie. He felt a deep loyalty to his mother and was angered by her inability to retrieve the paintings before her death. In the absence of Alois Jirák, the only place Karl could put that anger was on the shoulders of Jan Pekárek. Perhaps that wasn't fair, but it was what he felt. He saluted Jan for coming forward to right this family wrong, but rightly or wrongly, that was as far as it went.

Karl groaned aloud and checked the clock next to his bed once more. Dawn was fast approaching. Tomorrow was the school reunion, the next day was the meeting at the Canadian embassy, and then he was due to meet with Jan once more. He wished he could close his mind to the memories, not to mention the worries. He wished he could turn his brain off but that simply wasn't possible. As the early morning rays of daylight seeped into his room, Karl finally gave in to his insomnia. He rose and began to prepare for the day ahead.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Prague, May 24, 1989

TWO DAYS LATER, Karl found himself seated in a small café across the street from the office of the Canadian embassy. Due to Canada's opposition to the Communist takeover of Czechoslovakia in 1948, the embassy had not been established here until April 1965. Before that, there had only been a diplomatic mission to Canada present here in the country, under the direction of a resident chargé d'affaires. The embassy building was quite lovely from the outside – a stately villa, surrounded by a high black wrought-iron gate. Trees lined the boulevard in front of the building, which sat in a quiet residential area. Close by and down a sloped bank, the familiar Vltava River flowed aimlessly toward the Charles Bridge. The red and white Canadian flag stood guard in front of the building and fluttered slightly in the early afternoon breeze that lifted and unfurled it from its flagpole.

Karl glanced at his watch. He was early for his two o'clock appointment with Robert G. McRae, but that was deliberate. He needed to compose himself and formulate his thoughts for this all-important meeting. He touched the breast pocket of his jacket, checking again to make sure his passport and visa were there. He had other papers as well, those that documented the family's former property in Rakovník, as well as the evidence he had collected verifying that the family had had to abandon their home in advance of Hitler's armies. Finally, there were the copies of letters that Jan Pekárek had given to him. Who knew what papers would be helpful for this meeting with McRae? But better to be prepared, thought Karl. And better to know what he was going to ask the embassy for! At that, he paused. What was he asking for? He knew that he would never report the paintings to the Czech authorities. Of that he was certain. Discovering them in Jan's apartment had settled that matter in his mind. Relinquishing them to a government inspection would likely mean he would never see them again. So what alternative was there? And how could the Canadian authorities assist him? Surely as a Canadian citizen he was entitled to some protection under Canadian law. But did that protection extend to property – especially property that had been held here in this country for so many years? And would the Canadian government be willing to defy the edicts of a ruling government?

Karl ordered a second cup of coffee. He ran his hand through his hair and rubbed his tired eyes. He had not slept much in the last two nights.

The high school reunion had passed in a blur. He had been picked up at his hotel early in the morning by his old school friend, Miloš Nigrin, one of the few boys from his childhood with whom he had stayed in touch. Miloš had not aged well in the fifty years since they had seen one another. Once a handsome young man, he now had that same gray pallor that branded most Czech citizens these days, a pastiness that came from years of cigarette smoking combined with inadequate health care. Though still tall and slender, it startled Karl to see a friend whom he remembered so well from childhood now reduced to this withered man.

Miloš led Karl to his car, an old Simca automobile that looked as brittle as Miloš did. Once inside, the first thing the two men did was to exchange currency. Karl handed over American dollars for Miloš's Czech crowns.

“I'm planning a trip to Vienna next year, if the Communists let me out of here. These American dollars will come in handy,” said MiloÅ¡.

As for Karl, he would not have to contend with the unreasonably high exchange rate imposed by the government in the banks. The trade was of benefit to both of them. “It's good to see you, MiloÅ¡,” said Karl warmly. “Tell me how you've been – how is your family?”

MiloÅ¡ quickly pocketed the money, glancing first in the rearview mirror and then out the window before replying. “I'm finally retired,” he said. He lit a cigarette and dragged on it deeply. He was a chemical engineer and had worked in a state-run company for many years. “I must say, I was a bit surprised when you wrote to say you were coming for the reunion. Don't get me wrong – I'm delighted that you're here. But as I recall, you were never too fond of this school of ours.” MiloÅ¡ smiled and coughed loudly into his sleeve.

Karl nodded. He had never forgotten that MiloÅ¡ had been an ally back in the days when they attended school together, one of the few schoolmates who had not participated in the taunting and bullying that Karl had been subjected to because of his religion. “It was time to come for a visit,” he replied, deliberately vague. “I was curious about what was happening here in this country. It feels as if Czechoslovakia may be on the verge of a new awakening, politically speaking.” It was important to steer the conversation away from the real reason for his visit. He couldn't be honest about his motive for being in the country, not even with his old high school chum.