Restitution (30 page)

As he lay there, dreaming about the day he would be able to enjoy the paintings from within his own home in Toronto, there was a sudden sharp rap at the door of his hotel room. Karl bolted awake. How long had he been sleeping? A few minutes? Several hours? A second sharp knock and Karl felt his mouth go dry and his heart begin to pound uncontrollably. His immediate thought was that he and the paintings had been discovered. All the pleasure and relief of the day left him. How arrogant on his part to relax, he thought, when he was still on Communist soil and still in some danger of being discovered.

When the knocking began for the third time, Karl stood up and cautiously approached the door. Blood pulsed in his veins, sending flashes of heat up to his face. He opened it a crack and peered into the hallway only to see a housekeeper standing there staring back at him. “I've come to check the minibar,” she said. Karl let out the breath that he had been holding and chuckled out loud as he stood aside to let her enter, admonishing himself for his paranoia. He was safe and the paintings were safe. Still, there was much to do before he could rest completely.

As soon as the housekeeper left, Karl went back down to the lobby. This last disturbing event had decided something for him. He did not want to remain in the country for one minute more than he had to. Every glance, every knock at the door, every person he passed merely heightened the anxiety he was feeling. And in his current state of apprehension, it was better to get out as quickly as he could. His flight home was scheduled to depart on Monday afternoon. He was flying on Swissair, which only flew out of Prague on weekdays. Karl had chosen this flight over Czechoslovak Airlines, which flew from Prague on weekends, because he had balked at the thought of flying on a Communist airline. But now, he didn't care how he flew. His only desire was to leave Prague as soon as possible.

There was a desk for the Czechoslovak Airlines in the lobby of the hotel, and a helpful attendant quickly rearranged Karl's flight so that he could leave the next day. Satisfied and relieved, he returned to his room, though not before stopping at the concierge desk to pick up another copy of the newspaper,
Rudé Právo
. In his room, he settled back on his bed, promising himself he would spend a few minutes reading the paper before packing his belongings for the flight home.

The newspaper carried the usual array of fanatical Communist worker resolutions and pronouncements. Karl quickly scanned the articles, paying little attention to what was reported. One item of local news, however, caught his eye. A Czechoslovak Airline plane, en route from Prague to the spa town of Karlovy Vary, had been hijacked by an armed man several days earlier. In the scuffle on board, the hijacker had discharged his gun, piercing the hull of the plane. Had it not been for the skill of the pilot, the plane would have crashed. In the end, it landed safely and the man was arrested. The pilot was being hailed as a hero. Though this incident had ended well, it left Karl shaken and in doubt once more. He didn't know what was worse, taking his chances by staying in Prague for a couple of extra days, or risking his life on a Czech plane! Neither alternative was appealing. But surely this incident was an omen, he thought. He went back down to the lobby where he transferred his airline ticket back to the Swissair flight leaving on Monday. Under the circumstances, perhaps it was better after all to travel safely back to Canada on an airline he trusted.

That afternoon, he delivered the sheets and blankets back to Jan Pekárek's apartment. Then, armed with his camera, he spent the final two days in Prague wandering through the old part of the city. He crossed the Charles Bridge, stopping to rub the golden toe of the statue of St. John of Nepomuk. Legend had it that this action would bring luck, and Karl closed his eyes and wished with all his might to get himself and his paintings safely out of the country. He passed a large statue of Christ encircled with Hebrew letters. The text on the crucifix had been added in 1696, placed there as punishment for a Prague Jew who had been accused of debasing the Cross. The golden letters had always been a matter of controversy for Prague's Jewish community. Karl's walking journey took him past the Church of St.
*
where Mozart was said to have played the organ.

The St. Vitus cathedral, inside the grounds of Prague Castle, were so massive that, up close, it was hard to get a clear perspective of them. The walls rose up as a sheer edifice, overwhelming and magnificent, blackened by years of wear and disrepair, scattered with gold carvings, menacing gargoyles, and imposing statues that seemed to defy their years. Karl also passed by the famous Astronomical Clock mounted on the Old Town City Hall. The dial of the clock represented the position of the sun and moon in the sky. The clock chimed on the hour, at which time the “Walk of the Apostles” – a parade of figures moving above and across the face of the clock – took place. Four figures flanked either side of the clock, and were also set in motion hourly. The figures symbolized four sins. One figure, looking in the mirror, represented vanity; a skeleton represented death; a turbaned Turk represented threats to Christianity; and the fourth statue, a Jew holding a bag of gold, represented greed or usury. Tourists happily snapped pictures of the colorful clock and its parade of figures, seemingly unaware of the meaning behind the sculptures. Karl joined them.

This old section of the city was under restoration, and despite the seeming lack of interest in refurbishing public buildings, there were signs that the once splendid architecture of Prague was being uncovered and renewed. This was the Prague that Karl remembered from his youth, and it did his heart good to see scaffolding against the marble and brick facades, and view the workers as they cleaned and repaired previously neglected segments of the city's fine architecture. Tourists filled the streets, along with dozens of prostitutes openly soliciting customers. As Karl strolled through the winding cobblestone lanes, he pushed all thoughts of the paintings from his mind. He would have plenty to do and think about once he returned to Toronto. For now, he took as many photographs as he could, wanting to enjoy his final moments in Prague, and to do so without apprehension or preoccupation.

On Monday, Karl checked out of his hotel, but not before there was one final incident. As he approached the front desk to settle his bill, the desk clerk asked how he would be paying, with American cash or Czech crowns. Karl, who had exchanged dollars for crowns with his schoolmate, Miloš Nigrin, replied that he would pay with Czech currency. However, as he was pulling the bills from his wallet, the desk clerk asked him to produce his official receipt from a financial institution for the monetary exchange. Of course he had none. It was the final reminder that only government exchanges were valid. After a quick and curt negotiation with the desk clerk, Karl was able to settle his bill partly with American cash, and partly with his remaining Czech crowns. He caught a bus to the airport where he faced one last anxiety-ridden hurdlepassing through security.

“What was the purpose of your visit to our country?” the guard asked brusquely, as Karl relinquished his papers and willed himself to breathe deeply and slowly.

“My high school reunion,” he replied, briefly describing the events that had formed the alibi for his visit.

“And how was it?” the guard asked, smiling now, almost friendly.

“Wonderful,” Karl lied. With that, he collected his papers, boarded the plane and flew home to Toronto and to a welcome reunion with Phyllis.

Receipt from Jan Pekárek listing three of the paintings and then specifying that the fourth was the subject of legal proceedings between the familes.

A receipt from the Canadian Embassy acknowledging the presence of the four paintings.

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This is often used as a title of respect.

*
Church of St. Nicholas

PART IV
THE HONEST SMUGGLER

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Toronto 1989

ON HIS RETURN, Karl dove into the task of trying to find a way to get the paintings out of the Canadian embassy in Prague and into Canada. It was a daunting proposition, and there were seemingly insurmountable obstacles at every turn. There was nothing fluid about the Czech laws. They were solid, sharp as a lethal knife, and unyielding. And while one could argue that there was a slight possibility that in relinquishing the paintings to the National Gallery and paying the tax, the government might agree to allow for their export, there was no way to know the outcome of this unless Karl openly came forward and acknowledged their existence. And once the paintings were known to the government, all control on Karl's part would be lost.

On top of these legal certainties, Karl was also aware that any disclosure of the paintings might endanger Jan Pekárek who could be perceived as having already defied the government by harboring the paintings in the first place, and for having turned them over to Karl and not to Czech officials. And, as Karl had already resolved, he did not want to do anything to jeopardize Jan's safety and that of his family.

As if all of this were not enough, Karl also knew that he could not disclose to the Czech government that the paintings were now being kept at the Canadian embassy. There was no question that the involvement of the embassy raised the profile of the paintings significantly. The secret police would likely be even more interested in them given that the embassy had thought them important enough to hide. Furthermore, there were possible implications for the embassy itself for having hidden the paintings. There could be consequences for the Canadian government and for those who had helped Karl in his mission – primarily Richard VandenBosch.

So there it was: a mountain of obstacles. Karl wished he could go back to Prague and carry the paintings out himself; find a way to conceal them in a case or crate. This would have been a compelling option, if it weren't for the fact that they were so big – that and the knowledge that Phyllis would never allow him to do anything as risky as hiding the paintings in his luggage and sneaking them across the border.

For weeks, Karl tried to fashion one solution after another. Each possible alternative disintegrated in the face of the stumbling blocks. Karl rode a wave of conflicting feelings and thoughts. He was frustrated that the paintings were so close to finally being in his possession and yet were still just beyond his grasp. He was angry at a government that still seemed to haunt and stalk his family years after they had fled the country. He felt fearful that nothing would ever come of his efforts and the paintings would never be returned to him. And in the midst of this emotional torrent, he would think of his parents, who had never stopped fighting to get their family out of Czechoslovakia during the war – and particularly of his mother and her brave attempts to keep the paintings together and retrieve them. Buoyed by the memories of his parents' strength and determination, he would once again resolve to find a way to recover the art.

“I know there has to be a way to do this; a solution somewhere in the midst of all of these barriers.” Karl voiced this one evening as he and Phyllis sat having dinner with Hana and Paul. The two couples socialized together on a weekly basis. Recently their conversations had focused on Karl's trip to Prague and what to do about the paintings.