The Roses Underneath (13 page)

Cooper ignored the misdirected flattery. “Well, where did it go, the art that was not yours to keep?”

Schneider raised his chin and looked at Cooper. “If you are asking me if I sold to Party officials, yes, I did. I was under pressure. The National Socialists were very interested in collecting art, as you well know, and I was not in a position to refuse, of course. I was only a small dealer, not very important. The gallery was just me and my wife, who is now gone. In fact it was actually her gallery and not mine.”

As Anna translated Cooper held Schneider’s gaze. He rearranged a stack of papers on his desk. “Your questionnaire, your
Fragebogen
here says you were in the SA. I am curious as to why the U.S. Army should be putting thugs from the
Sturmabteilung
on our payroll?”

Schneider’s forehead glistened. “Yes, I was SA but only for one year, and it was very early, in the 1930s. You will see also on my papers there that I spent four months in a
KZ
, in a concentration camp. I was not a good Nazi. My papers have all been examined. If I may…” He reached into his bag and produced a letter, which he handed to Anna. “It is from Major Phillips in Frankfurt.”

Anna handed the letter to
Cooper, who read it through smirking eyes. His attitude irritated Anna. She smiled at Schneider, who dabbed at his forehead with a dingy handkerchief.

Cooper slid the paper back across the table toward Anna, who read it without picking it up. It was a letter of introduction from Major Phillips in Frankfurt declaring Schneider to be a man with useful expertise who was interested in helping the Americans in their work. A hand-written note added a thought about possible employment as an arts advisor or consultant.

“That letter tells me nothing, only that you’ve convinced Phillips that you should have a job. What I want to know is why did the Nazis have against you?” Cooper crossed his arms. “After all, you were one of them.”

Schneider seemed to anticipate the question. “Did they really need a reason? They were not happy with my work. At the Reichskammer, the cultural chamber that was responsible for furthering the arts—that was in Frankfurt—I was assigned to purchase art from the Jews. Forced sales, you understand. But I did not cooperate well enough. They accused me of offering too much money for the pieces and not documenting the sales correctly. It was a nightmare, to tell you the truth. After I came out of the camp, my health was never good again, and, well, needless to say, I kept my head down. Now that we have finally survived, I’d like to be useful again.”

Cooper shot a look at Anna. “All right Herr Schneider. Thank you for stopping by. We’ll call you if we need you, but I have to say we’re fresh out of jobs today.” He stood and extended his hand.

Schneider followed suit and shook Cooper’s hand. “And my business? I must be able to earn a living. For my family.”

Cooper shook his head. “You’ll have to wait. We’ll get set up and sort out this mess you and your friends created when you started taking everyone’s belongings. Until then, no cultural objects may change hands. Paragraph 51—you must know it. You’ll just have to sit tight until that gets lifted. Maybe you’ll find some other employment in the meantime.”

Schneider deflated. He produced a visiting card from his briefcase and handed it to
Cooper. “My address and name, for you,” he said in English. “Please, if anything comes up…” He bowed to Anna, and turned to go.

“Just a moment, Herr Schneider, I have a question,” Anna blurted out. “Do you know the Gallerie Breuer?”

The old man stopped and looked over his shoulder. “The Breuer? In Darmstadt? Yes, I know it. Breuer was a friend.” His voice was flat. “Why do you ask about him?”

Anna shrugged. “I just wondered what happened to the gallery.”

“Breuer is gone,” said Schneider. “I saw him last in summer of ‘42. After that he was probably taken away.” He focused on her. “Where did you hear about the gallery?”

“What’s he saying?” asked Cooper. “Anna—Frau Klein—What are you talking about?”

Anna ignored Cooper and Schneider’s questions. “What happened to the gallery’s inventory?” she asked.

“I don’t know. I am sure it was requisitioned with the rest of his property. Taken to Frankfurt probably, but that was after my time there.” Schneider raised his hat to his sweating head. “Good day, Frau Klein. I hope I can be of assistance to the Captain.”

When Schneider was gone, Cooper turned on Anna. “What the hell were you doing just going off and talking to him without my permission? I asked you to translate, that was all.”

Anna shrugged. “I thought he would know something about the gallery where the Runge came from. I mean with all his so-called connections.”

Cooper shook his head. “I don’t trust him. There’s something shifty about him. He’s not telling the truth. And how does he know Phillips anyway? That guy never leaves his office. What the hell does he know about art experts?” He scratched his nose. “What did he say?”

“Shifty?”

“Yes, you know, he was so groveling. The way he sniveled about his connections. I just didn’t like it.” Cooper picked up the letter Schneider had left behind and read it in a mocking voice. “
His reputation as an art dealer and restorer is well-established. I think he could be of service to you.
” He sneered and tossed the letter back on the desk. “As if I need ex-Nazis lurking around the hallways here. That’s a hell of an idea.”

“All professionals were required to join the Party if they wanted to keep working,” Anna said. “It’s not that simple to just dismiss him on that account.”

Cooper looked at her from under his eyebrows. “Of course not. But he was in the SA. That doesn’t even make sense as a professional choice for a gallery owner. He’s not convincing as a brownshirt. What did he enforce, art auction etiquette? Please.”

“The SA was easier to get into. They took pretty much anyone, after the Nazi Party got more selective.”

“Okay, but I don’t think that helps his case. Anyway, I’m sure as hell not going to start with him as my first hire, I don’t give a damn what Phillips says.”

“Who is Major Phillips?” Anna asked. “Wouldn’t he be your boss?”

“Technically, yes. But he’s out of his league. Has no background in anything to do with arts or architecture. Just a military pencil-pusher who landed himself a nice assignment in a fancy office.”

“I didn’t know you could disobey orders like that,” Anna said.

“It’s not an order. It was a suggestion.” He sat down at his desk and leaned on his elbows. “So tell me what Schneider said.”

Anna sat down in the chair opposite Cooper. “Just that the gallery owner, Breuer, the one whose name was on the back of the painting we found at the villa? He said he’s gone. Taken away in 1942. Never seen again.”

“Damn.” Cooper tapped Schneider’s card on the pile of papers in front of him. “And that inventory?”

“Taken too. He doesn’t know where. Or he didn’t say.”

Cooper looked at Schneider’s card. “No, of course not. Well, maybe he can help us down the road. I’ll hang on to this.”

Anna smiled and took the card from his hand, putting it in a folder along with the letter. “It will be here when you need it.
Under S. For shifty.”

By lunchtime Anna had helped Cooper finish his paperwork, typing his reports and creating a filing system for them. “Organization isn’t my strong suit,” Cooper had said and she’d agreed, surveying the stacks of papers and folders covering the entire surface of his desk. It was amazing how much paperwork an army generated. Orders for equipment required copies in triplicate: for the director, for the Wiesbaden headquarters and for the American command in Frankfurt. As soon as a piece of paper was sent out, one came back to inform you that the first piece of paper had been received. This went on and on.
Ridiculous
, Anna thought.

They spent the afternoon back at the villa, trying to document the stash that was still a secret. Starting with the paintings piled on the long table, they systematically took them down, leaned them against the table legs and photographed them. There were so many that Cooper photographed only the major paintings. He lined them up five and six at a time to make the limited film stretch. They studied artists’ signatures and
tell-tale labels on the backs for clues as to their origins. Anna identified a series of German Romantics she thought must belong to the same collection as the Runge, even though the rest were far lesser pieces. But she could not find any marks or detail that tied them together for sure. No others came from Breuer’s gallery in Darmstadt, and most had no identifying marks on them at all. Cooper photographed, cursing the crack in the camera’s viewfinder, and Anna scribbled on a pad. She described the painting and its frame, noted its approximate size and listed the artist’s name where she could. She would type up the proper forms later. It was very slow-going.

They had only gone through about half the pile just on the table when Cooper made a big production of checking his watch.

“I know it’s only three o’clock, but you know what? I’m beat. What do you say we put everything back like we found it and call it a day?” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“But we still have at least another hour,” Anna said. “I was hoping to finish this pile today.” She waved at a teetering stack of small paintings. “It won’t take much longer.”

“No, no, I need to head back. Can you put them back where they were? We can pick up where we left off. There’s no way we can do this ourselves. We’re going to have to haul everything back to the Collecting Point. I’ll get a truck out here tomorrow.”

Anna looked around. She was irritated at their lack of progress. She set down the landscape she was holding. “Have you reported that this stash exists? I didn’t see a report in the paperwork today.”

Cooper shook his head. “Not yet. I’ll get to it tomorrow, don’t worry. I’m just behind. You know what, let’s go to the camp. I want to talk the boy. Before we move this stuff. Maybe he can tell me something else.” He paused. “Actually, maybe you should talk to him. I don’t think I’ll have any luck.”

Anna smiled. “Yes. I will.” She began undoing all the sorting she had spent the afternoon on, putting things back where they had been when she and Cooper had arrived. “Why do we need to put them back if you are just going to come get them tomorrow?”

“Better that everything looks undisturbed, in case someone really is using this as their personal warehouse. Then we can see if anything’s been touched. Hey, ask the boy about that again, will you? I think he knows more than he let on. I’ll go load up the jeep.”

Anna finished re-stacking her piles and then blew on the fingerprints they had left in the dust on the table. With her shoe she scuffed out their footprints in the dirt leading to the steps and then closed the door behind her. Back in the jeep, she rubbed her damp feet and closed her eyes against the sunlight.

Cooper climbed in. He had put on his sunglasses and garrison cap, the one that looked like an upside down paper boat with the silver captain’s bars on the side. His tie was tightened and he was wearing the short Ike jacket, like all the
Ami
officers wore now. Anna regarded him as he put the jeep into gear and they bolted forward. The Americans looked like gods compared to the trampled and hollow Germans. Next to Emil, Cooper was a picture of vitality, even though he was twenty years older.

“You okay?” Cooper smiled at her.

Anna turned away, embarrassed that he had caught her staring. “Yes. I was just wondering why you would let the art be left unguarded like this. What if someone really comes and takes it?

“They won’t,” he said. “Trust me.”

Anna shook her head and clenched her teeth.
Amis
, she thought.
Cowboys, all of them.

When Cooper turned the jeep into the DP camp’s gate, Anna grabbed the dashboard to keep from sliding into him. He saluted the MP and proceeded to the barracks without slowing down.

Anna scanned the playground. It was full of skinny children in dirty clothes running and playing. Their voices echoed off the building, the air sweetened occasionally by a dollop of real childhood laughter. A bundle of little girls sat together at the far end, fussing over a doll, their hair reflecting the sunshine.
Everything seems so normal
, Anna thought, but then her days at home in Kappellendorf over the past few years had mostly seemed altogether normal too. Even when the bombs fell, life went on. People cooked, cleaned, gossiped, had babies, went for walks, complained about the weather, complained more about the rations and oppressions. Children went to school, mothers folded laundry and fathers—the ones that remained—went to work, smoked their pipes, and read the paper at night. Take away the foundation of dread that their lives teetered on, and the loneliness that came with mistrusting everyone, and life—for her at least—had seemed tolerable. But she knew there was a price. A small memory of Thomas peeked into her consciousness. He sat, smiling at her across the breakfast table, his hair matted from sleep, his eyes soft. She wondered if he had sat at that table this morning, alone and missing her? Or was he somewhere else, looking for her? She stuffed the memory back down and got out of the jeep.

“I’ll go check on his paperwork, see if you can find the rascal,” Cooper shouted over his shoulder as he headed toward the main administration building.