The Wall (81 page)

“Mitzi, that must be my grandparents. I begged Eugene to give them to me before we left, but he didn’t want to. That’s what should have happened! How did you get hold of the paintings?”

“There are many paintings that have come to us, Herr Lever. Especially paintings of family members. We have a huge number of them.”

“No, I have to see them.”

So I invited the couple in and to come along with me, though I said that it would be up to Herr Schnabelberger whether they could see the paintings or not.

“It would probably be better,” called out Frau Lever, “if my husband had a lawyer with him! My brother-in-law had no children, nor are there any other siblings. We are the only heirs.”

Herr Geschlieder said to me as we passed on the steps that it was a madhouse there today. Upstairs, I knocked on Herr Schnabelberger’s door. He sat at his desk and had a tasteful woman dressed in black with white hair as a visitor. He seemed happy to see me and called out, “It’s good that you’ve finally come!” When he noticed that the Levers were with me, and I explained that the couple still had a question, he clasped his hands together, mumbled that this was too much for him to handle, and whether it couldn’t wait. I turned around with a questioning look, but the two of them stood there defiant. After a brief consultation with his wife, Herr Lever said that, since they were already here, they preferred to wait, if it wouldn’t take too long. Schnabelberger mounted a mild protest, but finally, once the great distance traveled from Johannesburg was explained to him, he gave in and arranged for me to come straight to him as soon as I had accompanied the visitors to the main office. There was about to be a meeting there of all the staff, someone having appeared from the trustees in order to discuss what to do with a large load of prayer books and devotionals and how best to transport them. Several voices said right off that it wasn’t possible to let the guests wait here during the meeting, but the conference was almost over, and then they could come in. The couple could stand in the hall for a little while if they couldn’t go to Herr Schnabelberger. I couldn’t allow the Levers to wait in the hall, nor did I want to take them up two floors to my office. Frau Dr. Kulka would surely not be very pleased if I dumped them on her, nor would the librarian, who didn’t want any visitors. So there was nothing to do but ask Herr Schnabelberger whether he would allow Herr and Frau Lever to wait in his room.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” he said, sighing. “Lead them both in.”

So that’s what happened. The couple were set down in a corner, where they talked between themselves excitedly, while I was introduced to a lady, a Mrs. Mackintosh, she being the wife of a high functionary at the British Embassy.

“Well, then, my dear lady, here is Herr Dr. Landau, whom you wished to see!”

“Pleased to meet you, Doctor.”

“Please, just tell him what you need!”

“If I can be of service,” I added politely.

“Well, you don’t know me. Someone recommended you to me.”

“Yes, I see.”

“Through the intercession of friends, I have learned that I can turn to you.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“A Dr. Kauders said to my friends that you could tell me something. That you could probably be of help to me.”

“But what is the matter about, madam?”

“I’ve already explained everything to Herr Schnabelberger, but he insists that I must be mistaken, that I am in a museum, and not in the right place.”

“Then there’s nothing more I can do, madam. Herr Schnabelberger is competent when it comes to any such question, for he is my boss.”

“Good that you say that, Herr Doctor. Mrs. Mackintosh would not believe me at all. But just tell him, madam!”

“My husband and I, we want to furnish an apartment tastefully, and for that we need some lovely things. We heard that you have a warehouse full of antique furniture, isn’t that so?”

“We have some furniture, madam,” I admitted. “But not much.”

“It doesn’t need to be much, Dr. Landau, just good.”

“Madam, Herr Schnabelberger has already explained to you. You are at a museum, not in the place you want. You must have been falsely informed.”

“Impossible, my good sir. I am never falsely informed! Someone told me that, if you’re looking for antique furniture, well, then, come to this museum, where fine furniture can be bought. I love continental Biedermeier.”

“Madam, you have been informed completely wrong!”

Herr Schnabelberger drummed two fingers in satisfaction on his desk when I said that.

“We’ll pay for it immediately,” said the lady, not backing down. “It just can’t be too expensive.”

“We don’t sell anything,” I replied firmly. “We are a museum.”

“Right, a museum, I see. But you don’t need it all, do you?”

I looked at Herr Schnabelberger to see whether he wished to answer for me, but, annoyingly, he sat there amused and didn’t stir at all.

“You’re mistaken!” I responded forcefully.

“That’s right,” confirmed Schnabelberger as well.

“But it can’t be; I was reliably informed. Why are you hesitating? Please, do show me what you can spare! From the dead, there must be a lot!”

As if at an agreed-upon sign, Schnabelberger and I stood up.

“Look, madam, I’ve already told you—”

“Is that your last word, gentlemen? Are you sure?”

“Sure, madam, entirely sure, dead sure—we could not be more sure!” I said, my voice both high and sharp.

“Well, if you don’t help …”

Mrs. Mackintosh also stood up, a tall gaunt figure, and proudly shook her head in anger. Regally, she quickly took leave of us and didn’t spare us another look. We accompanied her to the door, but not a step farther. Herr Schnabelberger closed the door emphatically but reasonably behind her, then shot me a look that might have been reproachful, relieved, or amused—I couldn’t tell—though probably a mixture of all three, after which he turned to Herr and Frau Lever.

“Were you pleased with the hermitage? I’m so glad. Herr Dr. Landau does a good tour.”

The two said something polite in response, and said they wished to make a small donation to the museum, though they couldn’t keep from sharing the reason they had come to the museum, at which they began to talk so excitedly that it was hard to understand much of what they were saying, such that Herr Schnabelberger wasn’t clear on what the visitors wanted. Therefore I intervened.

“In the course of conversation, I learned that Herr Lever used to be called Lebenhart and had a brother here in the city. It then came out while
we talked about our stock of family portraits, one thing led to another, and finally we reckoned that there could be one or two portraits stored here with us that would interest Herr Lever. He would like to know if there is anything that can be done about that.”

Herr Schnabelberger scratched his head while thinking.

“That’s not at all as easy a thing to do as you present. We have thousands of paintings, and can’t just go rummaging through the entire inventory and find that the things you are looking for simply aren’t here. Therefore you need to give us more precise details.”

“It’s two paintings.”

Herr Lever indicated with his hands how big they were.

“They are my grandparents. The paintings belonged to my brother, Eugene Lebenhart, who lived on Ufergasse. That’s where my brother lived. They are my grandparents, as I already told you. The man has a beard, and the woman in the companion piece is his wife.”

“Well, if Herr Dr. Landau wants to make the effort to look through the catalog to see if we have anything like that, it’s fine with me. But most of the paintings are anonymous. We rarely have any indications that lead us to firmly attribute names to those depicted. Usually the catalog is of little help, and we can only do something when you can give us photos or precise descriptions.”

With that, Herr Schnabelberger extended his hand to the visitors and said goodbye. They wanted to say something more, but I quickly led them out and accompanied them to the main office, where the staff meeting had since come to an end. Everything was a mess, with crumpled papers and cigarette butts on the floor, and the air stuffy. I opened the window and introduced the visitors to all of the gathered employees. Herr and Frau Lever sat down in chairs they pulled up and whispered to each other while I leafed through the catalog without really knowing what I was doing, though I made it look as if I did, while after a few minutes I pulled out the cards with the details about the Lebenhart portraits.

“This must be them!”

Thus I called out and brought them the cards. Herr Lever ripped them from my hand, put on his glasses, and quietly read aloud the description, his wife nodding in agreement.

“You are fantastic, Herr Doctor!” he said, praising me. “The way you have everything in order and can find it. Those are my grandparents. Every detail is correct. It’s really an art to describe all the paintings so precisely.”

Herr Lever was excited and wiped at his face with his handkerchief.

“Would it be possible to see the paintings?”

“But with the greatest pleasure. If you good people would just wait here.”

I asked Herr Woticky to accompany me; he was often happy to help out. While he got the storage-room key from Herr Geschlieder, I went to get my work coat. Then we opened the storeroom and didn’t have to look for long, for the paintings were in the spot listed on the cards. The paintings were gray with dust and had to be wiped off first by Woticky before the bearded man and his wife were clearly visible. As we returned to the main office with the paintings and placed them on the floor and leaned them up against us, both of the Levers jumped up and looked at them.

“By gosh, look, Mitzi. There they are, as if they lived and breathed!”

Herr Lever touched the canvas of the grandmother’s portrait in several places and was deeply moved.

“But they’re indeed a bit damaged!” said Mitzi. “They’ve not been handled at all well.”

“You should still feel good!” said Woticky. “You can see everything. We have paintings in which you can hardly make out anything.”

I also praised the condition of the paintings, but Frau Lever felt differently and criticized their condition like a diligent housewife.

“One can certainly have it restored,” her husband assured her. “A couple of scratches, and the colors have grown darker. The frame can be re-gilded. That can’t cost the world.”

“That certainly won’t be expensive!” agreed Woticky. “We have plenty of others of cadets with big holes in them and covered in mold. As for these? Actually, a treasure! It won’t take much restoration at all.”

Before I could stop Woticky, he had a rag in his hand onto which he spit before bending over the painting from behind to wipe the face of the grandmother with quick movements.

“There you are!” he called out triumphantly. “Didn’t I tell you so? The nose is already much brighter and shines.”

I criticized such improper methods, for the painting was indeed my responsibility, but I had to admit the spot he’d cleaned looked freshly painted and much brighter than the cheeks, chin, and forehead, which Woticky had hardly touched. Frau Lever, who had looked on at the cleaning with doubtful horror, tossed Woticky a grateful look.

“So the paintings are just a bit neglected, Guido. It’s just what I thought. You only have to rub them with some soft bread, which is the cheapest and the best way, and they’ll be fine. But to let them get so dirty, that’s a sin! Don’t you have a cleaning woman here?”

“Mitzi, that’s not our business. But about the dirt, you’re right. I have to agree. I’d really prefer to pack them up right away and take them with me in a taxi. What can be done, Herr Doctor?”

“It’s not so simple,” I cautioned, and explained the first steps required for approval of such a release.

The visitors were outraged and held their heads in astonishment. They couldn’t understand why inherited property that had not been freely given to the museum, which itself probably had not considered it all that valuable, couldn’t be taken away without anything further needing to occur. All the employees in the main office nodded to the couple and assured them that this, indeed, was the case now, though I felt it necessary to quickly end the visit. Therefore I saw the visitors to the door and said that Herr Schnabelberger was in charge of such specific inquiries, though I asked Woticky to help me bring along the paintings to Herr Schnabelberger. Schnabelberger was anything but pleased that I had brought Herr and Frau Lever to him again, as well as having schlepped the rediscovered grandparents along with me. Woticky shoved the paintings nearer to Schnabelberger’s desk and propped them up with two chairs from behind. Then he thought his duty done and left the office with a little pack of cigarettes that Herr Lever had quickly handed him. Herr Schnabelberger shifted his gaze between the paintings and the visitors.

“Well, then, what can I do for you?” he asked awkwardly.

“Those are my grandparents. The portraits belong to me.”

“I certainly believe you, but everything is a bit different than you would like to think. You must file an application with the Office for the Recovery of Enemy Goods in the Finance Ministry, with a notarization of your clearance
by the state police and the attestation of the Bureau of Restitution in the Office of Social Welfare, as well as fill out a property form. Everything will be checked and reviewed by the Office for the Recovery of Enemy Goods. If there are no concerns, apply for a final decision with the trustees of our museum in order to see if we have any art historical or historical objections to raise against restitution. I would think it likely that no objections will be raised by us. But, as I said, I can’t be sure, for there are many things to consider. The paintings will not be released if they are valuable.”

“Let me say,” called out Herr Lever, “they are not for you! I know that already, for otherwise you would have hung them in the hermitage. But they are valuable to me!”

“Be happy that we don’t think them valuable. Junk and worthless stuff we give away quickest of all. But I don’t know. Perhaps we won’t agree, and then you have no chance.”