Restitution (16 page)

It was difficult to get information from those who were still in Europe. Letters arrived infrequently and one had to read between the lines to discern how much danger was present for those remaining in Europe. Despite these desperate circumstances, Canada had stepped up its policies prohibiting Jewish refugees from entering the country. No one was getting in despite the lobbying efforts of prominent Canadian Jewish groups. Karl marveled, as he often did, at how lucky his family had been to get out when they did. And he wondered if anyone would be safe in the face of Hitler's unrelenting campaign of hatred.

Karl walked up the steps of the small building on Charles Street and shook the thoughts of war from his head, wondering who would be at the New World Club meeting that night. Making new friends had never been Karl's strength. Even now, he tended to keep to himself. And while he had not personally experienced any outright acts of anti-Semitism here in Canada, he had learned to be cautious about being sociable. In 1943, there were still areas of Toronto that were prohibited to Jews, and the notice that a club membership was “restricted” meant that Jews need not apply. Indeed, despite the fact that the Reisers had arrived in Canada as landed immigrants, they were still obligated to report to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police once a month, a requirement that stemmed from the general misconception that, as refugees from a German-occupied country, they might be spies or Nazi sympathizers.

All this and more added to Karl's determination to establish his own independence and security without drawing attention. That's why he had moved to Toronto after living on the farm for only three months. Education was the last thing on his mind. He had never excelled in school, had missed the opportunity to complete high school back home, and couldn't imagine going back to his studies after such a long hiatus. More than anything else, Karl wanted to work.

His first job in Toronto was at a machine shop owned by a Czech gentleman. After a year there, he had moved to de Havilland Aircraft. Now he was working on the Mosquito fighter, one of the most highly respected and best-known aircraft of the war. It was made almost entirely of plywood – hence its nickname, “the wooden wonder.”

Karl's role at de Havilland was to design assembly fixtures, the connecting mechanisms that held sections of the aircraft together. He worked next to university graduates, pulling his intellectual weight with equal competence. His was a priority job and ensured that he would not be called up for army service. He could not face the thought of having to go back to Europe. His involvement in the war effort would be the designs he produced, and he threw himself into the work that was helping to defeat Hitler.

Karl entered the hall and looked around. A number of young men and women were already there, milling about the open floor. George and Edith Moller floated amongst the crowd, chatting up the young people and supervising the arrangement of desserts and coffee on a long table at one end of the room. The Mollers had hoped that young Czech immigrants and young Canadians would meet and mingle here, but few Canadians attended. Those in the room were also primarily Jewish, though that had never been the intention when the club was first formed.

“Karl! Over here.” A voice from one corner of the room shook Karl out of his thoughts. He waved to the young man, Walter Picard, and moved over to shake hands with him. Karl had become friendly with this short, stout young man at these gatherings.

“How are you?” Walter asked.

Karl shrugged. “Aside from the lousy news coming from Europe, everything is fine. And you?”

Walter nodded in return. “And your father? I hear he's not been well.”

At this, Karl's face fell. Victor had been battling kidney disease over the last few years, necessitating frequent hospital admissions. In addition to his ongoing physical deterioration, Victor had been growing increasingly depressed, emotionally slipping from the family's reach. And who could blame him? “He always thought that the fighting would be over in a matter of months,” Karl said. “And we'd be back in Rakovník, picking up the pieces. He's beginning to realize that that will never be the case. It's been four years now and who knows how much longer this mess will go on.”

“My family never imagined we'd be here this long,” Walter said. “But Toronto is home for us now. I doubt we'll ever go back.”

Karl paused at that. If the war were to end tomorrow, would he return to his home in Czechoslovakia? Not likely! Hitler had destroyed the illusion of a safe home in Europe. Canada was home now.

“It's not just the war, but it's the news of the treatment of Jews in Europe that's destroying my father's spirit,” Karl said. “Every time the newspapers report that Jews are being imprisoned, or tortured, or killed in massive numbers, my father retreats further and further into his shell.”

“And the reports are only getting worse, not better,” Walter added.

The two young men stood in silence, eyeing the growing crowd. Despite the feeling of camaraderie in the room, Karl felt his spirits plummet. This was the way it always was, he realized. One couldn't engage in a conversation these days without a discussion of the news abroad, and a reminder of the deteriorating conditions for Jews.

“I'm moving my family here to Toronto,” Karl continued. “The farm has become too much for my father, even with the hired help. And now my mother can't manage caring for him and everything else. I can help out with things much more once they're here.”

The beautiful farmhouse had recently been sold, a crushing blow to all of them. Karl wondered if his father felt the failure of not having been able to manage the farm. It was hard to tell. The depression that had enveloped Victor hung like a cloud over every aspect of his being. The loss of the farm, the war, his health, the news of the treatment of Jews – it was hard to separate out which element affected Victor most. His depression became intensified every September around the anniversary of their arrival in Canada. He bore this date like a scarlet letter, a reminder that he had been ousted from the country he had thought would forever stand by him. It had never been his choice to leave Czechoslovakia, and while he was grateful for the freedom that Canada had provided, his adopted homeland was always a reminder of what he had lost, and not what he had achieved. He may have shifted continents, but he had never been able to leave his homeland behind.

The task of finding a new home for the family in Toronto had fallen to Karl, and he had taken it on with a sense of urgency, knowing that, with Victor's deteriorating health, Marie had wanted to see this move happen quickly. In midtown Toronto, there were a number of quiet, tree-lined streets, and charming residential neighborhoods with “For Rent” signs. Jews didn't appear to be restricted from purchasing homes, he noted with some relief. One house caught his eye and it proved to be the first and only home he looked at. He agreed to rent the house for his family for sixty dollars a month, and planned to reunite them there shortly. Hana would have to change schools, something that she might not be too happy about after having made some good friends at the school near Carlisle. But Hana was adaptable enough and would cope with the change. The important thing was that in Toronto Karl could look after his family, and not feel the pressure and guilt of living separately from them.

Karl glanced again around the hall, which was full now. He recognized many faces in the room, having seen them on a regular basis at these monthly meetings. One unfamiliar young woman, though, caused him to pause. She stood alone off to one side, eying the full room with a look of some indifference. She was very attractive with her stylish, short, curly hair and confident carriage. There was something about her that immediately interested Karl.

“Do you know who she is?” Karl nudged Walter and pointed toward the young woman.

Walter squinted in her direction and then shook his head. “No idea.”

Karl made his way through the crowded room, pausing briefly here and there to greet acquaintances and exchange pleasantries. It took several minutes to reach the young woman. “Hello,” he began, battling his shyness and extending his hand to shake hers.

The woman nodded, and a friendly but reserved smile crossed her face as she sized up the eager young man in front of her. She was small in stature and dwarfed by Karl's tall frame. He had to lean forward to hear her speak.

“I'm Phyllis Hoffman,” she said quietly. “My parents are friends with the Mollers.” She spoke impeccable English, not like the Czechs Karl was accustomed to meeting at these social gatherings.

“I'm Karl Reeser,” he replied.

Phyllis cocked her head to one side. “Reeser? That doesn't sound like a Czech name.”

“You're right,” he replied. “It's not.” Just months earlier, when they had finally become citizens, Karl had completed the paperwork to change the family name from Reiser to Reeser. After four years of having their name misspelled and mispronounced, Karl had had enough. No one in the family objected to the name change. If truth be told, Karl also wanted a family identity that was more anglicized. Their Judaism, which had plagued the family in Europe, was not going to be a factor in their assimilation into Canadian society. And so he left the name Reiser behind and with it any religious attachment. He was now Karl Reeser, a Canadian, and the name and identity felt right. Karl briefly explained this to Phyllis.

“And you?” he continued. “Were you born here?”

Phyllis shook her head. “I was born in Poland, but my family came here when I was two years old.” She went on to explain that her father had finished his degree in chemical engineering in Czechoslovakia after Jews had been denied permission to go to university in Poland. “After he graduated, he couldn't get a job. No one would hire someone who was Jewish. So he decided to pack up his family and immigrate to Canada. He had two brothers who were already here.” Phyllis paused and then added, “He never realized at the time that his decision to leave was the smartest thing he could have done.” Phyllis was now in her first year at the University of Toronto, studying household economics.

Just then, someone called her name and she smiled a friendly goodbye and moved away. Karl didn't speak with her again that evening. But he thought about her the entire time, occasionally straining to catch a glimpse of her across the room and wondering if she was as aware of him as he was of her. She chatted amicably with people, laughing easily, seemingly oblivious to the young man who stood on the other side of the hall, following her every move. She intrigued Karl and, even after he had left the meeting that night, he couldn't stop thinking about her.

The next day, he appeared on his friend Walter's doorstep. “Please,” he begged. “Make the call for me.” Before leaving the meeting the night before, Karl had confessed his interest in Phyllis to the Mollers, who were only too happy to provide her telephone number.

Karl listened as Walter chatted with Phyllis on the telephone. Several minutes later, he handed the receiver to Karl and grinned. “Here,” Walter said. “She said she was surprised to hear my voice. She thought it would be you.”

Karl and Phyllis dated over the next few months. As their relationship blossomed, Karl knew that he had finally found his home in Toronto and he made plans to propose to Phyllis. Those plans were interrupted in April 1944, when Karl's father died. The many physical ailments that had plagued him over the years, compounded by his depression, finally caught up with him. Victor slipped into a coma at home and died peacefully with Karl, Marie, and Hana by his side. It was a heartbreaking day for the family who had watched this once strong and vibrant man deteriorate over the preceding years. His slow death had begun with the family's escape from Czechoslovakia, and it had been sealed by his inability to adapt to life in Canada.

Though still grieving his father's death, Karl finally proposed to Phyllis later that year. Her engagement ring had a beautifully cut diamond, one of two that Marie had sewn into her clothing when the family had left Prague. With her usual foresight, she had smuggled the jewels out just in case they might be needed one day.

Even as landed immigrants, the Reesers were still obligated to report to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police once a month, a requirement that stemmed from the general misconception that, as refugees from a German-occupied country, they might be spies or Nazi sympathizers.