Restitution (22 page)

In 1984, Marie passed away. She had outlived Karl's father by forty years, and had outlived Arthur Brock by more than thirty years. Her second husband had died of leukemia in 1951. Karl was grateful for the long, productive life Marie had lived, though his heart still stung from the void that her absence had created.

He tore open the envelope and quickly scanned the letter inside. It was written in English – that alone was unusual – and by a man who identified himself as Jan Pekárek. It took a moment for Karl to register who that was. And then, slowly, the realization began to sink in. Jan Pekárek was the grandson of Alois Jirák, with whom Marie had fought for ownership of the paintings. As Karl recalled, Jan had even attended school with his sister, Hana, back in Rakovník. Karl went back and reread the letter, more slowly this time, trying to process its contents.

Dear Mrs. Reiserová!

By examining the inheritance which has been left by my parents I have found some paintings. From the correspondence which we have found, we have learned that these paintings belonged to Mr. Victor Reiser. These paintings were kept back by my grandfather during the German occupation and have stayed in his house until now.

I suppose that these paintings are very valuable, and since they still are your ownership, I would like to hand them to you or to your descendant.

Let me know, therefore, in what way it would be possible to hand them to you. I advise you, however, upon the fact that first of all these paintings should be examined by our authorities for the purpose to obtain the permission for their exportation. As soon as I receive some instructions from you I can start an action in this sense. I suppose, however, that the best way would be a personal contact with your descendant or with a person to whom you trust. This dealing must take place in Prague as we cannot normally travel abroad.

From the above mentioned letters I also notice that some misunderstandings had occurred between our families. I shall be only too happy to have this matter settled in a calm way and to restore a friendly atmosphere between our two families….

With kind regards,
Yours sincerely,
Jan Pekárek

“What's wrong? You look as if you've seen a ghost!”

Karl looked up. He had been so absorbed in reading the letter that he had not heard Phyllis approach. At sixty-seven his wife was still attractive and as spirited as ever. But now her face only registered concern.

“Karl, what's the matter?” she repeated, reaching out to touch her husband's arm. “You've gone quite pale.”

Karl was dazed. “You won't believe this,” he began breathlessly, and then proceeded to read the letter aloud to Phyllis. When he finished, he looked up to meet his wife's startled gaze. “I believe Mother secretly hoped that one day she and the paintings might be reunited. She never lived to see that day.” He paused and rubbed his eyes.

“What are you thinking?” Phyllis asked.

Karl shook his head. “I'm not sure,” he replied. What
was
he thinking? On the one hand, it appeared that Karl might have a chance to achieve what Marie had had to give up – a chance for the family to be reunited with their possessions. Karl knew that his mother had gone to her grave wishing and praying for their return. It appeared that here was an opportunity to fulfill that dream. But how? “There's nothing here in this letter to tell me how I might be able to retrieve the paintings,” he continued. “I can't just ask this Pekárek fellow to ship them to me!”

Indeed, there was little chance that anything of value could be sent in or out. Without understanding the exact details, Karl knew that goods of worth that entered or exited Czechoslovakia were meticulously examined and heavily taxed or even confiscated. “Even traveling there to pursue this could pose a problem,” Karl continued. A visa was required to enter the country, and those were only provided if the reason for the visit was legitimate enough to satisfy the government. On what pretext would Karl be able to go?

“You know the biggest irony in all of this?” Karl asked, shaking his head. “A moment ago I was thinking about how it would be fine with me if I never set foot in Czechoslovakia again. And now this comes along!”

Karl rifled through the discarded mail and retrieved the letter from his old high school. Could that invitation now be of help? He read it through again. The reunion was to take place in May – two months from now. There was ample opportunity between now and then to write to Jan Pekárek and begin to explore the options available. He looked at the reunion invitation again and then glanced up at Phyllis.

“You know,” he said, “this might be the answer. Look at this invitation that also came today.” He held it up for Phyllis to see. “Perhaps I should attend.”

Phyllis read it through quickly. “Why would you ever want to go to this?” She was well aware of Karl's bitter disappointment and contempt for his old school.

“I don't! But don't you see? The reunion gives me a legitimate reason to be in the country, and a valid basis on which to apply for a visa. Once I'm there, I can at least sit down and talk with this Jan Pekárek and find out about the paintings firsthand.” Karl knew that it was impossible to even think of doing anything about the paintings from outside the country. “I think I should respond to this man's letter and tell him that I'm planning to be in the country in May.” Karl was speaking as much to himself as to his wife.

Phyllis looked worried. “But even if you go and see him, that still isn't an answer as to how you'll be able to get the paintings out.”

“No, it isn't. But between now and then I can start to explore the options available.” He reached up to rub his eyes again. He needed that tea more than ever, and Quinta was chomping at the bit to go for a walk. “It's a step, and it's all I can do right now.” He looked at his wife with new resolve. “Yes, that's it! I'm going to reply to the invitation and say that I will plan to be there for the reunion. Then I'll write to Mr. Pekárek and tell him that I would like to visit Prague in May. In the meantime I'll see what I can find out about getting goods out of Czechoslovakia.”

“Karl, what about our trip?” Years earlier, Phyllis had created a company called Phyllis Reeser Tours. She developed and led photographic excursions to countries around the world. This passion for photography had been ignited in her after Karl had resumed his interest in taking pictures while on a trip to Switzerland. The two of them were actively involved in the local Toronto Camera Club. Over the years, Phyllis's proficiency in photography had increased, and even surpassed Karl's, leading her to start her business. Karl usually accompanied her on these photo tours. Her next excursion was coming up in May, an expedition that would take her and a group of amateur photographers through Turkey. Karl had been looking forward to this trip, a chance to explore a country he had never seen before.

He was silent for a moment, “This could all work well. It will mean that I will have to cut my tour of Turkey short. But I could go with you for the first part, and then arrange to fly to Prague from there.”

The coincidence of Phyllis's trip, the high school reunion, and the revelation about the paintings, now seemed more remarkable than ever. Though Karl had little idea of what he was getting himself into, he felt drawn to this journey with an urgency he could barely contain. There was a voice from the past calling to him. Perhaps it was Marie's, guiding him back to their belongings. She had called the paintings their family's legacy. Maybe it was time to finish what Marie had begun. It was time for family restitution.

*
Czech surnames identify individuals as male or female. Here, the feminine form of Reiser is achieved by adding the suffix “ová.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Toronto, March 13, 1990

IT WAS DARK in Theo's apartment and he turned on a lamp, casting a spotlight on the dining room table and on the deck of Tarot cards that lay in the center. Before sitting down, Theo switched on the stereo, moving the dial past the droning voices of news broadcasters until he reached a station where soft music was not broken by commentary. John Lennon was singing and the lyrics of “Revolution” drifted from the radio. How ironic and wonderful, Theo thought, that Lennon's voice should fill his apartment at the same time as he was about to do his Tarot card reading.

Theo had a deep admiration for John Lennon. It was both the artist and activist in Lennon that Theo identified with. A man who constantly questioned the government and authority was a champion as far as he was concerned. Lennon had lived his life daringly and publicly and had stood up to the establishment in much the same way that Theo believed he had stood up for his own independence from the Communist regime. “It's the dreamer in both of us,” he often remarked to friends who questioned his obsession with the former Beatle. And while Lennon's notions were sometimes naive, Theo argued that if enough dreamers would come together, perhaps they really could change the world. It was an inspiring mantra to hold on to as he was about to embark on a journey to reclaim a family's property.

He took a deep breath and sat down at the table, picking up the worn pack of cards and shuffling them with deliberate and purposeful movements. His interest in Tarot cards had emerged from his journey of exploring mysticism and the occult, a practice that had occupied his life and thinking for years now. While he had never had readings performed on him, some years earlier he had learned to do the readings himself, believing that he could gain insight into current and future situations, and tap into the spiritual force that guided him in his life. He often referred to Tarot cards as “little mirrors into the soul.” And that's what this experience was for him, an opportunity to gaze inward and seek a greater understanding of his thoughts, desires, and wishes at this time. It wasn't as if this reading would give specific instructions about particular circumstances of his mission, but the cards would provide one more spiritual glimpse into this upcoming journey, a look into the past, present, and future – one more avenue into the wisdom he would need to go to Czechoslovakia, retrieve Karl Reeser's paintings, and get out safely.

He placed the shuffled deck in front of him and cut it into two piles, moving his hand over each of them to feel the energy that vibrated upward and into his palm. The telephone rang in the next room, but Theo ignored it. He selected one of the piles and began to lay the cards out in a specific pattern. On this evening, he was using a particular placement or spread of cards designed to peer into the nature of a creative project or undertaking, to illuminate and evaluate its many components. Lennon's voice drifted into the background as Theo began to turn the cards over in sequence, contemplating and interpreting each revelation before moving on to the next. Several cards caught his attention.

The card at the top represented emotion, or the feelings aroused by a project. This card suggested one who was filled with vitality and passion for life. There was boundless creativity here and a lust for a change of both pace and place. The card suggested travel or escape.

Theo reflected on his upcoming trip. Everything finally seemed to be in place. His business dealings had been attended to, luggage packed, and contacts made. The gallery would be fine for the next week or so without him. There were no new openings scheduled, no client relationships to nurture, and no other business opportunities on the horizon. His passport and visa were up to date and ready to go. The last things to go in his briefcase had been the photographs of the four paintings. Theo had stared at them before dropping them into a side pocket. “Hang on,” he had said quietly, as if he were speaking directly to four people and not four inanimate objects. “I'm coming to get you.” The card he was staring at reflected a person who was daring in action, cocky in attitude, and utterly without fear.

The card on the left was a symbol of thought or the analytical process of organizing a project. This card suggested some lack of concern at the possibility of gaining all or losing all. There was extravagance represented here, along with intoxication with life – a place where ultimate knowledge and oblivion are unified.

Karl Reeser had come by weeks earlier to give Theo his advance payment. Karl's gratitude to him for agreeing to the project was poignant, so much so that it put the monetary remuneration in second place behind Theo's genuine desire to help this man. “These paintings became the focus of my mother's attempts to regain our property when everything else was unattainable,” Karl had said as he pressed the envelope of cash into Theo's hands. “She did everything she could to achieve that goal and she was unsuccessful. Please don't fail us now.” Karl's eyes had been pleading. Theo was certainly feeling unconcerned about the money, as the card suggested. And extravagance was a part of his being, whether he had the means or not. Still, he couldn't deny that it always helped to have that extra cash on hand.

The card on the bottom was a symbol of the imagination. This was an indication of the creative force of an undertaking, and represented someone who was known as a con artist; one who could ignite a dangerous situation and send the most stable venture spinning wildly out of control.

At this, Theo paused. What spiritual guides would he have to be attuned to in order to complete this expedition safely? He had already acknowledged the dangers that were inherent in his trip, given his intention to illegally smuggle goods across the border. There were forces here that might impair his ability, and while he would try to steer clear of obvious dangers, one could never fully anticipate what might happen. There was only one thing of which he was certain. He knew that if anything were to go wrong with his plans, if he even smelled the faintest whiff of trouble, he would back away from this mission as quickly and as quietly as possible. Nothing was worth risking his life for, he assured himself. Not even a nice gentleman with a compelling family story. On that, Theo was clear.