Restitution (33 page)

Karl shook his head. “But he didn't say he wouldn't do it, either – not like all the others contacts I've made.”

“Did you tell him everything?” asked Hana. “I mean about the Canadian embassy and VandenBosch?”

“I only gave him the basics, but think I told him enough,” Karl shrugged. “At least this fellow has agreed to talk with us face-to-face. That must be a good sign, don't you think?”

The others nodded tentatively. It was far too soon to get their hopes up. Karl rose from his chair and looked out the window, checking for the umpteenth time to see if there was any sign of their guest. The biggest surprise, of course, was that this smuggler lived in Toronto and close to the Reesers. After having scoured the globe for months, who would have ever imagined that the man offering the best prospect of getting the paintings out of Prague lived within a stone's throw away – was practically a neighbor?

“That must be a good sign too, wouldn't you say?” Karl asked. “Perhaps an omen that this man is the one who will help us.”

The doorbell rang suddenly and the dog let out a soft growl. “Quiet, Quinta!” Karl commanded. He rose quickly, as did the others, and moved to welcome their guest. Introductions were made and then Theofil Král settled on the long sofa facing Karl and the members of his family.

Karl quickly sized up his guest. Král was a young man of medium height and build and engagingly good looking. Karl guessed him to be in his early thirties, though he might have been younger; he had piercing blue eyes, disheveled blond hair, and the kind of face that could find a place in several generations. His clothes were expensive but thrown together, as if he didn't really care one way or the other about his appearance. And yet his strong frame carried the look well.

Theo Král graciously accepted tea and cookies from Phyllis. “Thank you,” he said warmly. “And please call me Theo. I appreciate your hospitality. I'm not often served in this way.”

That's probably a lie
, Karl thought wryly. Theo looked like the sort of man who had people waiting on him all the time. But he
was
charming, and completely composed, and Karl appreciated that. In fact, as far as first impressions went, Karl liked what he saw in front of him, a young man of radiant confidence and casual elegance. This was someone who knew his way around the world and probably could hold his own in all kinds of company.

Theo sat back in his chair and in the spotlight of the family's gaze, allowing himself to be appraised, almost like a piece of artwork. He seemed accustomed to the scrutiny – perhaps he reveled in it. A few more minutes passed with informal chitchat about the weather and the odd coincidence of Theo's proximity to the Reeser home. Karl was the first one to launch into the interview.

“What part of Czechoslovakia are you from?” he asked. Although Theo's Czech accent was refined from the years he had spent living abroad, his roots were undeniable.

“I'm from Prague,” he replied. “I haven't lived there in years, though I do go back as often as my business requires.”

Karl paused. They would get to Theo's business dealings soon enough. There was much to learn about this man and his intentions. Slowly but surely, and under the examination of Karl and the others, Theo began to fill in the relevant pieces of his life. He had been born in Prague in 1952, the son of affluent parents, and raised in a life of privilege.

“My parents still live there, which is another reason I return often.”

“I'm sure you, like so many others, were happy to get out,” Karl said.

Theo shook his head. “It was not so difficult for me. I was a member of the Communist party. Everyone was,” he added. “It was the only way to live a relatively easy life, and it came in handy over the years. The secret police were not really an issue for me as they were and are for others,” he said easily.

At this, Karl set down his coffee cup with a bang. “The secret police are more than just an irritation for those who are subjected to their methods of interrogation and terror,” he declared. “People are always looking over their shoulders to see who is following. They wait for the pounding on the door late at night, for men in long leather coats to search their homes without warning. Everyone watches their back. No one is trusted.”

“This is not a life,” commented Paul bitterly. It was particularly hard for Karl's brother-in-law, after having experienced the horrors of Hitler's concentration camps, to be lenient about the current Czech regime – or of anyone who might be part of it, no matter what their motive or background.

“Yes, of course,” Theo replied. “The Communists learned a lot from Hitler. Wasn't it Joseph Goebbels who once said, ‘If you tell a lie big enough and keep repeating it often enough, people will eventually come to believe it.' That was and is the mantra of the party – spreading propaganda, inducing fear, controlling the masses.”

“Surely you don't condone the activities of the Communists,” said Karl. “The party has stripped the country of its freedom and created zombies of its population.”

Theo shrugged. “I believe in doing whatever one must in order to get by. Surely you, of all people, understand that, Mr. Reeser. How else would your family have gotten out of Europe before the war?”

Karl reacted quickly and vehemently to this. “It's one thing to use one's resources in order to survive,” he replied. “But I would never have joined forces with the enemy. Not that we as Jews would have been given that chance.”

“I can't say I believe in what the Communists have done,” Theo replied, choosing his words carefully. “Let's just say that I have used my party affiliations to my advantage.”

Karl weighed Theo's response, once again taking stock of the man who sat in front of him. It didn't surprise him to learn that Theo had been a member of the Communist party. Nor did it shock and horrify him. If you lived in Czechoslovakia, you were either part of the system or persecuted by it. But could he trust Theo, a man who clearly harbored his own interests above all others? Then again, perhaps Theo was the perfect man for the job – someone who knew the workings of the Czech regime from the inside.

“What did you do in Czechoslovakia?” Hana asked. “What kind of job did you have?”

Theo smiled. “I studied film at the film academy in Prague, and worked for the Czech film studio. It was a good job, complete with many perks that came from being a trusted party member.”

“The Communists have eyes everywhere,” said Karl, ruefully. He surmised from Theo's cryptic response that, within this position, Theo had likely acted as an informer for the government. Theo smiled again but did not reply.

“Then why did you leave?” asked Phyllis. “It sounds as if you had a good life back there.”

Theo turned his attention to Karl's wife. “Some left to pursue freedom. I left for adventure,” he replied. “It was time for some. My life was good, but when a friend of mine proposed that we try to make our fortune in Canada, it sounded like a good idea. And I was ready for something different. I jumped on a Czech airline plane and flew to Toronto, arriving here about twelve years ago.” Theo paused, recalling the difficulties he had had in the early days after leaving Prague.

“My first job here in Toronto was as a broker for an insurance company.” He shook his head, laughing softly. “A desk job was certainly not what I was cut out for.” It was tedious, and Theo yearned for the social connections and easy life that he had abandoned. “So I eventually left the insurance business and returned to the arts community that I had left behind in Prague. That's when things took a turn for the better.”

“And now?” asked Karl. “What is it that you do here? I mean, what actual business are you in?” He was still skirting the issue of art smuggling. That discussion would come soon enough.

“I work for a small private art gallery here in Toronto,” Theo replied. He went on to explain his role as coordinator of the exhibits. In the early 1980s, art was once again becoming profitable, and Theo began to thrive in a community of artistic intellectuals who loved fine wine, good books, and beautiful people as much as he did.

He spoke easily and confidently. His eyes moved across the people in the room, resting momentarily on their faces, engaging each one in his gaze before moving on to the next. He chose his words carefully, but did not skirt the questions that were thrown his way. He was honest about his past Communist affiliations and candid about his history and his current situation. There was nothing for Theo to hide. He documented the events of his life with the flourish of a seasoned storyteller. “I can tell you that my art openings are known across the city. Musicians, poets, and even businessmen and politicians flock to the gallery,” he concluded, adding that he loved moving within high society's inner circle. “It reminds me of Prague without the political irritations and tedium.” At that he chuckled irreverently. It was only after he had achieved this success within the Toronto arts community that Theo had thought about returning to Czechoslovakia.

“I knew that I could find art there that was inexpensive,” he continued. “I figured that if I could bring it to Canada and have it restored, it would sell for a good price. That's exactly what began to happen.”

It was not easy to enter Czechoslovakia as a former citizen who had chosen to leave. In order to travel there in the early 1980s, Theo first had to cancel his Czech citizenship and then apply for an entry visa. He traveled to the Czech embassy in Montreal with his old passport, where he filled out the appropriate forms and was quickly stripped of his Czech citizenship. Next, he applied for a pardon from the government. This was granted immediately. Finally, with his pardon in hand, he applied for a visa, which was also granted. Given the circumstances of his expulsion from the Communist Party, Theo had been surprised at how easy it had been to get accepted back into the fold. Perhaps his brother-in-law, still a top-ranking member of the government, had pulled some strings.

“Art was cheap then,” continued Theo. “And I knew what I was looking for, old classics that were in high demand with Canadian art collectors.”

“But how did you ever get the paintings out?” asked Karl. “Surely the Czech government and the National Gallery wanted their cut.” He did not have to explain to this man the hoops that one needed to jump through in order to export goods of value.

Theo nodded. “I knew what to choose,” he replied. “Things that the gallery would easily grant approval for. And I made friends,” he added. “Without saying too much, I can tell you that this is where my strength lies. And friendships in the right places can mean more than position or even money, though that sometimes helps.” Theo smiled easily and looked up to meet Karl's eyes with a level gaze. He settled back in his seat, once again allowing the family to study him.

There was that charm again, Karl thought as he returned Theo's smile. Charm and confidence were riveting character traits. They drew you in and held you captive in spite of yourself. This man had that power, Karl realized. Even in the silence of the next few minutes, all eyes were on Theo, magnetized by him and his charismatic personality.

“Now, I think it's time that we talk about your situation.” Once again it was Theo who took charge of the conversation. “Tell me more about the art that you are hoping to get out of the country.”

As he had done with so many others, Karl began to fill Theo in on the history of the four paintings. Theo interrupted Karl on a few occasions and asked specific questions about the exact whereabouts of the paintings and their size. Karl produced the photographs he had taken of the paintings and outlined their dimensions. Theo whistled under his breath as Karl remarked that the largest of the four, the painting of the forest fire, could fill almost half of one wall of his home. After having clarified their measurements, Theo moved on to establish who else besides Pekárek and VandenBosch knew about the paintings.

“You're sure about this?” he asked. “No one besides these two gentlemen has any information about the paintings?”

Karl shook his head. “There's a Canadian security guard at the embassy who signed the document verifying my ownership of the paintings. And the ambassador and chargé d'affaires, of course. They have full knowledge of our case. But other than those people, no one else knows.” He hesitated and Theo looked at him questioningly. “I should probably tell you that I suspect that my correspondence with the vice consul may have been opened and examined.” He went on to relate how a letter had arrived resealed, and how his friend's letters also appeared to have been tampered with. “I can't say for sure whether the secret police are inspecting our mail, but you should know everything there is to know.”

Theo mulled over this information for a moment, recalling his own gifts and letters that occasionally arrived from Prague torn apart and hastily repackaged. “It doesn't surprise me, though I imagine the Communists may be more interested in mail that is leaving the Canadian embassy, and not what a private citizen such as yourself is sending there. It's good to know, at any rate.”

Other than those questions, Theo remained relatively quiet during Karl's recitation, listening attentively and trying to take in all of the information.

“So you've thought of and explored every legal way to get the paintings out?” Theo finally asked when Karl had finished talking and had sat back in his chair.

Karl nodded. “I've tracked down possible sources from around the world. But I have had no success. Most people have refused even to meet with me. Until you.”

“Can I ask what the paintings are worth?” asked Theo.

Karl hesitated. As far as he was aware, the paintings had never been formally appraised. Karl estimated that they might be worth a half a million dollars today, perhaps more. But that was not how he valued them. He explained this to Theo. “After everything my family has been through, the paintings represent so much more than money. My mother loved them right from the beginning. After the war ended, her first thought was to retrieve our family home and property. When she realized that that was impossible, she turned all of her energy and attention to these four paintings. To her, they represented our entire estate, and everything our family had lost during the war. My mother believed that if she could retrieve the paintings it would symbolize a restitution of all that the Nazis had stolen. Since the paintings resurfaced last year at Pekárek's, they've become rather an obsession for me, too.” He paused and stared somberly at Theo. “They may be worth some money. But that's not what is important to us. If we can somehow manage to get them out of Czechoslovakia, it will be a vindication of sorts for everything my family had to sacrifice. My mother never wanted them separated just as she never wanted our family members to be apart from one another. To us, they have become quite simply priceless. Can you even begin to understand that?” His voice trailed off.