CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Prague, March 16, 1990

THE MOST IMPORTANT thing for Theo to do while in Prague was to go about his business as usual, and not to dwell too much on the four paintings. It was only when one broke with routine that the secret police and their goons became suspicious. Theo was here in Prague to buy art, and that’s what he intended and needed to do. On the day of his visit to meet with the old man who would build his transport tubes, Theo had also made arrangements to meet with several families in the city. Over the last two years, he had cultivated a list of contacts here in the arts community. It hadn’t been difficult. He had simply put out the message that he was interested in purchasing art, and those in that circle had responded. This trip was no different. Prior to leaving Toronto, Theo had circulated letters to his arts colleagues, informing them that he would be in Prague for a week and wanted to meet with private citizens with art to sell. A number of contacts had responded and Theo’s list of potential clients had grown.

His first stop was at the home of a wealthy family who lived in the Nové or New Town, district of Prague. The name was somewhat misleading. The area, close to Wenceslas Square, had actually been established in the fourteenth century, and was home to a diverse collection of luxurious homes, cafés, and shops. Theo parked his car in front of an old, impressive brick building and walked up the stone steps to the front door. He grasped the brass knocker and tapped lightly on the door. Hearing no sounds on the other side, he knocked again, louder this time. There were muffled footsteps on the other side of the door, and then it opened to reveal a middle-aged woman, elegantly dressed and nervously smoking a cigarette that dangled from her jewel-encrusted hand. Theo introduced himself, and she moved aside to allow him to enter. He stepped into a large, tiled entrance hall. Classical music played in the background. A crystal chandelier hung from the vaulted ceiling high above Theo’s head. A large circular staircase faced him, secured by an ornately sculpted banister. The home reeked of wealth, an atmosphere that Theo was accustomed to. The woman had been joined by her husband and they led Theo to an adjoining sitting room where high windows were topped by smooth stone lintels. The walls here were covered in paintings of every size and style, an impressive array of watercolors, oils, and pencil drawings.

“We’re trying to liquidate some assets,” the man explained.

Theo didn’t ask why. It wasn’t his concern, and, in truth, he didn’t really care about this family’s motivation to sell their artwork. Their wealth identified them as loyal Communists in the inner circle, probably close to government officials. But he knew that families like this one were always desperate for more money, always looking for ways to improve their lot in life and climb even higher on the social ladder. Greed ran rampant among the wealthy in Prague. They wanted newer cars, bigger homes, and more possessions. In this sitting room alone, Theo noted the presence of Baroque furniture, crystal vases, and fine art that would impress a museum. But for families like this one, Theo knew, it would never be enough. And he could offer some cash to supplement their bank account and enhance their already excessive lifestyles.

“We’re told that you have connections – a way to help us sell some of our art,” the man continued. His wife remained silent, smoking furiously and watching the exchange from one side of the room.

At that, Theo smiled broadly. “I’m delighted to help you,” he said warmly. “You must have so much on your mind these days. Why bother with government bureaucracy when I can take care of that for you?”

The man nodded enthusiastically, taken with Theo’s assurances. “They do make it difficult at times, don’t they?” he asked. “All that red tape, just to sell our own paintings abroad. We’re desperate to buy a new car and we’re having some difficulty raising the cash. Foreign cars are so bloody expensive and impossible to come by,” he offered by way of meager explanation. At the time, there was only one company in Prague that could arrange for the import and sale of foreign, usually German, automobiles. A Mercedes-Benz was a highly coveted possession and a mark of wealth and position.

“And that’s why I’m here,” continued Theo. “I’m your middle man, if you will. I’ll take the paintings off your hands and pay you a fair price to do so. It’s as simple as that.” He glanced over at the woman, who nodded gratefully and then went back to her cigarette, which was by now almost entirely consumed in ash. “Besides, I’m actually doing you a favor by buying your artwork,” he continued as he gestured around the room. “Once these artists are listed in the catalogues of art houses around the world, the value of these paintings and the others that you have will only increase. So, over time, the worth of your estate will continue to rise.”

With that, Theo went to work. He approached the walls, scrutinizing each painting, straining to see the artist and year that the work had been done. Sketches and watercolors were quickly rejected in favor of the oils. And only specific ones were on Theo’s radar screen. He paused in front a painting, dated 1750, of a nymph-like woman lounging in a garden. The painter was German. This one would do, he thought, and so would several paintings by Czech artists of ladies and gentlemen socializing in various pastoral settings. There was a painted view of Venice from the same time period, as well as one by another Czech painter from the early nineteenth century. This one was more architectural; straight lines had supplanted the sensual shapes of the previous time period. There were several paintings of Christ and his disciples that Theo walked right by. He dismissed anything that was religious, having learned that these were less likely to sell to his Canadian clientele. He worked quickly, indicating with a nod of his head whether or not he wanted to consider a piece. By the time he had finished examining the walls of the room, he had selected half a dozen works. Each was of moderate size, dated back to the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and was painted by an artist that Theo knew would pass the inspection at the National Gallery. Finally, he turned to face the couple who stood anxiously awaiting his decision.

“They are all wonderful,” he began. “I see that you have amassed quite the collection of fine art.”

“But we’re willing to give them up for the right price.” It was the woman who finally spoke this time. She tugged nervously at a large cameo at the nape of her blouse. “It’s simply impossible to move ahead in the world these days. Not that I’m complaining, of course. I’m just a nervous wreck over this.” Her husband stroked her arm, hushing and soothing her.

“It’s indeed difficult,” Theo said sympathetically, marveling at how greed could consume a family. “But take heart in knowing that some families in Canada will derive great pleasure from your beautiful paintings. I know I can find good homes for them.”

At that, the couple beamed. “We so appreciate your understanding,” the man said. “Which ones would you like?” He was eager now to complete the transaction. Theo indicated the paintings he wished to buy and offered the couple a price. “I’ll pay you in American dollars – an additional incentive of course.” American cash was essential when it came to buying foreign cars, and much more desirable than the devalued Czech crowns.

“But it’s so little!” the woman exclaimed. “They are worth ten times that.”

Theo nodded. “Of course. But again, please remember that I am providing a service to you as well. The government will tax you heavily on these paintings if you wish to sell them overseas, and, at the end of the day, may not even release them. I’m willing to take them off your hands for cash, and try to pass them through the government red tape myself. But there are no guarantees for me either. I take a risk each time I purchase art. And I must take that into consideration with the price that I offer.”

There was silence in the room, and then the couple bent their heads together and began to whisper feverishly. Theo waited patiently. How different these people were from Karl Reeser, he thought as he watched their animated exchange. It was self-indulgence that had motivated them to buy art in the first place, and it was avarice that was driving them to unload it now. Karl had neither of these qualities. He was strong-willed, of that Theo was certain. But there was nothing selfish about his desire for restitution. Karl’s motivation was passionate and personal and generous. It was true that Theo identified more with the couple standing in front of him than with the man who awaited his return in Toronto. Nevertheless, one made him dig in his heels and go for top dollar, while the other inspired him to take greater risks for smaller gain.

The man and his wife were still muttering, their voices rising and falling as they gestured at the walls of their home and then at Theo. He had been through this same scenario many times and knew it was just a matter of time before they would relent, just as most of the others had. But to be on the safe side, he stepped forward slightly and threw his last card on the table. “I know how difficult this must be,” he said in a voice dripping with false compassion. “Please don’t think I am pressuring you. If you think you can do better elsewhere, then I will step aside and wish you luck.” He turned as if to leave.

“No!” The man responded quickly and exactly as Theo knew he would. “No,” he repeated. “We accept your offer. There are too many other things for us to worry about now.” This he said as much to his wife as to Theo. “Please come into the study and I’ll draw up the paperwork.”

Theo nodded slightly and followed the man into his office. There, he reached into his breast pocket and removed a leather wallet, counting out the agreed-upon amount in American dollars and handed it over to the man. In return, he received a handwritten letter listing the paintings and a signed agreement releasing them to Theo.

“A colleague of mine will come by later today to pick them up,” Theo said as he finished his business and was escorted back to the front door. He bowed courteously to the couple and reached out to shake the hand of the woman. “Once again, I wish you the very best of luck.” She smiled faintly and Theo left.

Once on the sidewalk, he could barely contain himself. The woman had said that the paintings were worth ten times what he had just paid. In truth, once they were cleaned and restored in Canada, Theo knew he would be able to sell them for at least fifty times that amount. The day was going well. By the time evening rolled around, Theo had visited five such homes and had bought more than fifty paintings. He contacted the National Gallery to confirm his meeting with them Monday morning. Then he made a quick call to a young nephew of his who agreed to make the rounds of the homes he had visited and collect the selected art.

That night, Theo arranged to meet some old friends for dinner and drinks in a secluded bar in the old city. He had earned this celebration, he thought, as he bought a round of drinks for his group and silently toasted the profits that he knew would come from this business trip. Early next week, he would deal with the hurdle of securing Karl Reeser’s paintings. And, of course, he still had to meet with the staff of the National Gallery and get their approval to transport the artwork he had purchased that day. But the weekend would be for his own pleasure, and Theo was looking forward to reentering the Prague social scene.

He spent the next two days and nights going to bars, restaurants, and clubs. He met with old friends and sat at outdoor cafés, downing espressos and sipping wine. He dropped money like a gardener scatters seeds, and his friends and acquaintances scrambled to pick up the crumbs, basking in the pleasure of being wined and dined. Women flocked to him, and he chased several of them with the same passion that surfaced in his pursuit of fine art, selecting only the best from the group and adding them to his list of acquisitions. He had few thoughts of Toronto and the freedoms to which he was accustomed there. Theo understood and was equally at home in Prague society, despite the oppressive atmosphere.

He knew he was being followed during that weekend. Early Sunday morning, when he left his hotel to escort his date from the previous night back to her home, he noticed a black car parked across the street. He wondered if it had been there the day before. Shadows in the bushes, phantom figures emerging from behind brick facades, cars that were there one minute and gone the next – maybe the ghosts of Prague were real, Theo thought. They were the secret police. The goons were not that good at concealing their surveillance tactics. You knew you were being followed when the same face would appear behind you three or more times a day! Or, more likely, they didn’t care to hide their presence. There was nothing subtle or discreet about State Security. It excelled in intimidation and coercion. And nothing heightened one’s paranoia more than the thought that one was being followed. The police knew that and used it to their advantage.

Briefly, Theo wondered again about the information that Karl had shared about his mail being tampered with. Were the police here because they knew about Karl’s paintings and had somehow linked Theo to their retrieval? Did they know that the paintings were at the Canadian embassy, and were they already plotting to intercept them? His phone at the hotel was probably being tapped as well. But as quickly as any of those thoughts entered his mind, they were dismissed. His eyes were more watchful than those of the authorities, and his senses were keener. They were idiots, he continued to tell himself, puppets of a regime that was dying and yet desperate to make its last stand.

Early Monday morning, the telephone rang in Theo’s hotel suite, arousing him from a deep sleep. It was his blacksmith friend calling with the news that the aluminum tubes were ready.

“I’ve delivered four to the National Gallery, as you requested,” the man said. “The other one is waiting here for you. That’s what you wanted?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Theo responded, sitting up in bed, alert now.

“And when will you come and pick it up?”

Theo quickly went through his agenda in his mind. Today was his meeting with the officials at the National Gallery. Tuesday morning he was due to meet with Richard VandenBosch. “Tomorrow,” he replied. “I’ll come by your flat early in the morning.”

“It wasn’t easy,” the man continued, carefully choosing his words. “I pulled a lot of strings to get my suppliers to deliver.”

“And I’m grateful, as always to you, my good friend,” Theo replied with equal care. “We’ll settle all of this when I see you on Tuesday.” He hung up the telephone and then picked it up again to make a call to Adolfo Flores.

“You’re up early!” Adolfo’s thunderous voice greeted him as soon as he identified himself. “I expected you would be partying all weekend and be in no shape to get up today.”

“It was indeed a good weekend,” Theo replied, easily. “I’d forgotten how much there was to do in this city.”

“Not too hung over, then?”

Theo ignored the remark. “Can you get away? Come meet me here at my hotel. We’ll have coffee in the restaurant downstairs.” Theo rubbed his hand across his temple and squeezed his eyes shut. “I guess I could use some.”

A half hour later he was waiting in the hotel café, now fully awake, sipping an espresso and reading a local newspaper while he waited for Adolfo. Several stories caught his attention. American Ambassador Shirley Temple Black had recently been named as envoy to Prague, one article said. The former child star had taken up residence in a sixty-five room palace filled with antiques. “The Czechs are polite, industrious, very clever, intelligent people,” she had been quoted as saying about her hosts. “I think they are going to perform miracles.”¹⁴ Theo chuckled, wondering about the artwork that he might have acquired from such a home.

“You look better than I thought you would.” Adolfo eased himself into the booth across from Theo and nodded to the waiter to bring him a coffee.

“I’m here on business, Adolfo. Have you forgotten that?”

Adolfo laughed softly, waiting for the waiter to pour his coffee before continuing. “So what’s on your mind, since you seem to be all business?”

Theo glanced around. The coffee shop was full of customers on this Monday morning, mostly tourists with cameras dangling from their necks, noses buried in the pages of guide books. Here and there, lone businessmen were wolfing down breakfast. No one seemed to take notice of him, but he instinctively lowered his voice and leaned forward. “I will have the package we discussed ready for you on Tuesday – tomorrow. I should be able to deliver it to your embassy before noon.” He heard Adolfo draw in his breath and paused. “Will that be a problem?” Everything hinged on Adolfo’s availability to drive the paintings into Germany.

“No, no, that should be fine,” Adolfo finally replied. “I’m due for a trip across the border. I can leave right after you get there.”

“Good,” Theo replied. “I’ll have the artwork packaged as usual. I’m not sure yet how big the bundle will be, but I’m hoping it won’t be too conspicuous.”

“I’ll cross over at Waidhaus,” Adolfo continued, already thinking ahead to the journey. “And meet you at our usual spot. We’ll make the exchange there.”

“And I’ll have your final payment with me. Have you thought about what you’ll do if anyone stops you?”

“I’m protected, remember?” Adolfo replied easily. “I should have no trouble. But what about you? You could be searched, you know.”

“I won’t have anything in my car worth searching for,” Theo replied.

“I’m not talking about being stopped at the border,” Adolfo went on. “I’m talking about being stopped when you leave the embassy with your acquisition.” This time Adolfo was the one to glance around and over his shoulder.

Theo nodded slowly and pressed his lips together in a tight smile. When he finally spoke, he was somber and grim-faced. “You can be sure, my friend, that if I so much as smell trouble, I will pull out. If you don’t hear from me by one o’clock tomorrow afternoon, you can assume it’s off.” A few minutes later, the two men rose to go their separate ways.

Theo headed outside to pick up his car. All around the hotel, posters bearing the image of Václav Havel were plastered on windows and walls. Hawkers lined the pavement peddling campaign buttons for Civic Forum, the political party that Havel led and that had brought down the Communist regime in November. Only months earlier, at his presidential address, the new leader had proclaimed, “The future is again opening for us. Our home may once again become a favorite and sought-after place in Europe.”¹⁵ The posters reminded Theo once again that changes were on the country’s horizon.

Prague had always been known as the golden city, full of castles and churches, statues and monuments. Even when its buildings had fallen into disrepair under Communist rule, it had remained one of Europe’s most architecturally alluring cities. Now the dirt and the brooding gloom were being lifted. In and around Theo’s hotel, buildings were being renovated at a breakneck pace, trying to make up for the years of neglect as the country was repositioning itself as a free-market state. The Communist nightmare was ending, but the country was far from being able to shake off its effects. Even the fact that Theo had to contend with the National Gallery’s rules for the export of valuable goods was evidence that the country was still in a gridlock, trying to move forward with a new government and new autonomy, and still stuck in its old political rut.

The meeting with the officials at the Gallery had been arranged for ten o’clock that morning. Theo arrived early to ensure that the paintings he had bought from local families had indeed been delivered there, and that the transport tubing was also on hand.

The National Gallery was housed in different buildings within the city, the largest being the . He parked his car close to the building, entered, and was directed up the stairs to the main auditorium. There he was relieved to see the paintings waiting for him, along with the containers he had ordered. His nephew, Martin, stood off to one side, a gangly youth who waved at Theo as he entered. Theo winked back at him. Also waiting in the room were several women who identified themselves as the members of the commission who would approve or reject Theo’s request to export the artwork. These were wealthy wives of businessmen and Communist officials who worked in the arts community. Though they were all older than Theo, some significantly so, he felt instantly at home in their presence.

“Ah, Mr. Král, it’s a pleasure to see you back in the city.” One tall, rather austere-looking woman whom Theo knew to be the chair of the commission stepped forward to shake his hand.

“Madam,” replied Theo, bowing respectfully. “It’s indeed a pleasure to be back here. How have you been? The leg is better, I trust?” He pointed to the cane that the commissioner was leaning on. Theo had befriended her a couple of years earlier, and their association had proved beneficial.

“The leg is something I must tolerate,” the woman declared. In addition to her height, she was reed thin, and stooped shakily over her cane like a sapling bending in the wind. Her oversized glasses slipped down on her angular nose as she peered over them at Theo. “We have no choice in these matters, do we? But you’re young and fit. You aren’t yet familiar with the aches and pains of arthritis.”

“I must say,” protested Theo. “Despite your complaint, you are looking quite well, better than the last time I saw you.” Theo smiled broadly at the commissioner, playing her with the skillfulness of a virtuoso.

“I can see that you’ve been busy,” the woman continued, smiling back and indicating the paintings behind Theo. “Let’s see what you have brought today. I’m sure this won’t take us too long.” She turned to address the other members of the commission. “Mr. Král has been doing business with the Gallery for some time. He is well acquainted with our rules, and works well within our regulations. I’m sure you will all agree with me on this.”

She motioned for Theo to display the paintings he had brought. Working quickly with the aid of his nephew, Theo lined up the art until there was a long row of paintings in front of the commission. When the paintings had been assembled, the commissioner signaled to her committee and they went to work. One by one, they approached the first painting, examining it carefully, peering at the name of the artist and the date it had been painted, just as Theo had done when he had selected these pieces. A brief conference followed among the commission members, and, when they were satisfied that a painting had passed their test for export, one woman wrote the name of the selection on a form she carried and it was stamped for approval with the official seal of the National Gallery and the Czechoslovak government.

The commission moved quickly, inspecting and stamping the forms like goods on an assembly line. “Show me that! Look at this. Yes, yes. Next!” they proclaimed as they passed each canvas. Theo had done his work well, selecting only those paintings that he knew would pass the practiced eyes of the committee members. There was only one work that appeared to cause the inspectors some concern. Theo watched as they moved closer to study the canvas in question, and then stepped back, huddling in a circle and conferring in half-whispers, like athletes surrounding one another to discuss their next strategic play. One gestured back to the painting while another one shook her head. Theo waited and wondered if perhaps the painting in question was too good to be released by the Gallery. Finally, the commissioner raised her hand, glanced over at Theo, and then indicated that the painting was approved. The form was stamped and they moved on.

Theo observed these proceedings from one side of the long room, attentively assessing the progress of the committee members as they walked from painting to painting. His face betrayed nothing of his careful scrutiny. He appeared confident, almost indifferent to the actions of the inspectors. Finally, the members finished walking down the line and the commissioner conferred with them one last time. Then she dismissed them with a bow and turned to limp toward Theo, leaning heavily on her cane. “An interesting collection, Mr. Král,” she said.

“I trust everything is in order,” replied Theo, accepting the form that the commissioner extended to him. Fifty paintings were listed on several sheets of paper, followed by fifty all-important Gallery stamps.

“Yes, well, there was one painting that caused the members of the commission some unease. But I convinced them that it could be released. I do have your best interests at heart, Mr. Král, as well as ours.”

“I’m most grateful for your generous support,” Theo replied. “In addition to the fee I will pay for the release of the paintings, I’d like to add a small bonus for yourself.”

The commissioner shook her head in a weak gesture of protest.

“Of course, I insist,” continued Theo. “And I have a wonderful bottle of cognac at my hotel that I’d like to send to you. I recall it’s a favorite of yours.”

“You’re too kind, Mr. Král,” the commissioner beamed. “You’re welcome to do business with us anytime.”

Theo bowed again. This is too easy, he thought. If he could keep this ridiculous woman in bribes and good liquor, he’d indeed be doing business successfully here for some time. He checked the stamped form once more and proceeded to the main office of the Gallery, where he paid the several hundred Czech crowns that he was being charged to export fifty paintings. It was a pittance, he thought as he returned to the main room and, with the help of his nephew, began to roll and package the paintings using the tubes that had been delivered by the blacksmith. When the artwork was secure, he turned to his nephew. “You’ll deliver these to the post office for me,” he said. “This should cover the shipping fees and a little something for you.” He peeled off a few more bills from his wallet and shoved them into the hands of the smiling young man. The entire amount that he had paid – price, export tax, shipping fees – was nothing compared with what they would fetch in Canada.

The sun was shining as he left the building and walked down the front steps to his car, the first time since his arrival, and its warmth penetrated his suit jacket. All had gone according to plan, and this sunshine greeted him almost as a reward for the work he had done. Today had been another good day, but Theo knew that it was time to return to Canada. Perhaps it was the corruption on every corner, or the constant sense of being under observation. Whatever it was, Theo now felt the need to get out of Czechoslovakia like a burning itch under his skin. He turned his face upwards and closed his eyes for a moment. There was still the matter of Karl Reeser’s paintings. His meeting with Richard VandenBosch at the Canadian embassy awaited him the following and final day.