Restitution by Kathy Kacer Read Free Book Online Page A

see,” he said. “I told you things would be fine here.”
    And while Marie shook her head in response, pursing her lips in a grim line, it was true that, while war and the loss of freedom threatened at Czechoslovakia’s doorstep, that door had so far remained shut.
    One day in February 1939, Karl arrived home to some unfamiliar voices coming from the sitting room. He closed the front door behind him and removed his jacket, which was still wet from the rain and snow falling outside. Shivering, he walked toward the noise in the salon. It was difficult to keep the house warm even for a family with enough money to heat the wood stoves and fireplaces.
    â€œAh, Karl,” his mother said as he stood in the archway of the salon. “Come in.”
    Karl entered and greeted his parents. There was another man in the living room, someone Karl didn’t know, and he waited expectantly.
    â€œThis is Mr. Schmahl. He owns an art gallery in the next town,” Mother announced. “Our son, Karl.”
    Karl reached out to shake hands with the stranger. He was in his thirties, a dumpling of a man, dressed in a well-tailored, dark silk suit. He shook hands with Karl and bowed formally. Karl noted the large gold ring on his finger. A second stranger, similarly dressed, hovered in the back of the sitting room. No one moved to introduce him.
    â€œMr. Schmahl married our cousin, Irene,” his father said. Karl glanced at his father, surprised by the disdainful tone in his voice. His dislike for this gentleman was obvious, and this puzzled Karl. Mr. Schmahl was talking and Karl stepped to one side of the room to listen in on the conversation.
    â€œAs I was saying, my business has not gone as I would have hoped. People simply do not appreciate fine art anymore. All this talk of war has scared many off from purchasing art. Besides, who would have suspected a Nazi occupation when we opened our gallery in Karlovy Vary? Certainly not us.” Karlovy Vary was located in the Sudeten region. “I have been forced to close my gallery, despite my best efforts.” Mr. Schmahl shook his head and tugged nervously at his tie.
    â€œPerhaps your extravagant lifestyle has something to do with the failure of your business,” Victor commented curtly. This set Mr. Schmahl on another round of tugging and twitching.
    â€œNot at all,” he stammered. “In the art business, one must look the part if one is to succeed.”
    Karl was beginning to understand his father’s reaction to Mr. Schmahl. Despite their family’s wealth, Victor was a modest man. He was unassuming and reserved when it came to outward shows of prosperity. In contrast, Schmahl flaunted his wealth, from his gold cufflinks, silk tie, and fine leather shoes to his affected speech. Even Karl knew that parading one’s wealth was not recommended in a country that needed little provocation to target Jews.
    Mr. Schmahl struggled to compose himself. He hesitated, then stumbled on. “At any rate, the loan which you so graciously gave me – I’m…I’m afraid that I will have trouble paying it back.”
    Victor said nothing. It appeared that this news did not surprise him. Marie stood next to her husband, silently watching the exchange.
    â€œBut I am an honest man, I assure you. And I honor my debts. I’ve simply fallen on hard times,” lamented Mr. Schmahl, “like so many others these days. Surely you as an astute business man will understand this.” By now, he was practically convulsing in front of Victor, who continued to stare in silence. “In this case,” continued Mr. Schmahl, trying to compose himself, “in lieu of the money, I have brought you these.”
    With that, he gestured behind him to a tall mound, draped in heavy cloth. He snapped his fingers at the other man in the room who rushed forward to help. Ceremoniously, the two men grabbed either end of the cloth and pulled it