H. Adler - The Wall

Herr Schnabelberger scratched his head while thinking.

“That’s not at all as easy a thing to do as you present. We have thousands of paintings, and can’t just go rummaging through the entire inventory and find that the things you are looking for simply aren’t here. Therefore you need to give us more precise details.”

“It’s two paintings.”

Herr Lever indicated with his hands how big they were.

“They are my grandparents. The paintings belonged to my brother, Eugene Lebenhart, who lived on Ufergasse. That’s where my brother lived. They are my grandparents, as I already told you. The man has a beard, and the woman in the companion piece is his wife.”

“Well, if Herr Dr. Landau wants to make the effort to look through the catalog to see if we have anything like that, it’s fine with me. But most of the paintings are anonymous. We rarely have any indications that lead us to firmly attribute names to those depicted. Usually the catalog is of little help, and we can only do something when you can give us photos or precise descriptions.”

With that, Herr Schnabelberger extended his hand to the visitors and said goodbye. They wanted to say something more, but I quickly led them out and accompanied them to the main office, where the staff meeting had since come to an end. Everything was a mess, with crumpled papers and cigarette butts on the floor, and the air stuffy. I opened the window and introduced the visitors to all of the gathered employees. Herr and Frau Lever sat down in chairs they pulled up and whispered to each other while I leafed through the catalog without really knowing what I was doing, though I made it look as if I did, while after a few minutes I pulled out the cards with the details about the Lebenhart portraits.

“This must be them!”

Thus I called out and brought them the cards. Herr Lever ripped them from my hand, put on his glasses, and quietly read aloud the description, his wife nodding in agreement.

“You are fantastic, Herr Doctor!” he said, praising me. “The way you have everything in order and can find it. Those are my grandparents. Every detail is correct. It’s really an art to describe all the paintings so precisely.”

Herr Lever was excited and wiped at his face with his handkerchief.

“Would it be possible to see the paintings?”

“But with the greatest pleasure. If you good people would just wait here.”

I asked Herr Woticky to accompany me; he was often happy to help out. While he got the storage-room key from Herr Geschlieder, I went to get my work coat. Then we opened the storeroom and didn’t have to look for long, for the paintings were in the spot listed on the cards. The paintings were gray with dust and had to be wiped off first by Woticky before the bearded man and his wife were clearly visible. As we returned to the main office with the paintings and placed them on the floor and leaned them up against us, both of the Levers jumped up and looked at them.

“By gosh, look, Mitzi. There they are, as if they lived and breathed!”

Herr Lever touched the canvas of the grandmother’s portrait in several places and was deeply moved.

“But they’re indeed a bit damaged!” said Mitzi. “They’ve not been handled at all well.”

“You should still feel good!” said Woticky. “You can see everything. We have paintings in which you can hardly make out anything.”

I also praised the condition of the paintings, but Frau Lever felt differently and criticized their condition like a diligent housewife.

“One can certainly have it restored,” her husband assured her. “A couple of scratches, and the colors have grown darker. The frame can be re-gilded. That can’t cost the world.”

“That certainly won’t be expensive!” agreed Woticky. “We have plenty of others of cadets with big holes in them and covered in mold. As for these? Actually, a treasure! It won’t take much restoration at all.”

Before I could stop Woticky, he had a rag in his hand onto which he spit before bending over the painting from behind to wipe the face of the grandmother with quick movements.

“There you are!” he called out triumphantly. “Didn’t I tell you so? The nose is already much brighter and shines.”

I criticized such improper methods, for the painting was indeed my responsibility, but I had to admit the spot he’d cleaned looked freshly painted and much brighter than the cheeks, chin, and forehead, which Woticky had hardly touched. Frau Lever, who had looked on at the cleaning with doubtful horror, tossed Woticky a grateful look.

“So the paintings are just a bit neglected, Guido. It’s just what I thought. You only have to rub them with some soft bread, which is the cheapest and the best way, and they’ll be fine. But to let them get so dirty, that’s a sin! Don’t you have a cleaning woman here?”

“Mitzi, that’s not our business. But about the dirt, you’re right. I have to agree. I’d really prefer to pack them up right away and take them with me in a taxi. What can be done, Herr Doctor?”

“It’s not so simple,” I cautioned, and explained the first steps required for approval of such a release.

The visitors were outraged and held their heads in astonishment. They couldn’t understand why inherited property that had not been freely given to the museum, which itself probably had not considered it all that valuable, couldn’t be taken away without anything further needing to occur. All the employees in the main office nodded to the couple and assured them that this, indeed, was the case now, though I felt it necessary to quickly end the visit. Therefore I saw the visitors to the door and said that Herr Schnabelberger was in charge of such specific inquiries, though I asked Woticky to help me bring along the paintings to Herr Schnabelberger. Schnabelberger was anything but pleased that I had brought Herr and Frau Lever to him again, as well as having schlepped the rediscovered grandparents along with me. Woticky shoved the paintings nearer to Schnabelberger’s desk and propped them up with two chairs from behind. Then he thought his duty done and left the office with a little pack of cigarettes that Herr Lever had quickly handed him. Herr Schnabelberger shifted his gaze between the paintings and the visitors.

“Well, then, what can I do for you?” he asked awkwardly.

“Those are my grandparents. The portraits belong to me.”

“I certainly believe you, but everything is a bit different than you would like to think. You must file an application with the Office for the Recovery of Enemy Goods in the Finance Ministry, with a notarization of your clearance by the state police and the attestation of the Bureau of Restitution in the Office of Social Welfare, as well as fill out a property form. Everything will be checked and reviewed by the Office for the Recovery of Enemy Goods. If there are no concerns, apply for a final decision with the trustees of our museum in order to see if we have any art historical or historical objections to raise against restitution. I would think it likely that no objections will be raised by us. But, as I said, I can’t be sure, for there are many things to consider. The paintings will not be released if they are valuable.”

“Let me say,” called out Herr Lever, “they are not for you! I know that already, for otherwise you would have hung them in the hermitage. But they are valuable to me!”

“Be happy that we don’t think them valuable. Junk and worthless stuff we give away quickest of all. But I don’t know. Perhaps we won’t agree, and then you have no chance.”

“Unheard of! And what, then, can I do?”

“That’s quite simple, then you can apply for compensation.”

“But the paintings! I want the paintings, not compensation!”