Cryptic mementos

The closing years of life are like a masquerade party, when the masks are dropped.
Arthur Schopenauer

It was a silent as well as a cold group that entered Max’s apartment building twenty minutes later. 

Inside, Max excused himself to speak with his grandfather for a few minutes.  While he was gone, Mart prowled around the dignified parlor, not touching anything but trying in his mind’s eye to form a picture of the two men who lived here.  The grandfather had been a Nazi soldier, he reminded himself, and he and Natasha’s grandmother had passed off a copy of a Rembrandt as the genuine article.  Now, however, he was a frail, elderly man who seemed eager to make up in some way for deeds committed in his younger days.  His grandson seemed to be totally open and honorable, but Mart had to wonder if he had a tiny bit – or even a large amount – of greed for the authentic painting his grandfather claimed to own, hidden away somewhere safe.

Diana sat at the dining table, apparently texting on her smartphone while she waited for Max.  Natasha stared out the window toward the Parc de Bercy across the street.  Mart wondered what she was thinking about.

Max came back into the main living area.  “Let’s all sit down and look over what I found in the safety deposit box,” he said.  “I’m hoping the items will lead us to the place Grandfather has concealed the painting.”

He opened the small leather satchel and took out a dozen small articles.  A couple of combat medals and a small, old-fashioned key dropped onto the table’s surface with a series of clinks.  Max pulled out a map and two sepia-toned studio photographs and laid them to one side before lifting out a bundle of papers secured with a dry-rotted rubber band.  The rubber band snapped while they were staring at it and the papers spilled onto the table, scattering out in a muddle of paper.

“Who do you suppose the pictures are?” asked Natasha.  “May we see them?”

Max handed the photos to her.  A young man, very stiff and straight in a Nazi uniform stared up from one of them.  The other depicted a young woman, her dark hair gathered into a snood and wearing a plain wool jacket with a lace collar around her neck.  Her eyes were light-colored and her smile revealed even white teeth.  “My grandmother,” Natasha exclaimed.  “We had this same photograph at home.”

“And I believe the soldier is my grandfather,” Max said.  “I’m surprised he kept this photo, because I’ve never seen any mementos of his wartime service.  It was as if he wanted it buried.”  He fell silent for a moment.  “As was only right,” he continued in a low tone.  “Nothing to be proud of there.  I wonder why he kept this one.”

“Let’s go through the papers,” Diana suggested.  “Perhaps he felt he’d need to prove his identity at some time in the future.  It was obvious the box hadn’t been opened for many years.”

Max handed a few papers to each of them.  The documents he held were printed in German, and Mart had trouble deciphering the Fraktur script of some of them.  He studied the forms to see if any of them contained names he recognized, or identifying information.  He set aside one paper that appeared to be the birth certificate of one Johannes Bauer.  There was a much-folded letter from “Mitzi”, and another signed “Your devoted comrade-in-arms, Karl.”  At least, that was Mart’s translation.

Diana held up an envelope.  “Max, this is addressed to you.  At least, it’s got your name on it.”

“Maximillian Werner Emmerich,” read Max.  He frowned and a vertical line appeared between his eyebrows.  “This was my father’s name.  I am Maximillian Klaus Emmerich.  It must have been a very long time since Grandfather visited this cache.  My father was killed in an accident shortly before I was born.  My mother went into premature labor and nearly hemorrhaged before a doctor could be fetched.  She was never well afterward and died during surgery just a few years later.”

“I’m so sorry, Max.”  Diana laid a comforting hand upon Max’s arm.  “Don’t feel as if you should open the letter if you really don’t want to do it.  However, it’s possible it may hold the key to our search.”      

“Leaving the letter sealed won’t help anyone who is alive today,” Max agreed.  “It’s possible it will help Grandfather to do reparation for a great wrong.”   He slid his finger under the edge of the envelope flap.  The adhesive, dried out over the many years the envelope had lain in the vault, gave way to his touch.  A single folded sheet of notepaper slid out onto the table. 

Mart held his breath as Max picked up the sheet and unfolded it.  He studied the writing upon it without appearing to comprehend what was written.  Finally, he laid it on the table and held it flat.  “I can’t make anything of it,” he said with a sigh.  “It’s encrypted in some kind of code.”

Mart stared at the paper.  “It looks like the one from Mitzi Krueger’s book and the paper your grandfather saved,” he said.  “That gave us the key to Klaus Emmerich’s former identity as Johannes Bauer.”

“I’m sure it’s the same one,” Natasha agreed.  “We already know they both used it, so I’m sure it’s the same code.”

“Exactly!” Diana took the paper and pulled a small notebook from her handbag.  Quickly, she thumbed to a page that illustrated the code’s key, and began to jot down letters.

TCCSL     RNCED     WAMSZ     BWAGV     ELXXX

“Karl Schmidt holds the key,” she read off after less than five minutes’ work.  “Who is Karl Schmidt?”  She looked at Max with a question in her eyes.

“He must be someone Grandfather has known for a long time.”  Max frowned.  “I hope he’s still living.”

“Can you ask your grandfather?” Natasha stood, pacing around the table.

“I can.  Whether he’ll be able to tell me anything, I don’t know.”  Max excused himself and left the other three around the table while he went back to the grandfather’s bedroom.  Muffled voices drifted back toward them, while Mart and Diana continued to thumb through the artifacts found in the safety deposit box.

“Di, do you suppose these pictures were Klaus Emmerich’s way of keeping a door open to the past?” Mart asked.  “Maybe he always wanted to find Mitzi again, and kept the pictures to prove his identity.”

“You may be right,” Diana agreed.  “I’m surprised he never tried harder to track her down – or that she wasn’t able to find him.”

“There were so many displaced persons right after the war, though,” Mart pointed out.  “A lot of the higher-ranking Nazis went to South America.  Maybe he left Europe for a while.  He changed his identity and maybe she did too – or he thought she did.”

“My grandmother tried to find him,” Natasha protested.  “She visited the Red Cross offices every day for months.  Finally, she gave up hope.  She moved to Belgium and began teaching art and offering her original work for sale.  She was very beautiful and as she began to put her life back together, she met a man who wanted to marry her.  She had a good life with my grandfather, but she was bitter that Johannes never tried to find her and split the profits from the painting, as he said he would.  The security he had promised her never materialized.”

Max reappeared with a stack of Christmas cards and a small leather-covered address book.  “Grandfather gave me to understand that Karl Schmidt is a man he was in service with during the war.  They still communicate, but mostly at Christmas time.  Karl Schmidt is such a common name that I brought his address book out with me.  When we find Karl’s card, we’ll confirm his address and try to contact him.” 

While Max thumbed through the address book, Natasha unfolded the map.  She leaned on her elbows over the table, and Mart thought she was scrutinizing it for markings. 

“Any clues in the map, Natasha?” he asked.

“No markings,” she said, dropping the map with a sniff of disgust.  “It’s Switzerland.  If the map is a clue to anything, it doesn’t have a key on it anywhere.”

“May I see it, Natasha?”  Diana extended her hand. 

“Certainly,” Natasha replied.  “But we’re definitely missing a piece of the puzzle if this map is supposed to be any kind of a clue.”

“It indicates something important is located in Switzerland,”Mart protested.  “Switzerland isn’t such a large country.”

Natasha laughed, her good humor restored.  “Yes, and have you any idea of the number of mountains and valleys we’d have to search without a much more detailed key?  We could all be dead before we’d searched every possible place.”

“You’re right, of course,” Mart admitted.  “Here, take a look at these documents.  They’re in German, and while I can get by in conversation, my German reading is elementary, to say the least.  I do think one may be a birth certificate for Johannes Bauer.” He pushed the pile of papers toward Natasha.

Diana said nothing, but took the map over to a window and held it to the light.  Mart noticed, and wondered if she suspected some invisible writing. 

“I believe I’ve found the right Karl Schmidt,” Max announced.  “Grandfather receives a Christmas greeting every year from this Karl Schmidt, whose address is in Versailles, just twenty-one kilometers from here.  I’ll ring him up and ask if we can visit him tomorrow.”

While Max made his call, Mart walked over to Diana in what he hoped was a casual way.  “Looking for anything in particular?” he asked, touching her arm. 

Diana had been so engrossed in the map that she apparently hadn’t heard or seen him.  She jumped at his touch.  “Not really.  There are some well-known ways to write invisibly – things we learned as kids, remember?  But I don’t see any evidence of attempts at invisible writing, and I think by this time, it would be noticeable when held up to light.”  She shrugged.  “Are you getting some material for your story?”

“If we don’t locate the painting there won’t be any story,” Mart said.  “I know it’s early days, and don’t want to seem too impatient, but I also can’t stay much longer.  I can’t afford to extend my ticket, and I’ll have another assignment starting in a couple of weeks.”

“Something like this could take months or years to resolve,” Diana acknowledged with a sigh.  “Really, it’s a lucky break that Max and his grandfather are so anxious to cooperate with the search.”   

Mart heard a click and saw that Max had ended his telephone call.   “Herr Schmidt can see us tomorrow,” he announced, smiling as he walked over to the window where Mart and Diana were standing.  “He also insisted on giving me instructions on finding his home, although I told him I have a GPS in my car.”

The three of them shared a laugh at the common recognition of the older generation’s distrust of technology, and walked back to the table.  Natasha waved a couple of papers at them.  “I’ve gone over the documents,” she said.  “There’s a birth certificate for Johannes Bauer and a couple of commendations for military service, one for a promotion to captain and one for risking his own life to save the men in his company.  In addition, there is a deed to property near La Fouly, Switzerland.”

“La Fouly!” Max exclaimed.  “That’s a train ride of a few hours from here.  Does the document give any kind of address or location?”

“No,” Natasha said with a shake of her head.  “That’s it – ‘near La Fouly’ is all it says.”

“I can say for certain that Grandfather has never visited La Fouly within my memory,” Max averred.  “He detests skiing, and that is the main attraction for the place.”

“I don’t see how the deed can help us without more specific location information,” Diana said with a frown.  “Especially if Herr Emmerich hasn’t disturbed the safety deposit box’s contents in thirty years or more; he may even have sold it by now.  I hope Herr Schmidt can throw some light on that tomorrow.”  

“It’s after twelve now,” Mart said after checking his watch.  “What would you all say about breaking for lunch now?  We seem to have reached a dead end for today, as far as I can see.”

Diana grinned.  “Now that you mention it, I’m hungry, too. Trust you to always be aware of mealtimes.”  She winked at him and Mart grinned back.

“Got to keep up the old energy,” he replied.  “Metabolism slows down in the face of starvation.”

“I know a little café near here,” Max said.  “It’s very good and reasonably priced as well.  If Natasha and Mart have never taken a carriage ride in Paris, we can take one now to the café, if you’d like.  There’s a beautiful route that travels the perimeter of Parc de Bercy, and it ends up not far from the café.”

“As long as it’s not too long,” Mart said with a laugh.  “Otherwise, I’d just as soon do the carriage ride after lunch.”

“This is an abbreviated tour, Mart.  It’s only about thirty minutes in length,” Max assured him. 

Natasha was agreeable, and the four set out across the street and down the boulevard to the carriage stop on the Rue de Bercy.  A sign informed them that the carriage would arrive in five more minutes and depart again in fifteen.    

“Tell me about the history of Parc de Bercy while we wait, Max,” requested Natasha.  “It seems newer than I expected of a park in Paris.”

“It’s a new park,” Max replied.  “It opened in 1994.  But the area has been an important part of Paris for centuries.  It was once called the ‘store-room of the world’ for wine, because it was the site of so many wine warehouses, coming to a peak in the nineteenth century.  Bercy was outside the city limits, so not subject to city taxes.  The Seine connected Bercy to the wine region of Burgundy, and Bercy also had a train station that served as a direct line to the wine country.”

“Fascinating!”  Natasha stared across the street at the expansive grounds of the park, shading her eyes.

“You’d never know it now,” Mart said. “What happened, Max?”

“In 1919, some of the warehouses were destroyed when the fortifications of Thiers were demolished.  Then, Bercy was incorporated into the city of Paris, losing its non-tax advantage.  The area gradually declined as wine began to be bottled at the place of production and railway lines were changed.  By 1970, the place was a wasteland.”

“It’s wonderful that someone had the foresight to use the area for this huge park,” Diana exclaimed.  “It has three different garden areas, in addition to a sports complex, sculptures, and a manmade waterfall.” 

“Grandfather was one of many who advocated for a park to renew this old industrial area,” Max explained with pride.  “One area of the park is a vineyard, and some of the walkways incorporate old railroad ties and tracks.”

Just then, an old-fashioned two-seater carriage, drawn by a pair of bay horses, stopped in front of them.  Max hailed the driver and paid their fare, and after assisting the ladies to step up into the cab portion of the carriage, stepped up himself.  Mart was left to mount the carriage steps last, and found himself seated next to Natasha in the forward-facing seat.  Max and Diana faced them in the opposite seat.

“We’ll drive up the Rue de Bercy to the Boulevard de Bercy,” Max said.  “Then, we turn onto the Quai de Bercy where we’ll be able to see some old cobblestone pavement, a pirate ship moored in the Seine, and the largest pedestrian bridge in Paris, the Passerelle de Simone de Beauvoir.  We’ll get off near the Rue Francois Truffaut, where there are a variety of cafes and shops.”     

“I wish I had my camera,” Mart sighed.  “It’s such a beautiful day and the sights are fantastic.”  They could just see down onto the Seine where the pirate ship Boudeuse was moored, its masts bare.  Just then, the drone of a scooter seemed to come out of nowhere.  Mart jumped as a silver moped shot by, much too close to the horses.  One horse stopped dead and the other attempted to bolt.  The driver had his hands full trying to control the team.  Mart and Max jumped out of the rocking carriage and approached the horses with caution, one on each side and speaking softly.

After a very long minute, the horses had calmed enough that Mart felt it would be safe to get back to their seats.  Glancing at Max, he gave a thumbs-up signal, and Max nodded.

Mart had just sat down and Max had mounted the carriage step when what appeared to be the same scooter came roaring back in their direction.  Once again, the horses shied and Max was knocked to the ground.

Mart jumped out to aid him as Max tried to roll away from the heavy wheels of the carriage.  Diana had yanked her phone from her purse and Mart could hear her calling for police assistance.

“Connard!”  Natasha jumped up and stood in the carriage bed, shaking her fist at the disappearing moped driver.

By the time Mart reached Max, the other man had managed to roll away from the carriage onto the cobblestoned pedestrian walkway that separated the automobile lane from a bicycle parking area.  He stood slowly, brushing roadside debris from his clothing.

“Are you all right?” Mart asked.

“No permanent damage done,” Max replied with a smile that seemed forced.  “However, that was a bit too close for comfort.”

“You know, I think I’ve seen that same moped driver before,” Mart remarked.  “Short, dark, stocky with a mustache.  He was picking up litter at the park entrance yesterday, and I saw him when we went to the bank.”

“Not the same person, surely!” Max’s tone expressed doubt.

“I’m sure it was.”  Mart was firm.  “I just wish I could have gotten a look at his license plate.”

The two men approached the driver, who had finally regained control of his horses again. 

“Monsieur,” said Max.  “I’m afraid we’ll call it a day on the carriage ride.  Nothing to do with you, but I’m worried about the horses.  The crazy cyclists around here!  Fils de putes!

“You are so right, monsieur,” agreed the driver.  “In fact, I was going to tell you that it would be best if you finished the route on foot today.  I don’t think my animals could take another scare like that.  I’m on this street every day, and never have I had such an experience.”

“Luckily, we’re not far from one of the park entrances,” Max pointed out as he handed Diana and Natasha down.  “Right over there, we can enter the park and walk to a café.”

The carriage driver pulled away and the foursome strolled toward the park entrance.  Mart tried to pull Diana aside, but Natasha attached herself to him and Diana seemed quite happy to walk with Max.

It was another unsatisfying day, Mart thought gloomily.