Code of Siman

by Dayna Rubin

  “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry…yes what?” Dauphine strained to catch Warren’s attention, but he was angrily moving from picture to picture, causing great consternation from the patrons.

  “Yes, I want every picture in the gallery removed from its frame. I want them cleaned and X-rayed.”

  “Right, every picture…we’ll be here all night, or longer.” Dauphine protested.

  “Can you think of anything more important than this?” Warren stopped for a moment to lock eyes with Dauphine.

  “No, I can’t. You’re absolutely right.”

  A museum staff member nervously approached Warren. “Should I close the museum, sir?”

  “Yes, shut it down Joe.”

  The staffer scurried away, glancing between Warren and Dauphine before he left.

  “You want to help?” Warren inquired over his shoulder.

  “Yes, absolutely. I’ll do whatever I can.”

  “We’ll be processing these paintings through X-ray.” Warren stated.

  “Right…I’ll get that ready.” Dauphine looked first at the pictures, then back at Warren, turned to go, but then stopped to look inquiringly back at Warren.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said simply.

  “That they won’t approve of this?” Dauphine supplied.

  “Yes, you and I both know it needs to be done.”

  “What are you going to tell them?” Dauphine asked.

  The entire collection of paintings within the room now lay propped against the wall, the starkness echoing back at them.

  “The truth.”

  “They won’t like it.”

  “People usually don’t.”

  Dauphine looked back over her shoulder before she hurried back to the lab, her brow furrowed as she reflected on everything she had come to know about this man. A man that somewhere between the introduction and the action of removing the most valuable paintings of the nation from the walls, she had unknowingly pledged her allegiance.

  “Mr. Panetiere’?” A small voice was breaking through the intensity of his thoughts. The weight and size of the picture he was currently wrestling with won its right to continue to occupy its space on the wall, as it was far too large for him to remove by himself.

  Stopping for a moment to wipe the beads of sweat that had formed on his brow, Warren turned to the uniformed individual quietly waiting at his side who spoke up again.

  “You all right sir? Mr. Pei, he was my grandfather who designed part of this museum. The part that you and I are standing in. I am working here so that I can become an architect just like him, and design something equally as grand.”

  Warren looked at the young woman standing before him, small and diminutive, but speaking with pride and courage.

  “Please continue. I apologize for not having heard you…this is…occupying me.” Warren indicated the picture on the wall, which was too large for him to remove.

  Stepping back from the picture, Warren said, “You are Tsun Jai Pei. I apologize, I never made the connection.” Warren indicated they should sit down at the bench in front of the wall of pictures. “Please, sit with me.”

  Once seated, Tsun Jai continued, “My grandfather says every man must meet his greatest challenge one day, and at that time he will either fold under the weight, or he will rise and fly into the wind.”

  Warren’s hands were folded in his lap as he looked down at his shoes resting on the pink Tennessee marble floor.

  “We want to help you fly Mr. Pan.” Tsun Jai touched his shoulder, caught his questioning look and then inclined her head to show him he needed to look behind him.

  Warren turned around to find the entire group of Gallery employees, some in uniforms, some in professional attire, standing en masse, silently waiting.

  “Why? Why would all of you want to do this for me?” He addressed the crowd.

  “You see us as people. You remember our names, and you make us feel like this is our museum.”

  “Okay, as you can see, I need help. I accept.” Warren stood and ceremoniously bowed to the large group.

  Tsun Jai also stood, then put her forefinger and her pinky finger between her lips and whistled loudly. “Group one…gather here. Group two….you are in next room. Group three come with me.” Her voice carried within the empty walls of the space, leaving no questions as to who was in charge.

  Warren walked away, grateful for the help, but also so that he could start making the necessary calls.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Colored Webs of Lines

  “What exactly are you seeing when you are looking at these photographs?” Philippe asked.

  “Well, I can’t see what I need to see without a special device, a type of loop which was made especially for this purpose…if I could somehow magnify these, the images within would be clearer,” said Natanya.

  “Okay, let me rephrase the question. What will you see within these photographs once you have this…device?”

  “The embedded symbols. I’ll be able to see some of them without it, but…from what I remember reading in my Great Aunt’s notes…I’m going to need it to see everything.”

  Philippe reached into Natanya’s purse and found the desired objects. Wiping his cheek after dabbing the Starbuck’s napkins in the bottled water, he was able to clean himself up.

  Natanya pulled out onto the road while Philippe addressed his multiple wounds in the mirror on the visor.

  Natanya gasped, and took her foot off the accelerator.

  “What? What is it?” Philippe flipped the visor back up and looked around the car.

  “Umm, where are we going to go?”

  “Oh, Nat, you had me going. You always do that when you’re driving.”

  “I don’t always do that!”

  “You do. Any little thing that pops up, and it’s like the end of the world. I should drive.”

  Natanya retorted. “You still haven’t answered my question. Where are we going to go? We obviously can’t go home.”

  “We don’t know that. They said you were wanted for questioning. That’s all,” Philippe reassured her.

  “If we could go home, I could verify my findings with Aunt Rose’s notes, get the adapted loop, then I could be absolutely sure.”

  “You lost me…you recall how to decipher most of it, but you may need a little help, is that what you’re saying? And you need the device hidden in our apartment.”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m saying.”

  “Okay, pull over, and I’ll drive us home, and then we’ll get started.”

  “First of all, I’m driving, and secondly, I drive very well, thank you very much.”

  “When was the last time you drove?” Philippe asked, as amusement played at the corners of his mouth.

  “I’m not sure exactly.”

  “You’re not sure. That’s why I should drive.” Philippe found the buttons to adjust the seat, which he started to adapt to a more comfortable position. Then he opened the sunroof, turned on the stereo and started to change the station, but not after listening for a few seconds to one song, then another, and another.

  He then went back to adjusting his chair, closed the sunroof, and changed the station.

  “You’re doing this on purpose.”

  “What?”

  Natanya laughed. “You make things really complicated for me when you don’t want me to do them.”

  “Do I do that?” Philippe raised his eyebrows and looked out each of the side windows as if to say he knew nothing about her complaint.

  “Yes, you do.”

  Philippe reached forward and changed the station. Again.

  “I’m not giving you the wheel, so you can just knock it off.” Natanya rolled down her own window and let the breeze blow through her long dark hair.

  “We’re approaching town, and you may not want people to see you.” Philippe smirked at her knowing how she was going to react to his statement.

  “Ah! Oh My God! You’re right! What am
I doing? I can’t just drive into town…” Natanya pushed the button to raise the window back up.

  “See? You do that.”

  “Okay…so I over react when I drive. But, the question is, how do we find out if our apartment is under surveillance, but not get caught at the same time?”

  “Drive to the street of our apartment, and pull around back into the dry cleaners. They know me there, and I’ll find out for us.”

  Natanya drove into the back lot of the dry cleaners, parked and turned off the engine as Philippe suggested.

  Philippe didn’t wait until the car was stopped to get out, but then ran back, opened the door and asked, “Where are they?”

  “In a shoe box, in the closet, under my sweaters.”

  “Okay…I’m not going to ask why you felt the need to hide them.”

  “They’re more valuable than you realize, and they were entrusted to me! The notes were the only thing that wasn’t seized by the Nazis, and they were the only things left explaining the codes. The loop is the only way the photographs can be deciphered.”

  “All this time…” Philippe shook his head.

  “All this time, what…all this time?” Natanya’s eyes narrowed beneath her sunglasses.

  “I didn’t think you could do it…”

  “Do what?”

  “Be this deceitful.” Philippe closed the door to the SUV.

  Natanya gasped after the door closed. “I was not…being…oh you make me so mad!”

  A small statured sinewy older man in a crew neck short sleeve white shirt and khakis was taking a cigarette break behind the Dry Cleaner with the back door open, staring openly at her as she muttered to herself.

  Natanya opened the car door, paused in front of the older man who nodded to her in approval; he walked through the open back door of the dry cleaners, and motioned for her to follow.

  Natanya stomped through the rear of the building, past the racks of various dry cleaned items and resumed her argument with Philippe while he spied on their building through the front window. “I was not being deceitful. I was, in fact harboring clues to the whereabouts of treasured artifacts, which was and is the only reference in existence.”

  Philippe raised his hand to quiet her, then pulled her over to him to show her Mrs. Orbis and her crew of older women as they were walking down the street toward their apartment building.

  “Mrs. Orbis…again? And why do they like you so much, by the way? Honestly, I think it’s just a little strange for women of their age to…”

  Philippe looked at her with a knowing expression, which was to say…wait for it…”

  “Oh, right…you want to use them to check it out…good thinking…and they’ll do it too. I think they would do just about anything for you…” Natanya winked at him, and then smacked him on the butt.

  “Oooh, you not do that stuff in here. This is dry cleaner, not for that…no, you not do that.”

  Natanya turned to the diminutive yet elegantly dressed woman at the low counter behind her, reading her nametag, “Mrs. Hee, I’m so sorry. You see we’re…”

  Philippe interjected, “I’ll go across the street, and you should really wait in the car.” Philippe gave her a warning look.

  Natanya smoothed down her white sundress, and asked, “Can I walk through to the back…my car is…um parked in back of your store…”

  Mrs. Hee answered with a nod, “You want your stuff? Hee’s dry-cleaning. It ready now.”

  “No, thank you. I don’t actually take my clothes to this dry cleaner…” Natanya didn’t attempt to apologize for her answer. Her face flushed as she walked through to the back lot where she slipped onto the passenger side seat and closed the door behind her.

  “I can’t even turn the car on…because I don’t have a key.” Natanya whined aloud.

  Looking around, Natanya noticed there wasn’t a space for a key necessary to start the car, and turning the ignition, found that she could activate the fan and radio. “Huh, interesting…I should have tried this before.”

  Reclining her seat, she began experimenting with all the functions as she waited. Surprised by his sudden reappearance, Natanya looked guiltily at Philippe.

  “I couldn’t make it into the apartment.” He said breathlessly. “Mrs. Orbis went upstairs, pretended to forget which floor she was supposed to exit on, then got out at our floor so that she could pass by our apartment. She came back down the elevator to retrieve her mail, saying she had forgotten to pick it up when she was down in the lobby, and then said she needed to bring the newspaper to a friend who resided in the apartment building next to ours. That’s where she met back up with me.”

  “She accomplished all of that? I’m impressed.” Natanya said.

  “Yeah, it’s me we’re talking about remember…”

  Natanya lightly tapped Philippe on his arm for his cocky remark. “She had to have been making a pretense because the apartment is filled with police.” Natanya commented.

  “Right on the money.”

  “Where were the police? In the lobby and…”

  “The elevators, the hall, and in front of our apartment,” Philippe replied.

  “Wow, I guess they have us covered, don’t they?”

  “Yup. So we’ll take the album, go to my cousin Pascal’s apartment, and get started.”

  “Right, but first we’ll need an overhead projector.”

  “Seriously, you want me to obtain an overhead projector when the whole town is looking for us?” Philippe questioned.

  “Maybe you can get Mrs. Orbis to get you one?” Natanya teased.

  “Jealousy doesn’t become you.” Philippe smiled in a beguiling fashion.

  “Who said I was jealous? And anyway, so far they’re just looking for me, so you can go to your office and pick one up…” Losing some of her bravado Natanya continued, “Can’t you?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  A Pure Definable Interpretation

  “I’ve found something pretty exciting Warren, come take a look.” Dauphine beckoned him over. “I take it you’ve informed the board of your decision to close the museum?”

  “Yes.” Warren sighed, “I’ve yet to hear back from someone. Let’s see what you’ve found.”

  “As I said, it’s pretty exciting. Another painting hovered as a holographic image on one wall, while a painting of an Old Master was physically secured within the framework of the equipment.

  Warren looked from one to the other, “Is this some kind of trick, how is this possible?”

  “I’ll show you. I separated the two images. One is virtually on top of the other, with a light tracing of what appears to be a canvas-colored watercolor in between… Now, I’ll put them back together, just like this, and now you see the surface painting only.”

  “I’ve seen uncompleted works under canvases, but this…this is an entire painting hidden from view.” Warren’s initial fear of the forgeries he thought he would find suddenly vanished. “This is history in the making… I can’t believe it, this is incredible!”

  “Yes, it really is, and I can remove the forged Old Master. Just give me permission, and I’ll have this lost work magically appear before us. In real form.”

  “Do it. Absolutely… To have found ‘Painter on the Road to Tarascon’ by Vincent Van Gogh will bolster my quest to review each and every painting in The National Gallery.”

  “Do you know what this means?” Warren asked excitedly.

  Warren continued without being prompted, “The purported fire of July 27, 1942 in Paris where paintings from Chagall, Matisse, Picasso, Van Gogh, and so many others were burned as degenerate art, may have actually been saved! There had to have been a concerted effort of the Resistance to replace the canvases thrown onto the massive bonfire with lesser works, or maybe even blank canvases in frames. This is proof, right here, what we have is absolute, concrete proof,” Warren finished.

  “I can’t understand why Hitler felt that he needed to destroy such valuable artwork.” Dauphine
said as she removed the frame from its secured position. “It’s beyond me to even estimate the amount of paintings we’re looking at that could possibly be hidden somewhere…if they were switched at the last minute, where could they all be?”

  The Resistance Movement began in France, incorporating many who had been labeled as unworthy, either because of their religion, their nationality, mental or physical handicap, or because they were associated with someone out of favor by the Reich. The ‘Cleansing of the German Culture’ included book burning and the methodical removal of anything and everything produced by any of those groups.

  “How did the Modern Impressionist works become part of the ‘degenerate’ works of art?” Dauphine inquired.

  “He simply didn’t care for them, nor did he care for highly religious depictions within art work. These he initially used for valuable trades, but when he realized that strong-arming individuals was a tactic at his disposal, he rid himself of the unwanted pieces, resorting to looting instead.”

  “Mr. Pan?” The unmistakable soft monotone of the staff leader was audible at Warren’s side.

  “Yes, Tsun Jai, how are we doing out there?”

  “I have designated areas for pictures waiting to have frames removed, canvases waiting to be brought in, and canvases checked, then an area for frames to be matched back up, and replaced onto the walls.”

  “Good, it sounds like we should be able to process the paintings in an expedient and organized manner.”

  “Ah, yes, but we have a problem Mr. Pan.”

  “What is the problem Tsun Jai?”

  “The lady, State Secretary, she is here with a man and they look very upset. They told me that you don’t have the authority to close the museum or test the paintings. They’re trying to find you…I ah… I told them you were at the other side of the Gallery.”

  “Smart…that should buy us about thirty minutes by the time they figure it out.” Warren appeared contemplative, bringing his hand to his face, where he absently stroked his well-manicured goatee-styled beard and mustache…

  “I continue to process the paintings Mr. Pan?”

  “Yes, continue until I tell you otherwise. You did the right thing Tsun Jai.” Warren nodded absently as he continued to ponder the meaning behind their visit, as well as their intentions.