Lewi's Legacy

by Graham Adams

  Mary looked hard at Harold. ‘Yes he starts at the bottom, but I expect you to look after him husband, that is if you don’t want Ruth and me on your oversized back.’ Mary’s eyes flashed.

  It took much longer to acclimatise to the new car dealership. Harold was quite right, it was a much bigger concern that Bill’s BMC dealership, and of course so were the customers’ wallets. The customers always demanded the best service and woe betide any salesman who got any of the prestige car’s statistics wrong. Louis did once see an occasion when this happened and the customer insisted that the salesman was fired on the spot.

  Two years had passed when Louis got his break. The sales manager had an argument with Harold and tempers were high. Clifford lost his cool and made a derogatory comment about Mr Meyer’s ancestry which Louis knew too well was strictly taboo. Only a week before, Louis could sense trouble brewing as he said the same thing to him about Harold. The young assistant warned him that he had better not say that in front of his boss. He smiled to himself however, knowing that Cliff was not aware of Louis’s own Jewish heritage either.

  Harold called Cliff into his office after the confrontation, and in a matter of minutes, the Sales Manager handed in his keys and left in a taxi, without the opportunity to say his goodbyes to the staff, some that had worked for him for many years. Mr Meyer had given him a cheque, and his other effects would be sent on to him.

  Apart from Louis, there were three other salesmen in the company with far more seniority, but even so, they all would be affected by the dismissal of their boss including the one at the bottom of the ladder, Louis.

  Within a month the new pecking order in the showroom was in place, including a newly hired junior placed under Louis’s jurisdiction. With new responsibility Louis was soon in Harold’s office asking for a pay rise. Their relationship was not what he could call warm, knowing that he was only at the garage at the behest of Harold’s wife Mary.

  As he walked into the office, expecting an instant rebuff, what he was greeted with was a smiling boss, asking him to sit down.

  ‘I’m glad you came in to see me today Louis, as I want to ask you to do something for me.’

  Harold explained that sometimes he sold top of the range vehicles to people who lived in mainland Europe, and normally Cliff would deliver it and fly back. It was considered quite a perk of the job for the manager.

  ‘Louis, I want you to transport that vehicle,’ he pointed to a silver S500 limousine, ‘to Strasbourg to an address I will provide for you, and then go to Stuttgart and pick another car up and bring it back here as we have a customer waiting. Do you think you can do that, my boy?’

  The mention of Strasbourg made him think about the last two years he had spent with his aunt Ruth. Not only did he give her the company that she loved, but now that he was working, he contributed to the running of her home. In return she filled in so many gaps, especially in the life of his great grandfather Lewi.

  Ruth revealed that his great grandfather was totally different to his brother, her husband Moshe. Lewi was most secretive and as far as anyone knew, he was a ‘collector of things’. He married Hannah rather later in life, prompted by his parents; they probably wanted him out of their house. Lewi and Hannah had a son, and called him Louis. In some ways Lewi. had grown out of the community life in his town in Alsace, and in 1911 they moved to Paris. They were not the only Levi’s to leave, but realising that the German occupation of Alsace spelt great danger for the Jewish community at large, Ruth and Moshe followed them to Paris and they all flourished in the Jewish quarter for many years.

  By 1939 their whole lives were to change again as the Nazis were looking like they were to occupy France, and in exchange for surrender by the French, Hitler spared Paris from destruction. Jews were being rounded up wholesale for deportation to camps, or being forced into ghettos where they starved to death.

  Lewi had a flourishing business in antiques and Hannah stayed by his side after Ruth and Moshe agreed to take his brother’s son, wife and young girl to England. Poor Lewi had questionably stayed behind to try and protect their precious business. When the five of them arrived in England, relieved and safe, they could take little with them, Moshe hung on to his violin that his dear brother had given him on the occasion of his marriage to his beloved Ruth. It was Moshe’s only tangible connection to the memory of the times he spent with Lewi; many tears would be shed as he pulled the bow over its strings creating a mellow sound, almost a cry for lost loved ones.

  Ruth often sent letters to friends, hoping for some word from them, but there had never been a reply. They could only assume that they had fallen victim to the Nazi Holocaust, just as millions of their race had done.

  They knew that the Nazis confiscated any works of art held by wealthy Jews, or paid then a fraction of their worth to buy their passage to safe havens. Lewi was a clever man and it was possible that he may have hidden some of his artefacts away from the oppressors, but how, where or what, remained a complete mystery.

  Sometimes Louis visualised his mother and father deciding on what name to give him when he was born. He imagined that his mother would have insisted on naming him after her father. His father thankfully carried out her dying request.

  He now had a firm confirmation of his bloodline; starting with Great Grandfather Lewi Levi, Grandfather Louis Levi, mother Rochelle Levi and finally himself. He smiled as he looked at a vein in his arm, it really did have Jewish blood in it, which made him so proud.

  After the whole story had emerged from his aunt, he then realised how precious he was to her. She made him value the importance of the family line and when she asked him to accompany her to her lawyer to change her will to make him the sole beneficiary; he was no longer embarrassed about her generous action.

  12 All hands to the pumps

  New home for the treasures

  ‘Lydiya! What the heck are you doing here?’ Victor asked as she lay in the perfumed bath water. ‘Did you know that your father has just dropped me off here, and given me the flat keys?’

  He watched her as she slowly rose out of the bath and stood for a moment as he surveyed her beautiful slim dark-skinned body as it glistened as the water dripped down. Not an ounce of fat could he see, and he did look very closely. He held out his hand to steady her as she stepped out of the deep bath onto the white mat.

  Victor gasped as he looked again at the entwined flower heads tattooed at each side of her deep belly button, and then his eyes followed their twisting stalks as they travelled down to her mound of Venus. Her dark eyes looked deep into his soul as he stood transfixed, unable to move. She wrapped her legs around him and looked up with a sly smile.

  ‘Well, Louis darling, haven’t you been told that you can have two days of R and R, so you can spend the whole time with me in this beautiful city. That is if you want to, am I right?’ As she asked, her head was leant to one side and she gave him a cheeky grin that curled up on the side of her tiny mouth.

  ‘Yes, but how did you know...?’ she pressed her finger on his lips and led him into the bedroom.

  The next two days were like a merry-go-round. He wanted to visit the sights, like the Tour Eiffel, the Champs Elysées, or Notre Dame. But all she wanted to see were the cafés, clubs and bars. Somehow he hoped for a happy medium, but in vain. On the Wednesday lunchtime they were sitting at a pretty table drinking their espressos.

  ‘Look Lydiya, it’s been great fun but you wear me out darling and now you have to go, I mean it.’ He looked at her pretend sad face. ‘I don’t know how to contact you but I guess that won’t be a problem will it?’

  As he sat looking at her face, he knew that he had been through the mangle with her, she was so demanding and he needed to get his mind ready for the next day’s work.

  His beautiful dark partner feigned a hurt smile. ‘Go home Victor get some rest this afternoon, before you ring my daddy tonight. He told me that you’re to call him around seven.’ She kissed him lightly on the lips and whispered in
his ear, ‘I’ll pick up my things tomorrow.’ Then she stood up in her little red dress, swirled around and skipped into the crowd.

  He sat alone for a moment drank the dregs from his tiny coffee cup, and thought about her words. The only reason she could have known about Mikhail’s impending call that night, would have been that her father must have told her. Could it be that his employer used his daughter to spy on him? She was so beautiful, he knew that he was falling in love with her, but did Mikhail know that he was sleeping with her? Going forward, these questions could stand in the way, and he didn’t want to make any assumptions.

  ‘She said that he was her father, and he said that she was his daughter, but was she really?’ he asked himself out loud.

  Victor lay on his bed and contemplated all the questions that he set himself, he even tried to visualise her face and then tried to match that with Mikhail’s in a vain attempt, but he just couldn’t do it. Tiredness gave way to sleep as he lay on top of his bed. He dreamed about James Bond in a mixture of scenes where Mikhail and Lydiya played the leading roles. The scene that always woke him up was where he was always running away but never able to get far enough away from them as they chased him.

  He woke up in fading light and panicked a little as he reached for his watch on the glass topped table. It showed six fifty five. His head was spinning as he found his mobile phone. He searched the ‘last called’ screen and his last call two days ago was the one he was to call there and then. Before he rang Mikhail, he thought for a moment. He hadn’t made any calls for three days apart from that one but what if he had? Would someone be listening and making a note of them? These thoughts crossed his mind as he pressed the recall button.

  Mikhail’s deep voice answered immediately. ‘Well, dear boy, how are you? Well rested I hope. Are you now ready to take this to the next stage?’

  Victor knew what that was of course, but what he wanted to know was how to get to the warehouse.

  ‘I’m sending a driver for you with instructions to carry out all your wishes, and of course you can use the services of the security detachment as you think necessary.’

  Finally Mikhail told him that he and another would be going to the warehouse on the Saturday morning to perform an informal audit, and that he would only be available on that number between seven and eight in the evenings, for the next two days.

  On the bedside table, he found a small hand sized book beautifully bound with gold edgings. He opened the heavy leather front cover titled ‘Ghosts and Myths from the Steppes’, and there were three dedications which were very faint and water stained. He could just make out one of them with Cyrillic script, and then in Lydiya’s unmistakeable writing.

  ‘To V. till the next time L.’

  The book was in English, but what was she doing with ‘Ghosts and myths from the Steppes’? That beautiful Lydiya was a complete enigma to him, he thought to himself. Victor did have to admit deep feelings for her because of just that trait.

  Victor sat on his bed for a moment. He realised that for some people, what Mikhail had instructed would have made them feel trapped, but in his case he was really enthusiastic about the task that had been set him, in fact he just couldn’t wait for the next day to come.

  The flat, of course, was feeling empty now without Lydiya, so he decided to walk down the boulevard to a little café for dinner. As he sat at the little painted table, he looked at the other diners in the restaurant and assessed them. Were they watching him? He quickly dismissed the idea as a phobia, but as he walked back to his flat after dinner, he couldn’t resist looking back to see if anyone was following him. As he climbed the steps he looked up and down the street at the parked cars. Did they have any occupants in them?

  The next morning, the usual large man in a tight fitting dark suit pulled up in a Renault outside Victor’s flat and Victor got into the passenger seat. He greeted the driver in Russian, and introduced himself. This took the man by surprise and so he did the same, and said his name was Levka.

  When they arrived at the warehouse he found it much the same as when he had left. The weeds were still there, still growing on the drive and in front of the big blue doors. Two guards packing their automatic weapons moved forward as the car approached, and then relaxed as Victor alighted.

  The young man entered the building through the side door and spent a few minutes surveying the situation inside the cavernous area. He stood at the back of the lorry and looked at the tightly packed items. Thankfully Mikhail had taken note of his advice, and everything seemed to be well wrapped individually in bubble wrap. The first concern about damage in transit had now faded from his mind.

  All five of the Russians stood chatting around the office desk and smoking. Victor decided to take control; he stood in front of them all and told them that their cooperation would be required. He asked that the guards take of their flak jackets and remove their automatic weapons, saying that he could see no need to pack them in the daytime. He was amazed that they did as they were told, but noticed that underneath their jackets they all had a shoulder holster containing a pistol. He just smiled at them, thinking that was what they probably went to bed with, so he said nothing.

  One of the guards, a little older than the other three, stepped forward and told Victor that he was the senior guard and if he was to give him the instructions, he would tell the others what to do. Three of the men put their backs into unloading the items; the other two men carefully took off the wrapping on the treasures until, in just six hours there was an orderly pile of artefacts, all thankfully intact.

  They all spent the last hour of the day, placing them into a rough category order, so that on the next day, when the lorry could be removed, Victor could make a better job of categorising them.

  He thanked them for excellent work, and promised to give a good report to the Ambassador in his report the next day. They all shook his hand and reverted back to their security mode, donning flak jackets and automatic weapons again.

  As Levka drove him back to his flat, he suggested to Victor that he would get instructions from the Ambassador about disposal of the lorry, which of course saved Victor from ringing him.

  Tired and somewhat stressed out, he opened his apartment door and just lay on top of his bed to get the ache out of his back. He realised that he had not eaten since breakfast so he grabbed a quick shower, changed into something clean and comfortable and went out into the boulevard thinking about nothing but food. He walked along the same route as the previous evening and the little café came into view. He stopped for a moment and looked around, realising that the thought of being followed had clouded his mind again.

  Just outside of the café, a taxi was waiting, he jumped in and asked the driver to take him a few blocks away, and then to drive slowly until he saw a reasonable place. He paid the taxi driver and walked inside. As it was early in the evening there were plenty of tables available. The waiter showed him one, but he asked for one in the window, to which the waiter led him. This was getting like paranoia. There had been no suspicious signs that he could see, but he just could not stop himself. Maybe when this task was done he would call it a day and tell Victor he could not complete the disposal. Or maybe he should broach the whole subject of his fears with him. But then he thought would he be satisfied with the Ambassador’s answers?

  The next morning, after a repeat performance of his vivid dream he was waiting for his lift. Levka seemed much more relaxed as he leaned out of the window, cigarette in his mouth and gave Victor a smile. He told his young boss that he had been instructed to take the lorry first thing to a pick up point on the outskirts of the city, and that it would be transferred to the owners from there. Victor felt that this was going to be a better day. As they reached the northern outskirts of the great city, he asked Levka to pull up outside of a liquor store, gave him a large denomination Euro note with instructions to buy a litre of the very best Vodka and some plastic glasses.

  Just in case the other men at the warehouse sa
w what they had, he asked Levka to hide their booze in the boot of the Renault. The driver knew exactly what Victor was up to, smiled and lit another cigarette.

  All four of the guards had already taken off their jackets and removed their automatic weapons and had their sleeves rolled up when they arrived. It was easy to get the treasures into their correct order from the lists he had, until he got to the smaller items, of which there were many. Once again Levka came up with an idea. He suggested that having spotted a hardware warehouse on the way in to the site, he could purchase some tables to place the small items on. Victor gave him a two hundred Euro note and asked him to get six.

  He was back with them and a hundred in change, in only half an hour. As they were placing the smaller items on the tables, there was no doubt that the time saved was significant. At around five they had completed the whole consignment of artefacts; Victor stood with his back to the blue sliding doors and surveyed their efforts. With the lorry out of the area there was room to put a wide aisle between the categories and access to even the furthest item was very easy. They were done.

  Victor nodded at Levka, who ran outside to the Renault and was back in ten seconds with a brightly coloured plastic bag. By six in the evening more than half of the bottle was empty, and for the first time the guards had relaxed and were positively laughing.

  Victor looked at his watch and told them they had done a great job and informed the senior guard that the Ambassador and other important people would be there first thing the next morning to inspect their work. The senior guard grabbed the neck of the Vodka bottle and removed it from the table. Without a sound all four men became guards again and in a matter of minutes they were standing to attention, fully clothed and fully armed again. They all shook Victors hand firmlyand said in unison"прощай” and Victor repeated the Russian ‘farewell’ back to them.