the Amber Room

EIGHTEEN

Danya,

How my heart aches every day for what happened to Yancy Cutler. What a fine man, his wife such a good woman. All the rest of the people on that plane were good people, too. Good people shouldn't die so violent or so sudden. My son-in-law grieves deeply and it pains me to think I may be responsible. Yancy telephoned the night before the crash. He was able to locate the old man you mentioned whose brother worked at Loring's estate. You were right. I should never have asked Yancy to inquire again while in Italy. It wasn't right to involve others. The burden rests with you and me. But why have we survived? Do they not know where we are? What we know? Maybe we're no longer a threat? Only those who ask questions and get too close draw their attention. Indifference is perhaps far better than curiosity. So many years have passed, the Amber Room seems more a memory than a wonder of the world. Does anybody really care anymore? Stay safe and well, Danya. Keep in touch.

Karol

Danya,

The KGB came today. A fat Chechen who smelled like a sewer. He said he found my name in the Commission records. I thought the trail was too old and too cold to follow. But I was wrong. Be careful. He asked whether you are still alive. I told him the usual. I think we are the only two of the old ones left. All those friends gone. So sad. Maybe you're right. No more letters, just in case. Particularly now, since they know where I am. My daughter is about to have a child. My second grandchild. A girl this time, they tell me. Modern science. I liked the old ways when you wondered. But a little girl would be nice. My grandson is such a joy. I hope your grandchildren are well. Be safe, old friend.

Karol

Dear Karol,

The clipping enclosed is from the Bonn newspaper. Yeltsin arrived in Germany proclaiming he knew where the Amber Room was located. The newspapers and magazines buzzed with the announcement. Did it reach across the ocean to you? He claimed scholars uncovered the information from Soviet records. The Extraordinary Commission for Crimes against Russia, Yeltsin called us. Ha! All the fool did was extract a half billion marks in aid from Bonn, then apologized, saying the records weren't for the Amber Room but other treasures pilfered from Leningrad. More Russian bullshit. The Russians, Soviets, Nazis. All the same. The current talk about restoring Russian heritage is more propaganda. What they do is sell our heritage. The papers every day are full of stories about paintings, sculptures, and jewels being sold. A rummage sale of our history. We must keep the panels safe. No more letters, at least for awhile. The photo of your granddaughter is appreciated. The joy she must bring you. Good health, my friend.

Danya

Danya,

I hope this letter finds you well. It's been too long since we last wrote. I thought perhaps after three years, it may be safe. There have been no more visits, and I have read few reports on anything concerning the panels. Since we last communicated, my daughter and her husband divorced. They love each other, yet simply cannot live together. My grandchildren are well. I hope yours are, too. We are both old. It would be nice to venture and see if the panels are really there. But neither of us can make the journey. Besides, it might still be too dangerous. Somebody was watching when Yancy Cutler asked questions about Loring. I know in my heart that bomb was not meant for an Italian minister. I still grieve for the Cutlers. So many have died looking for the Amber Room. Perhaps it should stay lost. No matter. Neither of us can protect it much longer. Good health, old friend.

Karol

Rachel,

My precious darling. My only child. Your father now rests in peace with your mother. We are surely together, for a merciful God would not deny two people who loved each other the opportunity of eternal happiness. I have penned this note to say what perhaps should have been said in life. You have always been aware of my past, what I did for the Soviets before emigrating. I pilfered art. Nothing more than a thief, but one sanctioned and encouraged by Stalin. I rationalized it at the time with my hatred for the Nazis, but I was wrong. We stole so much from so many, all in the name of reparations. What we sought most was the Amber Room. Ours by heritage, stolen by invaders. The letters bound to this note tell some of the story of our search. My old friend Danya and I looked hard. Did we ever find it? Perhaps. Neither of us really went and looked. Too many were watching in those days and, by the time we narrowed the trail, both of us realized the Soviets were far worse than the Germans. So we left it alone. Danya and I vowed never to reveal what we knew, or perhaps simply what we thought we knew. Only when Yancy volunteered to make discreet inquiries, checking information that I once thought credible, did I inquire again. He was making an inquiry on his last trip to Italy. Whether that blast on the plane was attributable to his questions or something else will never be known. All I know is that the search for the Amber Room has proved dangerous. Maybe the danger comes from what Danya and I suspect. Maybe not. I haven't heard from my old comrade in many years. My last letter to him went unanswered. Perhaps he is with me now, too. My precious Maya. My friend Danya. Good companions for eternity. Hopefully it will be many years before you join us, my darling. Have a good life. Be successful. Take care of Marla and Brent. I love them so. I'm very proud of you. Be good. Maybe give Paul another chance. But never, absolutely never concern yourself with the Amber Room. Remember the story of Phaethon and the tears of the Heliades. Heed his ambition and their grief. Maybe the panels will be found one day. I hope not. Politicians should not be entrusted with such a treasure. Leave it in its grave. Tell Paul I'm so sorry. I love you.