The Woman Who Heard Color (48 page)

As Patrick parked the car, she glimpsed at her notes again, though she knew every word of her speech by heart. Every word had been approved by Isabella. She slipped her note cards into her small bag. Patrick was helping Adam. Lauren lifted Melanie out of the car seat. She’d fallen asleep during the drive. Maybe she’d nap through the presentation and reception. The baby’s blue eyes popped open wide.

“You’ll be a good girl while Mommy talks?” Lauren asked. She’d considered getting a sitter, but decided this day was too important. History was being made and Lauren wanted the children to be present, even if they would have no memory of the event. As she exchanged a look with Patrick, she felt the heavy pounding of her heart and that annoying little twitch behind her left eye. She must be crazy, bringing a baby and five-year-old to such an important art museum presentation.

“We’re fine,” he said, reassuringly. “Too late to reconsider now. If she gets fussy, I’ll take her out.”

“I’ll take her out, too,” Adam offered.

“Thanks, sweetie.” Lauren took her son’s hand. “You’ve got the camera?” she asked Patrick.

He pulled it out of his pocket and snapped a picture of Lauren with Melanie balanced on her hip, Adam holding her hand.

“You look great,” Patrick said.

“Thank you.” She felt good about having chosen a colorful outfit, something that both Hanna and Wassily Kandinsky would, no doubt, find quite fitting for the occasion.

As they entered the gallery, Patrick took Melanie and reached for Adam’s hand. Lauren’s eyes were drawn immediately to the Kandinsky
Composition
. Here in the museum, under a lighting system designed specifically for the painting, the colors were stunning. A group had already gathered. The director headed toward Lauren, but was stopped by a woman she recognized as one of the museum’s most generous donors. Lauren’s eyes swept the room to see if maybe Isabella had changed her mind.

When Lauren called last evening, she’d replied with a definite
no
. Lauren guessed that the woman had too much pride to show up in such a physically deteriorated condition. One side of her body was partially paralyzed, and though she was beautifully dressed when Lauren visited—thanks to a home health-care worker—it had become even more tedious and difficult for her to leave her home. During the time they’d spent together, Lauren had learned that Isabella was proud, but maybe a little shy, too. Even before the stroke, Lauren guessed that she seldom went out. Groceries were delivered; a woman came in to clean each week. Isabella never spoke of leaving the apartment, and one day when Lauren invited her for lunch, the woman said, “Oh, I’m just more comfortable here at home.”

Lauren spotted the mayor of New York, and then the governor. Several stories had appeared in the
Times
about this donation. It was big news. She wondered if any of Isabella’s relatives would appear. Richard Barber was the only one she would recognize, and she didn’t see him.

She shot Patrick a disappointed look, and then she turned, shocked, as her mom, her dad, her brother, his wife, and their daughter and son entered the room.

“What a nice surprise!” Lauren exclaimed, rushing over to them, kissing her mom on the cheek, giving her dad a hug, then taking the others into a group hug as her heart pounded with both excitement and nerves.

“Oh, look at you!” her mother squealed, taking the baby from Patrick. “Look how big you are.”

“And me, too,” Adam said.

“Yes, you are getting so grown-up,” his grandmother replied as Lauren’s father gave the boy’s hair a little ruffle.

“What are you, fifteen now?” he said with a tease in his voice. Adam giggled, and Lauren observed, not for the first time, that her dad was so much more lighthearted and affectionate with the grandchildren than he’d ever been with Lauren and her brother.

“We’re very proud of you,” her mother said as her father nodded. That was about as much as she’d get from him, and it was enough. They were here.

They’d flown in from California last night, her mom explained, and were staying at their usual hotel. They never stayed with Lauren and Patrick even when the trip was planned well in advance. Her mother’s constant refrain: “You know we old folks need a bit of privacy, and your father, he’s up at least half a dozen times a night.”

As the director approached, Lauren introduced her family, even as her eyes darted around the room again. Still no Isabella. No one to represent the family other than Lauren.

The program began with the director introducing several dignitaries and donors and acknowledging a number of others in the room. He invited everyone to a reception in the Patron’s Lounge following the presentation, and expressed his sincere thanks for the generosity of Mrs. Isabella Fletcher in the gift of the Kandinsky
Composition II
, one of the greatest art revelations of the century.

Then he introduced Lauren as a representative speaking for Mrs. Fletcher, whose health did not allow her to attend.

“As with any painting,” Lauren began, looking out over the gathering, “there is always a history—the history of the artist, the time and place in which it was created, and a history of those who have enjoyed and owned the painting throughout its lifetime.” Lauren steadied her hand on the lectern. She was feeling especially jittery now that her parents were here. She glanced down at her notes. When her eyes rose, there she was in the back of the room, one arm looped through her nephew’s, one hand on her cane. She wore a lovely fall suit of rust-colored wool. A woman Lauren took to be Richard’s wife stood to his left; a young couple, most likely the grandnephew and his wife, followed closely behind.

Isabella lifted her head proudly, a half smile on her lips, and then she rolled her eyes toward the nephew, indicating, Lauren had no doubt, that
he
, not Isabella, was the reason for their tardiness.

Lauren smiled at Isabella, so very pleased that she was here, feeling now as if the day had suddenly become whole. Knowing she would not want to be introduced or cause any interruption, Lauren paused for only a brief moment as the little group settled into seats in the back.

“I would like to tell you the story of a young woman,” Lauren continued, “who in 1900 at the age of sixteen left the family farm in Bavaria and set out for Munich. Perhaps she was looking for an adventure and some excitement, but I’m sure at the time she had no idea what was to come. She found work in the home of a distinguished art dealer and a love was sparked—for this man who would eventually become her husband, and for the art.” Lauren met Isabella’s eyes once more and she could see a subtle flash of approval, which helped calm her unsteady hands and voice. “A passion that would remain for a lifetime and which would eventually throw Hanna, involuntarily, into a world where every step, every thought, was controlled.” Lauren paused for a moment, taking a deep breath. “This woman was Hanna Fleischmann, Isabella Fletcher’s mother. The art dealer was Mrs. Fletcher’s father, Moses Fleischmann.”

Isabella nodded. Again Lauren looked out over the crowd: Patrick, Adam—thankfully, being very well behaved—her brother, sister-in-law, and their children. Her mother held the baby on her knee with a gentle bounce. Both stared out at full attention, Melanie obviously recognizing her own mother’s voice.

“This painting”—Lauren turned and motioned toward the Kandinsky
Composition
—“ would not be hanging before us today if not for Hanna, her family, and their heroic efforts.” Lauren explained how the painting was originally purchased by Moses Fleischmann as a gift for his wife to celebrate the birth of their son, how it was reluctantly sold, and then reclaimed. She shared the story of how it was hidden away at a family farm in Bavaria during the destructive years of World War II.

“But the story goes much beyond this single painting.”

She spoke of Hitler’s censorship and artistic purge, of Hanna’s being enlisted to help with the cataloguing in Berlin, of her separation from her children, of rescuing and secretly concealing the art taken from the warehouse.

“Hanna felt that the right of artistic expression,” Lauren said, “which Kandinsky himself believed originated in the soul, was as essential and as important as the right to life itself.” She went on to tell of how this saved art was eventually returned to the German museums. “Though these pieces might be considered less significant than the Kandinsky painting before us, each was important to Hanna, who risked much to save them, and this must be remembered as we tell her story.”

Lauren turned again toward the large painting. “Wassily Kandinsky’s
Composition II
has meant so much to Mrs. Fletcher over the years, as it did to her mother, Hanna Fleischmann, her father, Moses Fleischmann, and her brother, Wilhelm. It is with some sadness, yet with joy, that she presents it to the Metropolitan Museum of Art.”

Once more Lauren’s eyes met Isabella’s. Not a tear to be seen. But Lauren could feel it—the great joy and satisfaction in Isabella’s eyes, finally knowing the truth in what her mother had done, in having Hanna’s story told here today, sharing her courage with the world. Then Lauren caught her father’s eye, and she was sure that she detected a glisten.

“Not only does this painting represent Isabella Fleischmann Fletcher’s childhood in Munich and the happiness of her family, but it represents her mother Hanna’s struggle, her survival. Perhaps even more important,” Lauren said, “this painting represents the freedom of creativity itself, and Isabella has asked that I express how greatly pleased her mother, Hanna, would be to share this with all of you.” Again she glanced to the back of the room. Isabella’s thin lips quivered as they formed the words
Thank you
. Lauren nodded, took in another deep breath to keep her own emotions in check, exhaled, and continued. “Return someday with your families and friends, and as you view this painting, share with them the story of Hanna Fleischmann.”

Lauren turned and gazed at Kandinsky’s
Composition II
. The memories that Isabella had shared flashed in her mind, and she felt as if she could actually see the painting hanging in the music room in Munich, and then, for a very brief moment, she felt as if she could hear it—the vibrant, triumphant sounds of the colors.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to these friends and writers for reading early drafts and chapters: Renie Hays, Paul Van Dam, Joyce Davis, Judy Frederick, Coston Frederick, Maria Eschen, and Pat Koleini. I’d like to extend a special note of gratitude to Linda Kahn for a rush reading as we approached the end.

Thank you to Margrit Robertson and Coston Frederick for sharing memories and observations of life in Germany and America in the years leading up to and during World War II. Thanks to my Berkley editor, Kate Seaver, with an extra thank-you from my greatestgeneration and baby-boomer readers for the larger-sized print. Much gratitude to editorial assistant Katherine Pelz for her technical support in getting me through the frustrations of those final edits.

As always, I am grateful for my wonderful agent, Julie Barer, who, even after reading draft after draft, did not give up on the story. To my husband, Jim, once more, thank you for your support through this lengthy process and for handling the baggage on our research field trips to Munich and Berlin.

 

 

I have relied on information from numerous sources and publications to frame Hanna’s story in the proper historical context. Among these are:
The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich
, William L. Shirer, Simon & Schuster, New York, 1960;
Prelude to War
, Robert T. Elson and the editors of Time-Life Books, Time-Life Books Inc., Alexandria, VA, 1976, 1977;
The Rape of Europa: The Fate of Europe’s Treasures in the Third Reich and the Second World War
, Lynn H. Nicholas, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., New York, 1994. Two books published in conjunction with art exhibitions have been extremely helpful.
“Degenerate Art”: The Fate of the Avant-Garde in Nazi Germany
by Stephanie Barron was copublished in 1991 by the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and Harry N. Abrams, Inc., for an exhibition that later traveled to the Art Institute of Chicago.
Kandinsky: The Path to Abstraction
was published in 2006 by Tate Publishing, a division of Tate Enterprises Ltd., Millbank, London, on the occasion of an exhibition organized through the collaborative efforts of Tate Modern, London, and the Kunstmuseum Basel. I had the opportunity to view the Kandinsky exhibition at the Kunstmuseum in October 2006.

READERS GUIDE
FOR
The Woman Who Heard Color

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1. What opportunities open up for Hanna when she becomes an employee in the Fleischmann home? How do these allow her to choose a different path from the one she might have taken had she stayed on the farm? Do you believe Hanna is a woman ahead of her times? What role do Hanna’s own choices and her early fearlessness play in determining her future?

 

 

2. Were you initially suspicious of Isabella’s story, and were you surprised by how it all unfolded? Did you find her memories to be a reliable source of information?

 

 

3. What was life like for a Jewish citizen in Germany prior to World War II? What was restricted and what were the human costs as Hitler took power? What do you think it was like for Hanna, a Christian with a Jewish husband? How did her marriage affect her relationships with her own family members, particularly her sister Leni?

 

 

4. How do you think Hanna felt as a child when she discovered that others did not hear color? Does this condition make her more empathetic with those who might be considered odd or different? Isabella describes her mother’s synesthesia as a gift rather than a liability. Do you believe Hanna came to see her blending of the senses as an asset, too?

 

 

5. What role should the government play in determining what is acceptable art? Who should decide what type of art is shown in publicly supported museums? Should certain types of art be subject to government censorship?