A Savage Kultur

By Monique Roy

Set in the early days of Adolf Hitler's rise to power and present-day England, the story follows Ava, an art student at Oxford University, who inherits her beloved grandfather's London art gallery after his death. He leaves her a letter with one last wish—that she recover a treasured Vincent van Gogh painting deemed degenerate and looted by the Nazis in 1937. Throughout this daunting task, she unravels her grandparent's harrowing struggle in Nazi Germany. As her search for the lost art deepens, her emotions and beliefs are tested. She faces conflict with her German boyfriend who is hiding a grim past, as well as confronts tribulations in Switzerland as she gets closer to justice and to discovering the dark history of World War II still haunts the present.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543970067

Monique Roy

Monique Roy was born in Cape Town, South Africa, in 1975, and grew up in Dallas, Texas, which is still her home. She has always had passion for writing, even as a child. Monique studied journalism at Southern Methodist University in Dallas. She loves to travel and has visited Venice, Italy. In fact, it is one of her favorite places on Earth. Once Upon a Time in Venice is Monique's first book for middle-grade readers. She is also the author of Across Great Divides, a World War 2, historical fiction novel.

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Prologue

London, England

New Year’s Eve, 2013

It was an icy New Year’s Eve in London when Ava Goldman contemplated the bitter side of life. As she strolled home from a cozy bookshop before sunset, she noticed the wind crisscrossed between ancient buildings, thick snow blanketed the streets, and a single piece of newsprint swirled up in the gust. This weather was not everyone’s cup of tea, but Ava liked the invigorating, crisp air and the hoarfrost on the grass. She could stare for hours at the individual snowflakes that sparkled like glitter and diamonds.

The chilly weather scarcely dampened the mood as the city, on the dawn of another year, still hummed with activity and celebration. Ava knew she was not alone in her thoughts. Merry revelers stood on the banks of the Thames River, which lay frigid from below London Bridge. They, too, were on a journey, quietly observing the world before them as they tried to imagine the future and rehash the past. Glowing fireworks burst around Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, illuminating the night sky with explosions of bright and vivacious colors of light.

In these moments when nothing stirred, she remembered the past, understood the present, thought of the future, and she dug deep into her soul. Ava vowed to remain centered no matter what came her way. To her, this meant being more grounded and calm. She hoped the new year brought with it hope and renewal like a radiant flower that springs from a timeworn vine.

That evening, Ava met some friends for a night on the town. Ava sighed, her breath crystallized in front of her face. She quickened her pace, trying to keep warm, walking in silence among some friends as they weaved through crowds of people toward a riverside Victorian pub. For Ava, it was almost too cold to even speak. Her full red lips quivered in the frigid night.

She shivered and groaned at the biting cold air, drawing her thick wool coat closer around herself as she continued to stroll around the mob of people.

Her best friend, Isla Rose, caught up with her fast pace. Ava smiled at how pretty she looked wearing her large, brown Russian fur hat. Some locks of lustrous raven hair fell beneath it, tickling Isla’s slender neck.

It’s bloody cold out here, darling! Isla said, walking arm-in-arm with her friend. You look like you’re deep in thought and freezing.

Yes, frigid, Ava said, sighing. I’m pondering my life. Isn’t that what everyone does on New Year’s Eve?

I suppose, Isla said. The future is unknown, my dear friend, but there is always a way. There is always hope. Life can be magical.

As they turned the corner, Ava stopped walking as her eyes first caught the sight of a strange, thinly-built, small man standing under a street light at the opposite side of the street. The light illuminated his creepy outfit—a black SS uniform, complete with a cap and red armband emblazoned with a swastika.

The sinister man caused a stunned crowd to slowly disperse into the night.

Isla jumped when she saw the man.

Gawd blimey! she exclaimed, clutching her hand to her chest.

Ava blinked, thinking her eyes were playing tricks, but the sight was very real. The man was smoking heavily. Cigarette butts lay scattered on the ground around him. His dark glasses covered most of his face, except for his chalk-pale cheeks and chin. It was hard to know who he was looking at or why he was there. His head was tilted back slightly as if he was looking at the stars in the night sky. His mouth formed a strange variation between a grimace and a smile as it loosely held a lit cigarette. It was as if he was taunting the crowd in a strange and eerie silence.

People walked by him, either laughing or gasping in shock, many not knowing how to react to the absurdity. Ava continued to stand several feet away horrified. Her eyes were glued to the man who was now perfectly parallel to them. A cold chill crept up her spine, raising the tiny hairs on the back of her neck. The man did not react; he just stood there, like a statue. He did not say a word to anyone.

An older man walked by and spat on the strange man’s black boots. Still the mysterious man did not react. He continued to watch the crowd who stared back at him in terror and pointed fingers.

Should we call the police? Isla asked.

I have to get out of here, Ava said in a panic. This is so disturbing and bizarre.

When they arrived at the pub, Ava sat wide-eyed in shock.

Are you alright? Isla asked.

Ava nodded. Please order me a stiff drink.

Her friends sitting around her, a buzz of conversations filled the air. A few friends were chatting about this and that, and their hopes and dreams for the coming year. Then the conversation grew more serious.

Did you see that odd guy outside? one friend asked. Has anyone seen someone dressed in a Nazi uniform before?

Everyone just shook their heads.

Speaking of Nazis…we must all know someone who has an untold story in their family’s past, said another friend.

Upon hearing it, Ava jolted from her ice-cold trance and her mind raced with many questions.

As she continued to listen, she felt great despair and a concern for the future. It was a jarring wake-up call that a treasure trove of information about her family’s past lay within her grandparents—one who struggled to relive the past and the other who no longer remembered it.

Everyone has secrets, the one friend said to the other. Some secrets should be kept in the deep, dark depths of our being and some should be brought wide into the open.

The other friend said, I believe some secrets destroy us if not revealed, but not all are destructive; sometimes they are crucial to our lives.

She believed those words, except she had no idea what that untold story, those secrets, could possibly be. She hoped that if her family had dark secrets, that they would not be lost to the grave one day.

Since that evening, those words hit a sensitive nerve. They reminded her of what her grandfather used to say when she was younger.

♦♦♦

Ava’s grandfather always said to view the world with a wary eye. When Ava asked why, he would respond that she was by nature a kind and halcyon person and that she must be aware of the transient world around her.

People judge, he would tell her, people can be evil.

Ava never pushed the subject beyond those words because he would never answer. Her grandfather would never tell her about the darkness that lay within his soul. She knew not to ask—not to push him back to that gloomy corner of his very being.

Ava grew up with the knowledge that something terrible must have happened to her grandfather to make him embody such a cautious way of looking at the world. In fact, she was convinced. Yet, he was unable to talk about the past and what happened in his younger days. The war had closed a part of him off. As Ava grew older, she let go any hope that her grandfather would reopen old wounds. Perhaps the truth was more than that—he was afraid to be taken back to a place that he had tried so hard to leave behind.

Chapter 1

Oxford, England

May 2014

At the dead of night in the City of Dreaming Spires, on the first day of May, Ava greeted the beginning of spring and eternal evenings in a liberated and bemused fashion. Her exquisite and ethereal cream-colored ball gown swayed as she danced through picturesque cobbled streets, and her eyes twinkled with amusement as she joined thousands of Oxford students in raucous celebrations. This timeless May morning spring festival was no different to the hundreds of years of tradition that came before it. The air was filled with treble notes, as gifted choirboys sang medieval lyrics like Hymnus Eucharisticus from the tallest tower at Magdalen College, overlooking drunken and joyful all-night revelers, as the sun rose on this first morning of May.

Dressed in black tie, Ava’s boyfriend, Jonas von Brauner, shared an old-fashioned bottle of rare French champagne, a party gift they received at the decadent all-night ball that had filled their evening with much enchantment and splendor. As she took the elegant, gold-colored bottle from him, and before she savored the delicate taste of the sublime champagne, Jonas leaned down and planted a luscious kiss on her lips. His kiss always triggered sensations she had never felt before, and when he pulled his mouth away, her joyful eyes devoured him, every inch of his existence.

Take me home, he said, as Ava took a sip of the champagne. You’re incredibly beautiful tonight. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against him. Ava smiled up at Jonas as her fingers found their home in his wavy, blonde hair. She pressed her warm, soft lips against his, and he groaned as he slanted his lips over hers and reveled in the sweet taste of her.

This was one of those glorious nights where nothing else mattered, not even the imminent exam season. Ava grabbed Jonas’ hand and led him home. As the sunrise was beginning to warm the earth, they stumbled through back alleys to avoid the crowds and the foot stomping of the Morris dances that welcomed the summer and warded off evil spirits. Intoxicated with delight and splendid champagne, Ava quickened her pace down Oxford’s fabled narrow lanes and through the twisting passage that winds around the Bridge of Sighs (Hertford Bridge) as Jonas glided from behind, beaming at her.

This is by far the best May ever! Jonas exclaimed.

It’s only just begun. She grinned, looking back at him briefly.

He then stopped to catch his breath, pulling her close to him.

Why do I love you so? he asked, looking into her starry and expressive emerald green eyes, the most memorable feature of Ava’s face.

Jonas’ blue-eyed gaze was so penetrating that Ava locked her lips with his. Then, she briefly looked up past the Gothic splendor of churches and colleges toward the night sky. The bright moon’s glow thinly veiled by wispy cirrus clouds. Millions of tiny diamonds sparkled in the sky, shining brilliance and light upon life below.

The first time Ava saw Jonas two years prior, he was driving a gunmetal grey Aston Martin. She was sitting outside a café drinking coffee when his iconic sports car pulled up at the corner. He exited the car and entered the café, and Ava was fascinated by him from that moment onward. Jonas could mesmerize any human being by the utter force of his presence.

After that day, Ava would often notice his sleek car around town that let him crank down the road, dominating slow drivers and traversing daunting traffic and narrow streets. Driving with him for the first time, she noticed his penchant for speed, and all things expensive and fast. He would tell her later that things that went fast lifted his spirits and challenged his thrill-seeking needs. It was not long after that initial glance of Jonas at the café that they were soon introduced at a party.

When Jonas walked into a room, the very first thing one noticed was his refined grace and masculine, athletic qualities. He stood just over six-foot with broad shoulders compared to Ava’s petite frame. A cleft chin and cheek dimples made women swoon, a favorite souvenir from his father. He possessed a certain radiance and charm that most women found irresistible and that Ava always found alluring.

Twenty-two-year-old Jonas was highly sought-after not only because of his good looks, powerful charisma and brilliant mind. He was a German prince who would one day assume management of his family’s 500-year-old castle nestled amid 900 hectares of forest above the Alme valley. His family’s long lineage in the forestry business was a task he was well-groomed to take ownership of and would provide him with special privileges. But with a future mapped out for him, the young prince needed a small diversion until his noble duties took over at the age of 25. He found art to be his true passion—and the very thing that drove Ava and Jonas together was a love for beauty and fine art. The quintessence of art bound them together like paint creates a masterpiece.

Ava and Jonas continued walking, almost sleepwalking, through winding streets and over cobblestones, and finally along the towpath that lined the narrow Oxford Canal. Holding hands and too exhausted to chit-chat, they passed the 19th-century Oxford University Press, spreading along north-south Walton Street like a great golden eagle. Finally, home was close as they stepped into the stylish Jericho district, sprinkled with chic brasseries and cafes, enchanting book shops, and residential blocks of charming Victorian and Edwardian houses.

Mildly Gothic in appearance, the warm yellow-brick frontage with gables greeted them, framed with fussy detailing in the stonework, which glowed in the slanting silver rays of the moonshine. They climbed several stone steps to an entrance porch and entered through the vestibule, which opened into a large entrance hall with high-ceilings and a fine crystal chandelier that gave sparkle to their evenings at home.

Ava’s head was still spinning from an evening of decadence and indulgence. Jonas fell asleep minutes after returning home as Ava removed her ball gown quietly in their bedroom. She stepped out of the bedroom and entered the porcelain bathroom.

She sighed, suddenly feeling fatigued and dizzy as she turned on the water in the shower. Ava let the warm water run over her long, wavy brown hair and face, removing the remnants of makeup and clearing her mind, like a cleansing spring rain storm bringing freshness to the air. She began to quickly sober up and an influx of thoughts raced into her mind. She recalled an urgent message from her mother from the evening before that she had not responded to yet, and she sighed heavily upon remembering her art history and theory examination in two days. A half-empty canvas that sat on her dining room table featured trees in a swirling vortex towards a vanishing point, and little else. It was also due in two days for one of her art classes.

But when Ava was clean and fresh from the shower, all she could fathom was sleep. She turned into the room where Jonas lay on the bed, his body exposed to the breeze from the fan. As she approached the bed, he turned his head slowly towards her.

Did you call your mother? he asked half asleep.

Not yet, she said, amazed that he even remembered her mother had called. I must get some sleep. I can’t function right now. I just can’t think of anything else.

She curled up next to him, her eyes locked onto Jonas’ handsome face. She outlined his strong jawline with her finger. For a few moments, she watched him sleep as repose finally blanketed her, his breath mildly caressing her cheek. Ava leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss. She then settled; her mind and body relaxed. She felt a sudden sensation of her entire body falling as sleep took over.

♦♦♦

Later in the morning, Ava jerked awake by a loud beeping from her cell phone. Her lids fluttered open and then closed again as she grabbed her phone, answering it groggily.

Hello. She cleared her throat and lifted her head.

Ava, I have been trying to reach you, darling. Her mother’s cut-glass, British accent sounded exasperated.

I am so sorry, Mother. Ava opened her tired eyes and yawned into the phone. Is something the matter?

It’s terrible news, her mother, Vivienne, said. I am sorry to have to tell you.

What is it, Mother? What could be so bad, Ava thought, sitting up in bed.

Your grandfather has died, her mother said, nonchalantly, like it’s a normal occurrence, like it was a plant that had died in her garden.

A brief pause followed. Ava’s mind began to race. She wondered if she heard her mother correctly as she focused her eyes on Jonas sleeping next to her.

He died early this morning, her mother continued. You must have been preoccupied with the silly May Morning shenanigans. You were utterly unreachable…again.

Shocked, Ava rose from her bed and stared out of the bay window. She closed her eyes briefly and when she opened them, she hoped it was all a bad dream. This can’t be real, she thought. At that moment, she pictured her grandfather walking on the street below towards her apartment, like he had done many times before. He always had a smart appearance, even on Sundays, and she envisioned him dressed in his favorite pinstripe suit and an exquisite woven silk blue tie from Italy, the one he claimed always turned the heads of women, young and old. She smiled thinking about him and how he would stand below her apartment, look up and wave at her as she waited for him by the bay window. She meant to tell him how handsome he always looked and that she loved him.

She continued to watch the busy street below, perhaps as a small diversion, as her mother rattled on about the good, the bad, and the evil ways of her grandfather. However, she had never witnessed the evil or bad ways her mother talked of so vibrantly that she claimed had scarred her for life. All Ava could focus on was the last time she saw her grandfather, just a few weeks prior when they strolled down the street below and sipped tea together in a nearby café while discussing her bright future. They laughed a lot that day and her grandfather always told her to never lose her capacity to laugh, even when life turned grim and hopeless.

At first, her mother seemed unfazed, which surprised Ava. Ava took a deep breath, trying to compose herself as sadness began to rush across every inch of her body like a wave that released its energy quickly across the ocean and crashed on the shore.

Ava’s grandfather seemed to be fit and healthy. Her grandmother was the sick and weak one, withering away in an old age home in London. She could no longer walk, wore diapers, had complete dementia and faded farther away from reality every day. She barely recognized anyone and was unaware of time as she was stuck in a time in the past. Her grandfather was the strong one who sat by her grandmother’s bedside every day, all day, feeding her, or attempting to, and telling her stories of their younger days—stories that she could no longer connect with anymore, that had no meaning or relevance to her. Her grandfather always had a knack for words and his stories always made her grandmother smile, even if she did not realize their meaning or relevance. Her almond-shaped hazel eyes would always light up as she listened to his stories. Now her eyes were vacant and lifeless.

Ava? her mother asked. Are you there?

Grandpa? Ava questioned. My Poppy?

Yes, Vivienne said, now all choked up.

You are so passionate about art and life, like he was, Vivienne’s voice cracked. He loved you so much.

Yes, she said, swallowing hard. I know he did.

Tears welled up in Ava’s eyes, but she quickly wiped them away. Her body began to shake from shock and a lump rose in her throat.

She heard silence on the other end, and then her mother’s tears and sobbing.

Sorry, for your loss, Mother. Ava managed to say. I know you were not very close to your father, but you should know that when he visited me, he often said how much he loved you. I’ll be home tomorrow evening. Okay?

Vivienne sobbed louder in the phone, unable to say much, but only that our lives end so abruptly, and sometimes there is no proper closure that’s ever made whole.

The funeral is on Sunday morning, Vivienne said.

After the call ended, Ava lay down on the couch in silence. Poppy was gone. He was the reason her grandmother was alive today. He was a truly unselfish human being who helped her grandmother survive the Holocaust. Courageous and brave, he fell in love with a Jew and risked everything during one of the darkest times when Jews were considered enemies of the Third Reich, and not even considered to be people by the Nazis. Poppy claimed he never feared for his life during the war, but her grandmother did, he would say. He had to be strong for her or they would not have made it.

Ava never had the chance to ask Poppy what he thought of our world today. Sometimes the world seemed to be a darker, more terrifying place and other times, it was bright, forward-moving, but transforming at an ever-greater pace. And the infection of anti-Semitism was increasingly growing strong in Europe amid the rise in popularity of extremist parties most notably in France, home to the largest population of Jews and Muslims in Europe. Attacks on synagogues and Jewish-owned stores expanded in France and Germany. Swastikas on protest signs were rampant in France. Hatred toward the Jews seems to be always bubbling on the surface. Would it ever erupt again, like it once did? Did anti-Semitism really diminish after the war? Ava had never feared for her life, but history could repeat itself. She was sure that Poppy would still say he did not fear for his life, especially after living through one of the grimmest times in history, the Third Reich. As the nature of life is not permanence, but flux, she knew Poppy would tell her to find her island of stability—her home, her community, her family, and friends. That is what Poppy did during the war and that is what she strived to do that day and every day going forward.

At 22 years old, death had never really struck Ava as hard as it did now. The finality and fragility of life suddenly became so apparent—how vulnerable we are to death. No longer would she experience all that was her Poppy.

Her father’s parents died in a car accident when she was five years old. As sad as it was to lose someone close, she was not fortunate enough to know them very well. Their death did not affect her in the same way. Poppy was the person she was most like and the person who understood her best, better than her parents, and even Jonas. He was the person she looked up to, even at a young age.

When Ava closed her eyes, all she could think about was never seeing Poppy again—his charismatic character, his creative and sharp mind, the way his eyes twinkled when he laughed, and his great zest for life. Poppy was a gentleman of the greatest kind who loved art because it made the world a little more