Chapter 15. Tea in a Time of Uncertainty
Tea in a Time of Uncertainty
"Every deception begins with a story," Louis said. Louis was always saying something. He would say this as he got out of the car, returning from his trip to the city and back, a journey he drove almost every day, paying particular attention to be seen by as many people as possible. This was his story, and he wanted to have it permeate the minds of the audience that held us under observation. He wanted them to not just believe it, but to do something about it. We were casting a spell: everybody was watching Louis; nobody was watching us. Louis was clearly dissatisfied with the black market price for a Lipizzaner show horse; he continually showed disdain for the niceties of civil enterprise as well as for the local law of the land. The focus for those concerned was on what this so-called doctor would do next, and just how far he would go.
With everyone’s suspicions centered on Louis, the rest of the Jovanović house-based IMRS contingent was free to move around under the cover of obscurity. We would be the ones to sneak into the identified stable and spirit away the Lipizzaners, if one could say such a thing about stealing and transporting twenty-some half ton beasts. As we were fleeing with our quarry, Louis and a few local freelancers would make a louder and more visible show of stealing what was no longer there, coming in after us and leading the stable guards on a wild goose chase, the freelancers dissolving back into their localities afterwards and Louis driving his trailer away from the scene of the crime, hopefully with security in hot pursuit. Meanwhile, we would be escaping in the opposite direction. In addition to this, Louis’ trailer would be loaded with cattle, secured by Dr. Landru, not horses. Stereo speakers discreetly mounted on the roof facing outward would broadcast the sounds of horses neighing and hooves stomping to complete the impression that he had escaped with the goods. If Louis was caught, he had a story ready to tell regarding his cargo, his vet friend Landru, and an exhibit at the International Agricultural Fair at the Novi Sad Fairground. He would be believed, or he would be left holding the bag. And we would be over the border.
This was, frankly, an improbable story and an improbable setup. So improbable in fact, that, counterintuitively, it was thought to have to be believed. No one would make this up. Our actual scheme was no less grand: the horses would be taken out of the stables under the stealth of night and loaded onto trailers which would be driven about an hour away to a train depot, where they would be transferred to a freight train bound for Hungary. The train would cross the border and stop mid-route near Kiskunhalas, Hungary. There was an airstrip nearby which some of us would use to fly out with at least two of the stallions and several mares. The rest would be loaded onto trailers for the return journey to Lipik. Success was not a given, the undertaking as mad as its cover story. We would need the sleight of hand of deception; we would depend heavily on luck and the element of surprise; we would need the deity of one’s choosing to help us.
Louis became increasingly gun-shy as the time approached, even though it was originally his scheme and he had pushed mightily for it, was a little too proud of it, possessive of it, truth be told. He had talked big and now he hoped his courage matched his imagination, hoped his strength of will matched his bravado. Richard at one point said he would hang back after the heist and drive the decoy trailer, but everyone agreed his skills were needed for handling the Lipizzaners. And Louis bristled at the suggestion. He had set up the whole charade and was the man people would believe, or if not believe, would at least be wary of; he was the one quick enough on his feet and glib enough to talk himself out of a jam, if caught. What cock and bull story could Richard come up with to explain a juggernaut lorry full of cattle?
I often spoke with Louis about this in old Jovanović’s kitchen while making him a cup of tea as a break from the ubiquitous espresso. I assumed it would ease his anxieties, an overestimation of the power of both the darjeeling and my empathy, but the gesture was appreciated. As the tea brewed, I sometimes talked to him about my uncle and his train and the power of love, or sometimes dwelled on the dancers of my New York City sidewalk and the persistence of art, and he would smile and joke that he was a physician not a metaphysicist, then I would say he was both, and he would laugh and salute me with his mug and tell me “This is the best cup of tea I ever had. It does everything tea is supposed to do: restores one’s faith in humanity, cheers one up.” And I would continue prattling on that here we were doing our small part in saving this Croatian national treasure, the ‘Joy of Lipik,’ and he would sigh and sip his tea, and continue on despite his better judgment. All we needed now for his ruse to work was some luck, decent weather, and the horses.
Image: Louis’ ruse. Source: “Rinder,” (Bovine). 1913. Franz Marc, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons