"Two hundred dollars," the man replied.
Ian was about to say something, but Kat kicked him in the shin. "I was told that these parachutes were sold for about eighty dollars," she said.
The man looked at her indignantly. "That would have to be a pretty small parachute," he said. "This one is made of 64 piewedge shaped panels. The big end of each panel is 30 inches wide and they're sewn together into a huge circle. That's a heck of a lot of material. How big was your eighty dollar one?"
"I don't know," said Kat.
"Could be a 28 panel or something," said the man. "Are you making dresses out of this or what?"
"Stage backdrop," said Ian.
"Well, hold on to this end," said the man, handing a piece of parachute to Ian. "Just stand there."
The clerk held on to another end of parachute and walked out the back storage room and all the way to the front of the store.
"This is fantastic," said Ian.
"I tell you what," said the sales clerk, walking back to where Kat and Ian stood, rolling the parachute material up as he talked. "You buy this right now and I'll give you fifty bucks off."
Kat looked at Ian. She had no idea if a hundred and fifty dollars was within his budget. Did he get money from his parents? Did he have a part-time job?
"You drive a hard deal. Seventy bucks off." The man had obviously misinterpreted their silence as bargaining.
Kat could see a grin trying to break through on Ian's face. "I'll take it," he said.
The man gleefully pushed the mounds of material back into the case. It was amazing that it all fit back in so effortlessly. There were straps on the back of the case like a knapsack, so Ian slung it over his shoulders and the two of them walked up to the front to pay.
There was a glass-topped display case under the cash register, and as Ian waited for the parachute to be rung up, he examined the items in the case.
"Look at this great knife," he said to Kat, pointing to a silver coloured knife with an elaborately tooled handle.
Kat gazed down into the case and examined the knife that Ian had indicated. "It gives me the shivers," she said.
"Why?" asked Ian.
"I just don't like knives," she replied.
Ian turned to the clerk and asked, "This isn't military, is it?"
"No. Someone brought that one in on a trade."
"How much are you selling it for?" Ian asked.
"Thirty dollars."
"I'll take it."
Ian drew out a wallet from his leather pants and opened it. Kat was amazed to see that it was filled with twenties and even a fifty. He counted out enough money to buy the parachute and the knife, and then watched as the clerk carefully wrapped the silver knife in brown paper and then placed it in a plastic bag. Ian stuck the bag into the parachute knapsack, slung it back over his shoulder and headed out the door.
As soon as they got outside, Kat confronted him. "What do you need a knife for?
Ian smiled enigmatically. "I don't need it for anything. I just thought it was a great looking knife. Almost Victorian."
There was so much that Kat didn't know about Ian. It surprised her that he had so much money, and now this knife incident.
CHAPTER 12
WHEN KAT GOT home, she noticed yet another strange car in the driveway. Not a black sedan this time, but a vintage green Porsche. When she walked through the back door, she could hear several voices drifting in from the living room. Both of her parents were there, and a man. The man was saying, "I've printed off some background information for you about the Deschenes Commission and how all of these proceedings got started...."
Kat poked her head into the living room before dashing upstairs to the bedroom. A man in a slightly rumpled suit was perched uncomfortably on the edge of one chair. In his outstretched hand was a manila file folder filled with a thin sheaf of papers. Her parents were sitting side by side on the sofa, holding hands, and her grandfather was in his favourite rocking chair. Funny that she didn't realize he was even there. He had been that quiet.
Orysia looked up as her daughter dashed by and called to her. "Kat," she said. "Come in here for a moment. I'd like you to meet Mr. Vincent."
Mr. Vincent put the file folder down on the coffee table.
Kat hesitantly stepped into the living room. Mr. Vincent got up from where he was perched and stepped towards her,
holding out his hand. Kat assumed this was the Vincent of the Vincent and Grey law firm her parents had argued about. She had expected someone older, someone more ironed. She extended her hand and they exchanged firm handshakes.
"Your mother tells me that you're an art student at Cawthra," Mr. Vincent said.
"Yes," responded Kat.
"My son Michael is there too," said the lawyer. "What grade?" asked Kat.
"Same as you. In fact, I think you're in the same art class. Mr. Harding's class?"
"Oh, Michael" said Kat. "We're in the same class. We even sit together at lunch."
"So I've heard," said Mr. Vincent with a smile.
Kat smiled weakly. She hoped and prayed that Mr. Vincent didn't chat work over dinner every night. All she didn't need was for the kids at school to find out about her grandfather.
She began to walk towards the stairs to her room when Orysia said, "Kataryna, you're welcome to stay here and listen to what Mr. Vincent has to say."
Kat hesitated. She would like to hear, but she thought maybe the lawyer would feel uncomfortable talking about these things in front of her.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes," said her mother. "Sit right here." She patted a space beside her on the sofa.
"We had thirty days from the date of this notice to respond," Mr. Vincent continued, once Kat had sat down. "Otherwise, Mr. Feschuk would automatically have had his citizenship revoked. On your behalf, I have already responded and we're waiting for a hearing date."
Orysia suppressed a sob.
Kat glanced over at her grandfather. He had an agitated look of frustration on his face.
"What is it that they're saying I did?" he asked.
"I am not quite sure," replied Mr. Vincent. "I am hoping to get the details soon. All I know is that you're being accused of not disclosing your collaboration with the Nazis when you had your immigration interview to come to Canada."
"But how can I disclose collaboration if I didn't collaborate?" asked Danylo angrily. "I fought the Nazis and the Communists."
"The Soviets were our allies," said Mr. Vincent. "Better not mention any of that. Perhaps we can mention about fighting the Nazis though. What I will do now is respond on your behalf for evidence from the prosecution."
That night, after everyone was asleep, Kat was awakened by the sound of pounding rain on the roof. She got up out of bed and stared out at the water streaming down on her window. It reminded her of so many tears. Her mother had done practically nothing but cry since the accusation against Dido. Kat herself felt like she was about to cry at all sorts of unexpected moments. She knew how the sky felt.
The last thing Kat felt like doing was sleeping. Too many things on her mind. She pulled on a housecoat over her long nightshirt and crept downstairs. A mug of warm milk would help her get some needed sleep. She poured some milk into a saucepan and set it on the stove. The action reminded her of her grandmother. Baba had been such a good one to talk to when Kat had something on her mind. How many times had they sat over a hot mug of milk and talked from their hearts?
As the milk warmed, Kat walked into the living room, listening to the rain against the side of the house. It was coming down so hard that there was an earthy mustiness in the air that reminded her of mushrooms. It's pidpenky time, Kat thought. And that reminded her of her grandmother too. Baba had loved all kinds of mushrooms, but her favourite were pidpenky.When they were plentiful, she would make mushroom soup, mushroom dumplings, mushroom stuffed pastry, and Kat's alltime favourite, nalisnyky— thin crepe-like pancakes fried in butter and stuffed with pidpenky.
Dido loved pidpenky too, although he had an aversion to other mushrooms. In fact, he refused to eat spring mushrooms at all.
It had become something of a ritual for Kat and her grandfather to wait for the perfect fall day to pick pidpenky.It had to be before the first frost, but after a heavy rain. Perhaps a day out in the fresh air would do both her and her grandfather some good. Tomorrow was Friday. She'd suggest they go on Saturday.
She noticed that there were still papers scattered about the living room, and she thought she'd clean up a bit while waiting for the milk to heat. On the coffee table, she noticed that the manila file that Mr. Vincent had brought was still sitting there, undisturbed. Hadn't he said that this would give some background information about what was happening to her grandfather? Kat picked up the file and took it with her to the kitchen table. She continued to straighten up the living room, then walked into the kitchen and poured the now steaming milk into a mug. She sat down at the kitchen table with her milk and the file.
It was about a dozen typed sheets. The header said, "Library of Parliament" and "Parliamentary Research Branch" and there was a Government of Canada crest on the top. The title was "Commission of Inquiry on War Criminals." This was the Deschenes Commission report.
She flipped through the pages but the type just swam in front of her eyes. It was too overwhelming to read right now, she decided. Maybe later. She finished the last of her milk and headed back to bed.
CHAPTER 13
THE NEXT MORNING, as Kat and Genya stood waiting for the school bus together, Kat wanted to talk to her sister about what her grandfather was going through, but Genya was not interested.
"If Dido truly cared about us, he would pack his bags and move back to Ukraine," said Genya. "He's obviously done something, and now we're all paying for his past." Genya's face got a bit red as she continued, "We could lose our home because of him. And I probably won't be able to go to medical school."
Kat looked at her sister coldly, "Don't blame the victim."
"If what they say is true, then he's no victim," responded her sister.
"I don't even know what it is they're saying," said Kat hotly. "What is it that he's supposed to have done? And where's the proof?"
Genya glared at her in stony silence. Mercifully, the bus came moments later. Genya sat in the front seat, and her sister walked to the back.
Ian was sitting in the very last row, with Lisa. He looked up at Kat when she walked onto the bus and motioned for her to come and sit with them.
Lisa, for once, did not look too annoyed with the suggestion.
"Ian told me about the parachute," she said. "It sounds perfect."
"It is," said Kat.
"We should practice putting it up," said Lisa. "Can you come to school tomorrow morning?"
"I could stay late tonight," said Kat.
"Can't do that," said Lisa, looping her arm around Ian's elbow proprietarily. "It's Friday. We're going to a party and it's going to take me forever to get ready."
Kat smiled awkwardly. Ian was her friend, but he was Lisa's boyfriend. She'd known that all along, so why did she feel jealous? She tried to imagine what it was that Lisa was planning on doing to herself that would take so long. It had to be a Goth party. Even Lisa's everyday make-up and clothing probably took an hour to assemble. What constituted party wear?
"How about tomorrow, midmorning?" asked Ian. "I'm pretty sure the school's going to be open in case some people need to practice for the concert.
"Can't do it in the morning," said Kat. "And I'll probably be too zonked by the afternoon."
"You're going to a party too?" asked Lisa.
Kat smiled. Wouldn't it be nice to have nothing more serious on her mind than partying, and what to wear to a party? "No," she replied. "I'm getting up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to go mushroom picking with my grandfather."
Kat expected Lisa to laugh at her, but instead, Lisa perked up with interest. "You're kidding," she said. "I do that every spring with my grandparents. We never go in the fall though. Where do you find mushrooms now? We buy dried mushrooms from the Vietnamese store, but there are a couple of days in the spring when we can find this one kind of mushroom that's almost like one of their favourites from back home. And fresh picked mushrooms are so awesome."
"We like them fresh too," said Kat. "But we pick a bunch and dry the rest to use all year round."
"Wow, you dry your own? I'm going to have to tell my grandparents," Lisa said. "They'll be impressed."
Ian looked from Lisa to Kat, and then grimaced. "I can't imagine eating a mushroom that I just picked from the ground. What if it was poisonous?"
Lisa looked over to Kat and they both smiled. It was the classic Canadian response.
"It is something you just know" explained Kat.
Lisa nodded.
Kat rolled out of bed the next morning just after dawn. It was an inhuman time to be awake, especially on a Saturday. But pidpenky were worth the effort. Kat figured she'd have a shower when she got home, so she quickly splashed cold water on her face and then threw on an old pair of jeans and a flannel shirt and headed down the stairs.
Danylo was already dressed and waiting impatiently at the kitchen table. After all the sadness and uncertainty of late, the thought of picking pidpenky seemed like a relief— a refuge — for Danylo. Whenever he held an autumn mushroom and breathed in its wholesome mustiness, it made him think of Nadiya. They had met at the Displaced Persons camp after the war. Nothing as fine as pidpenky was served to the DPs, but he and Nadiya had devised a game. As they ate their thin wheat gruel or their onion stew, their stomachs would rumble as they would try to top each other with fantastic tales of pidpenky past. Nadiya claimed she could bake them into a pastry; Danylo claimed he could make a pidpenky soufflé. Stuffed in a noodle for borscht, or thinly sliced and fried in butter, nothing beat pidpenky for delicious dreams.
He was sipping a cup of tea with lemon, and on top of Kat's place mat was a cooling cup of tea and a piece of soggy buttered toast that looked like it had been sitting there for awhile.
"Eat up," urged her grandfather.
Kat didn't even bother sitting down. She took a huge bite out of the cold toast and washed it down with a gulp of tea. "I'm ready," she said. They wouldn't be the only ones out this early looking for pidpenky so there was no time to waste. Her mother would be delighted if she and Dido actually found some this year.
Cawthra Bush was an old growth forest that backed right onto Cawthra school property, and that's where Kat and Danylo had decided to try this year. Danylo tucked the two canvas bags underneath his arm as he stepped onto the bus. Kat was right behind him, and she noticed with a smile that they had their choice of seats.
Perhaps they wouldn't run into too many people with the same idea after all. Sensible people had decided to stay curled up in their warm beds on this chilly autumn morning. It seemed odd to be taking the Cawthra bus route on a Saturday and especially odd to be taking it with her grandfather.
Kat had not taken a bus ride with her grandfather for almost two years, nor had they gone mushroom picking. Her grandmother's illness had immobilized them all. Danylo chose to sit right behind the bus driver. As Kat sat down beside him, she looked over at his profile and was struck by how worn out he looked. It was as if a light had gone out inside. She could feel tears welling up in her throat. This past year had been so hard on him: first Baba dying, and then this trial.
She remembered the first time he had taken both her and her sister pidpenky picking when they were children. Genya didn't enjoy it at all, but then, she wasn't much of a nature lover and hated getting dirty. Kat took to it right away. Aside from the fact that she liked spending time with her grandfather, she had always found great satisfaction in seeing the sparkle in her Baba's eyes when she brought home a big sack of delicious pidpenky.With Baba gone and this dreadful accusation against her grandfather, Kat's family needed comfort food more than ever. She also hoped that this adventure would
help her grandfather forget his worries, if only for a little while.
When the bus dropped them off in front of the old Cawthra House, there were already several cars parked in the lot. "Not a good sign," said Kat.
"We'll see, zolota zhabka," said her grandfather.
They walked past the cars and along the walk at the side of the house until they reached the path that dipped into the ravine and the woods beyond. It was like stepping into another time. The floor of the woods was covered with a deep carpet of autumn leaves and pine needles and the air around them was astonishingly still considering the woods were in a suburban area. Kat filled her lungs with the lovely damp woody smell.
Voices broke the stillness. Two elderly women were crouched down picking through the leaves not a dozen meters away from them.
"Come with me," said Danylo. Then he took Kat by the hand and led her in the opposite direction. Down a path, across a stream, and deep into the woods.
Kat was chilly and her running shoes were already damp, but she agreed with her grandfather. This is how they always did it: they'd find the others and then go in the opposite direction. "There's a mushroom," she said excitedly. Kat reached down and gently squeezed the barrel-shaped stem until it snapped. She had picked their first mushroom of the season.
"Let me check it," said her grandfather.
Kat held it out to him, although she was sure it was a pidpenok because of the distinctive brown cap.
Danylo held it up to his nose and breathed in the musty aroma. "Very good," he said approvingly.
Kat opened her bag, and he dropped it in.
Danylo and Kat worked industriously a few dozen meters apart from each other. It really was an excellent day for pidpenky. The best, in fact, that Danylo could remember. After picking more than a dozen clustered under a tree, Danylo stood up and stretched his legs. It was exhausting for him to crouch down and pick the mushrooms, and it was painful to stand back straight again.
He was thankful that Kat was much quicker at this than he was, so they would only take a few hours to fill both bags. As he stretched his back, he spotted another clustering of pidpenky a few feet further away so he walked towards them, making sure that Kat was always not too far away.
Hope's War Page 6
