Just then, Genya came down the stairs, and Danylo came out of his room at almost the exact same moment.
"What is the problem?" asked Genya, looking from her sister to her mother.
Kat picked up the front section of the Star and held it up. "This is what's the matter," replied Kat.
"Great," said Genya. "Just what we need. We're going to be living our life in a fishbowl." As she said this, she gave her grandfather a hostile glance. "And Merry Christmas to you too."
Danylo stood there, stunned. He didn't know what he was more upset about: the articles in the newspapers, or Genya's reaction. He reached out and grabbed the newspaper from Kat's hand and held it at arm's length, trying to get it into focus. "It calls me a Nazi," he said with bewilderment. "I fought the Nazis."
"Ignore it," said Orysia. "Let us put this behind us and go to church. It's Christmas Day." And with that, Orysia grabbed her car keys and marched out the front door.
Kat was following close on her mother's heels, but no sooner was Orysia outside than she came back in, almost bumping into Kat. There were tears spilling down her cheeks. "My God. I can't take this." She sat limply down on the sofa. "Go and see what they've done."
Someone had taken what looked like blood and had splattered the white wood of the house with it. There was a huge black swastika spray bombed beneath the red spatters.
"I'm calling the police," said Genya, striding into the kitchen and grabbing the phone.
Danylo walked up to Orysia and put her head on his shoulder, just as he used to do when she was a child and needed comforting. Instinctively, he patted her back, and she hugged him fiercely.
Genya stepped back into the living room, the phone still in her hand. "The police are coming right over to photograph the damage."
Orysia raised her head from Danylo's shoulder and looked at Genya with dismay. "But we'll miss church."
"Actually, Mama, they asked us to wait until they get here. We'll be late, but they will send a couple of plain clothes officers into the cathedral to keep an eye on things while we're there."
"They said that?" asked her mother in awe.
"This is a hate crime," replied Genya. "They take it seriously."
Kat was amazed at her sister's cold command of the situation. Did nothing ruffle her?
It wasn't long before two officers pulled into the driveway in a patrol car. One was a black woman with hair buzzed short, and the other was an older man with a paunch. He carried a camera and an evidence kit.
The woman got out a pad of paper and asked questions, while the man took photos of the graffiti from a number of different angles. Once he had finished taking photos, he took a small plastic spatula out of the evidence kit and scraped some of the red paint or blood off the house. He placed both the spatula and the sample into a plastic bag from the kit, and then he sealed and labelled it.
"This is nasty business," said the woman officer, still scribbling in her notepad. "But I guess it's not surprising, given the circumstances."
Kat bristled, "My grandfather is innocent until proven guilty."
"I know that," said the woman, arching one brow and looking Kat in the eye. "But you are a magnet right now."
Kat nodded.
"Is this the only hate incident you've experienced?" asked the officer.
Kat's eyebrows creased in confusion for a moment, and then she said, "Does stuff sent in the mail count as a hate incident?"
"Absolutely," said the woman. "Has your grandfather received hate mail?"
Danylo, who was listening to this exchange, answered for Kat. "No," he said. "I have received nothing suspicious in the mail."
"Actually, Dido, you have," said Kat. And then she looked at the officer. "Hold on a minute and I'll get it."
She loped up the stairs to her bedroom, and retrieved the envelope and clippings that she had hidden under her mattress. When she brought it down and showed it to the police officer, Danylo's cheeks reddened with anger.
"When did that arrive?" he asked.
"A while ago," admitted Kat. "I didn't want to upset you."
The officer had an evidence bag ready. "Drop it in," she said. "It's too bad that you didn't report this immediately," she said to Kat. "We would have had a much better chance of getting finger prints off it if you hadn't handled it so much."
Kat hung her head. "I'm sorry," she said.
"If you get something else, call us immediately."
"Okay," said Kat.
The woman reached into her pocket and drew out a card. "Keep this handy," she said. "The reporters and photographers shouldn't be allowed on your private property. Ditto for protesters." The officer pointed to the sidewalk, "Anything past there is public, though, so we can't stop people from gawking as long as that's all they're doing."
They both got into the patrol car once the photos were taken. "We'll swing by this way a bit more regularly until things simmer down," said the woman. "The plain clothes should be at your church by now."
"Let's go," said Orysia, looking at her watch. "We've missed half the service already."
Danylo followed her out of the house, but paused when he got outside. He stared at the horrible graffiti on his daughter's house. "How can we leave with those marks still on our house?" said Danylo. "It shames me to have my daughter's house defaced like this."
"It is not you who should feel ashamed," said Orysia.
Bathurst Street was so jammed with cars in front of St. Volodymyr Cathedral that Orysia could barely get her car through, let alone find a parking spot. She dropped off Danylo and Kat at the steps, and then she and Genya drove around the block to find a parking spot. Miraculously, they found one.
Kat and Danylo stood in the chilly air while they waited for the other two. They could hear the singing of the people inside. "Are you sure you don't want to step in out of the cold?" asked Kat.
"No," said Danylo. "I don't know how I can even face all the people inside. They probably have seen the papers this morning."
"Dido," said Kat. "Those are your friends in there. They know who you are."
Danylo was silent.
The aroma of wool coats and liturgical incense greeted Kat's nose as she opened the doors of the cathedral and stepped inside. It was no larger than a regular church, but the sumptuous interior set it apart. Light streamed in through the stained glass windows and reflected off the massive crystal chandelier and lit up the gold leaf paintings on the walls. The cathedral was so packed that people were standing behind the pews at the back, and even out into the entryway. A couple of people turned to see who was coming in so late, and then there was a ripple of low whispers. In a wave, people moved, making room for Danylo and his family. Silent hugs and hands squeezed, and then Danylo and his family were ushered to a space in the pews.
Usually after the liturgy on Christmas day, people would hurry home. Christmas day was spent with family. But one of Danylo's old country friends grasped him firmly by the elbow and led him downstairs to the church hall. Puzzled, Orysia, Genya and Kat followed.
A cluster of people formed around Danylo, a buffer almost, thought Kat, from the real world. Some of Kat's friends from St. Paul's were there, and a couple of girls she'd lost touch with since graduating from St. Sofia's elementary school. There were also elderly people who Kat recognized as her grandparents' friends, and also their sons and daughters, who were her parents' friends.
When her grandmother was alive, she had been involved in the women's auxiliary, making perogies and cabbage rolls as bazaar fund-raisers with the other women. Kat watched as Lidia Krawchuk, who had been a dear friend of Baba's and was the current women's auxiliary president, stepped forward and grasped her mother's hand.
"In some ways I am glad that Nadiya is dead so that she doesn't have to suffer through this," said Mrs. Krawchuk. "That they could do this to a man who lost his family in World War II, and who fought bravely for Ukraine is a crime in itself."
Kat looked around and saw that others were noddi
ng in agreement.
"We will do what we can to help," said the woman.
Orysia's eyes welled up with tears of gratitude. She wrapped her arms around the woman's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.
Then Father Petrenko came down the steps. Kat noticed that he had replaced his sumptuous Christmas vestments of gold and white with a simple black cossock. In one arm he held a collection basket. "Danylo," the priest said, extending his hand. "I am thankful that you are here today. May your faith bring you comfort."
Danylo bowed his head.
"When I read the papers this morning, I was angered. What a shameful thing to print on the day of Christ's birth," continued the priest. "My father fought beside you in Ukraine," he continued. "God knows the truth."
Then Father Petrenko held up the basket. "We took a collection for you," he said. "This isn't much, but I hope it helps."
Kat looked over at her grandfather and saw that he had a brave smile on his face, but tears of gratitude were welling in his eyes. Orysia's demeanour was similar. What surprised Kat was her sister's expression. Genya, who was the epitome of cool control, had one of Danylo's hands clasped firmly in hers. Her mask of calm was betrayed by a trickle of tears down one cheek.
CHAPTER 20
IT WAS WELL past noon when they got home, and the goose was roasted, but no one felt much like eating.
Kat and Danylo took some rags and a big pail of sudsy water to try to clean the front of the house. Whatever the red was, it wasn't permanent. It came off of the house without leaving a stain. The same could not be said for the huge black swastika. Danylo tried scrubbing it first with the soapy water and a bristled brush, his hands raw in the winter cold. When that didn't work, he tried paint solvent, but that just smeared it. He ended up painting over it with some leftover white paint that had been stored in the basement.
While they were still cleaning up, Kat noticed that the lone protester had come back. The woman seemed surprised to see Kat and her grandfather outside of their house. She looked at them both coldly and then continued to pace up and down the sidewalk.
Kat felt a mix of conflicting emotions as she watched the woman. Her first thought was one of anger. Had this woman purposely chosen to start her campaign on a Ukrainian religious holiday, wondered Kat indignantly. The papers had done the same. It was like salt in a wound.
Kat wanted to explain to her that this whole thing was a mistake. Didn't the woman realize that her grandfather was a suspect, not a criminal? Kat stepped towards the woman, but Danylo clasped her by the shoulder, holding her still. "Leave her be," he said.
When they got inside, Genya and Orysia had set the table, so Danylo and Kat quickly washed up and sat down at the table.
The mood was sombre. Orysia picked at her food, and Genya kept on glancing up at her grandfather. Finally, she put her fork down and said, "I think it's time for you to tell us what this is all about."
Danylo regarded his older granddaughter with sadness, but he remained silent.
"Why are they targeting you?" she persisted. "There has to be a reason."
Danylo sighed and then met her eyes. "There were bad police," he said. "But some of us were there for another reason."
With that, he walked into his bedroom and closed the door tight.
CHAPTER 21
KAT DIDN'T GO to school the next day. She told her mother she wasn't feeling well. Orysia suspected that her younger daughter didn't have the heart to face the world, so she didn't push it.
That night, long after the lights were out, and her sister was fast asleep in the other bed, Kat was still wide awake. Kat thought of the letter and clippings she had given to the police. In her mind's eye, she could see clearly the photo of a uniformed man shooting a child. It was a chilling image. The mere thought of such cruelty made tears well up in her throat. What would she do if she found out that her grandfather had actually done such a thing? It just couldn't be. Her mind couldn't get around such a thought.
Kat also wondered what people outside of her own community were thinking about all of this? Would she ever be able to show her face at school again? Genya was as calm and cool as ever. She was angry at the disturbance in her life, but that was about it. She went to school on the day after Ukrainian Christmas as if nothing had happened.
Kat was finally drifting off when she heard a smacking sound on her bedroom window. Was this another graffiti artist's idea of a joke? Who was out there? She looked over to her sister to see if she had heard the noise, but Genya was sound asleep.
Kat pulled the covers closer around her and tried to do the same, but she was startled by another loud smack at her window. This was too much! What did people think this was? A circus? Surely the protesters could at least let them sleep in peace at night. Kat pulled her bedroom curtains back in a fury and raised her window. She stuck her head out and was about to yell angrily down at the insensitive clod who wouldn't leave her alone when she saw a familiar splash of purple hair. Actually, it wasn't all that familiar. Ian had been pink and turquoise and black. She hadn't seen his hair purple yet, but who else could it be?
"What are you doing down there?" she called.
The purple hair moved, and suddenly Kat could see Ian's face beneath it.
"I was worried about you," he called up in a loud whisper. "All the stuff in the papers, and then you didn't come to school."
"Stay right there," whispered Kat. "I'm coming down.
Kat pulled a pair of baggy overalls over her bare legs, tucked in the oversize T-shirt that doubled as a nightgown and hurried down the stairs. She didn't want to wake up the household, so instead of inviting Ian in, she shoved her feet into her winter boots, grabbed her coat, and slipped silently out the front door.
Kat shivered in the wintry air as she and Ian walked down the street to the park at the end. It was at this park that her grandfather had pushed her on a swing when she was little. She remembered the time when she found a five dollar bill in the sandbox. She had begged her grandfather with tears in her eyes to mail it to the poor children of Chernobyl. As soon as they got home that day, she watched him laboriously address an envelope in English. She stuck her bill in, and he added a five of his own for good measure, and then she licked the envelope shut.
The park looked menacing now in the dark. The silhouette of bare trees looked like giant claws stretching out towards them. A new set of climbers had been installed just the summer before and someone had cleared it of snow. Kat climbed up and sat at the top of the slide, Ian sat down beside her.
The words tumbled out in a mad rush as Kat tried to explain all that had been happening in her life. As she spoke, she was gripped by a violent case of the shakes. Her whole body was like a quivering mass of Jell-O. She didn't know whether it was from the cold or from nerves.
Ian took off his meticulously safety-pinned leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, his arm lingered protectively against her back. The jacket was imbedded with the musky scent of Ian. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but she found it oddly comforting.
"You're going to freeze," said Kat, grateful for the coat, but worried about her friend.
"I'll be okay if we sit close," said Ian.
Kat leaned into him.
"So that's why the protester was there," he said. "Why didn't you tell me all of this before?"
Kat smiled bitterly. "It's not really a good conversation starter," she said. "I mean, what did you want me to say? ‘How are you doing today, and oh by the way, my grandfather might be a Nazi war criminal?'"
"You've got a point," said Ian. "So what happens now?"
Kat explained that her parents had already hired Michael's father, and that his first court appearance was on Friday. "But the accusations are so vague that it's hard to make a defence."
"Are you coming back to school tomorrow?"
"I don't know," said Kat. "How are the kids reacting to it?"
"It's not been a big deal. I mean, not a lot people pay attention to the news," sa
id Ian. "The ones who heard about it are curious, but I don't think you've got to be worried about being lynched or anything like that."
"Thanks for that comforting thought," said Kat dryly.
"It's strange that the government would revoke citizenship and deport," said Ian.
"Unfair would be a better word," said Kat.
"No," said Ian. "What I mean is, it's like saying there are two classes of citizens in Canada: those who are born here and those who immigrated. I'd think a whole lot of immigrants would worry about who was going to be next on the government's hit list."
Kat hadn't thought of it that way. She had been so caught up in the drama that had engulfed her own family that she hadn't looked at the bigger picture.
"For example," continued Ian. "Look at Lisa. Her parents came over as Vietnamese boat kids. They escaped the Communists too."
"I didn't know that," replied Kat.
"Someone from the old country could just as easily accuse her parents or grandparents of something, and on the basis fabricated evidence, they could lose their Canadian citizenship too."
A chilling thought. It seemed odd that a country that prided itself on human rights would do something like this.
Suddenly, a set of headlights beamed on. There was a patrol car parked right in front of them at the edge of the park. Two officers bearing flashlights got out and walked over to Kat and Ian. The officers were both male, and neither was all that old.
"Care to explain what the two of you are doing out here in the middle of the night?" one of the officers asked.
"Just talking," replied Ian.
The officer looked at Ian from the top of his purple hair to the bottom of his knee length black boots and suppressed a grimace. "There's been some trouble in the area," said the cop.
"What kind of trouble?" asked Ian.
"Hate crime. You know anything about it?"
"I do," said Kat.
The officer looked at her sharply.
"It was at my house," she explained. "Swastika, animal blood."
"Gross," said Ian, looking over at Kat incredulously. "What kind of a nut-case would do something like that?"
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