Hope's War

by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

  "What is the order of the proceedings?" Kat asked her mother.

  "The first part is the hardest," explained Orysia. "The plaintiff goes first, so that means they dish out all the bad stuff they have on your grandfather."

  Kat dipped her spoon into her red Jell-O. "Then what?"

  "Then we tell our side."

  Kat pondered that. It would be good to get the bad stuff over at the beginning, she figured, but what would they say? She almost didn't want to know.

  Kat looked over at Danylo. He was staring into a Styrofoam bowl of noodle soup. Kat watched as he put one spoonful into his mouth and slowly swallowed. Then he pushed it away. Kat noticed that his face was still pale and that his hands trembled. "Have some Jell-O," she said, offering him her spoon.

  "I can't eat," he said. "I just want to get this over with."

  Don't we all, thought Kat.

  The hearing resumed with a historical expert called by the plaintiff. Professor Chris Gillin had travelled from Britain to testify at Danylo's hearing. He was tall and slim and clean-shaven. Kat estimated his age to be no more than forty.

  Professor Gillin was considered an expert on National Socialist Germany and the Holocaust. He had written four books on the subject, including one called Ordinary Soldiers, a book about the Order Police in Nazi Germany.

  He described how and why the Germans initiated the auxiliary police programs. In July 1941, barely a month after their invasion of Soviet territory, the Germans realized that they lacked the manpower to administer all the villages and towns throughout the vast region. Units of local police or Schutzmannschaften were chosen, and the Security Police were in charge of them. These men were not issued uniforms. Instead, they wore old Soviet or German uniforms and were identified by a special armband.

  The men and their families were given food, plus the men were supposed to be paid on a daily basis. If not enough volunteers could be generated through incentives alone, the Security Police could recruit from the prisoner-of-war camps.

  As Professor Gillin read from his notes, Kat flinched as he listed each killing.

  "The participation of Ukrainian auxiliary police in killings of Jews can occasionally be documented." he said. "I have a report from one German officer that states, ‘On September 19

  and 20, 1942, a Jewish action was carried out in the village of Domachevko by the SD Sonderkommando, with the help of a squadron of Gendarmerie and the auxiliary police. Two thousand, nine hundred Jews were shot."

  There was a rustling in the rows of observers on the plaintiff's side. Kat looked over with the corner of her eye and saw that one of the elderly women was weeping. It cut her to the quick to think that these people had probably witnessed what this professor was itemizing. How hard it must be for them to listen to it all again.

  Professor Gillen flipped through his notes and read more, "There were other reports from a Police Battalion hunting down Jews in the northern parts of Volhyn-Podolia in the fall of 1942 that occasionally referred to working with the auxiliary police."

  As Professor Gillin mentioned killing after killing, Kat felt like she was going to be sick. Was her grandfather one of these men? Was he one of these auxiliary police who had been involved in the killing of Jews? It was horrible to think of all those deaths, and it was even worse to think that perhaps her own grandfather could have been responsible. She looked over to her grandfather and saw that his face was pale as stone and that he held onto the sides of his chair with a white-knuckled grip.

  There was a rustling of paper to Kat's right, and then she noticed Mr. Vincent standing up.

  "Your honour," he said to the judge. "I would like to ask Professor Gillin a few questions."

  "The court recognizes the honourable Mr. Vincent."

  "The reports you have itemized are chilling, Professor. I agree with you that these crimes of humanity must not go unpunished. However, in all of your reports, not a single one deals with the village of Orelets."

  "My knowledge is based on German documents which itemize police operations in occupied territory. My testimony is not directed at the overall Ukrainian situation," replied Professor Gillin.

  "In fact, all of these incidents took place more than one hundred kilometres away from where Mr. Feschuk was stationed as an auxiliary policeman. Your reports mention only occasional involvement of any auxiliary police, and you have not mentioned any incidents that could even remotely have involved my client. Why then, are you mentioning them?"

  Kat sat up at this point. She had listened to the horrors one by one and had assumed that it was documentation directly related to her grandfather.

  A wave of annoyance briefly passed over Professor Gillin's face, but then he regained his composure. "This information is provided to give further understanding of the role that the auxiliary police played in the massacre of Jews during World War II."

  "The reports you are reading from itemize the rare involvement of auxiliary police. However, each reference you made involved those who served in police battalions, yet my client did not serve in a police battalion."

  What, wondered Kat, was Mr. Vincent trying to get at? Her grandfather was clearly an auxiliary policeman.

  "Mr. Feschuk performed precinct service in the towns and villages," Mr. Vincent continued. "The atrocities described by Professor Gillin were carried out by Germans."

  Kat listened with interest. Now that she thought about it, on the one occasion when Professor Gillin mentioned the name of a "Ukrainian" auxiliary policeman, it had been a German name.

  "On the rare occasion when auxiliary police are mentioned, they are battalion auxiliary police, not precinct auxiliary police," continued Mr. Vincent.

  "A fine point, but you are correct," conceded the professor.

  In Kat's mind, it was more than a fine point. It was the difference between evidence of her grandfather's guilt and innocence. She looked over at her grandfather and noticed that his knuckles were no longer white.

  "And you have no documentation of atrocities carried out by any auxiliary police within one hundred kilometres of where my client was stationed?"

  "That is correct."

  "I have no further questions." said Mr. Vincent.

  Just then, the judge himself made a comment. "It should be noted," he said, "that reports made by German officers cannot be taken at face value. They, of course, would minimize their own culpability by spreading the blame."

  Mr. Vincent nodded in agreement.

  Kat sat there, still trying to digest all that she had heard. Why had this expert witness been called all the way from England if he had no direct evidence against her grandfather?

  The next witness was a woman with a thin bun of snow-coloured hair. Her thick wire-rimmed glasses had lenses so large that they overpowered her fragile features. She had trouble bending her knee to step into the witness stand, so Mrs. Caine jumped up from her seat and gently guided her to her chair.

  Kat leaned forward, intent on hearing every word of the woman's testimony.

  Mrs. Caine stood in front of the witness stand. In a gentle voice, she asked, "Could you please state your name?"

  The woman leaned forward and spoke with crisp enunciation into the microphone. "My name is Mrs. Anne Pensky."

  "Can you tell me what happened to you in the summer of 1941 when you were ten years old?" Mrs. Caine asked.

  "I was herded into the Ozeryany ghetto with approximately 835 other Jewish men, women and children."

  "Who was it that gathered you up and put you in the ghetto?" Mrs. Caine asked.

  "German soldiers."

  "Who guarded the ghetto?" Mrs. Caine asked.

  "Ukrainian police from Ozeryany," she stated. "Some of them I knew by name."

  "Can you tell me about the killings?" Mrs. Caine asked gently.

  "The black uniformed German soldiers came with guns and ordered all the men and women — the adults — to ... to ... line up." Mrs. Pensky choked back tears, then took a deep breath. "There were carts fol
lowing behind. Anyone who stumbled was put in a cart."

  In a voice so low that it was barely audible, Mrs. Caine asked, "Could you tell the court what happened then?"

  "My mother and father were part of that group," said Mrs. Pensky, gulping back tears. "They were marched to the graveyard, where they were forced to dig their own graves, and then they were shot."

  "Who was it that did the shooting?" asked Mrs. Caine.

  "It was the Ukrainians," said Mrs. Pensky, in a voice clear through her tears. "They shot them."

  Kat sat there stunned by what she heard. So here it was: direct testimony of Ukrainians killing Jews. Kat waited, wondering what would come next. Would the woman point her finger at her grandfather and identify him?

  Just then, Kat saw Mr. Vincent stand.

  "Your honour," he said. "May I ask the witness a question?"

  "The court recognizes Mr. Vincent," said the judge.

  Mr. Vincent smoothed down the front of his robe as he approached the woman in the witness stand. He paused for a moment, as if trying to compose himself.

  "Mrs. Pensky," he said. "I am sorry that you have had to testify here today. I realize that this must be very difficult."

  The woman nodded, then dabbed the corner of her eye with an embroidered handkerchief.

  "This is a delicate question, but one that I must ask: where were you when the shootings took place?"

  "I was in the ghetto with the other children," she replied. Kat noticed that Mrs. Pensky was staring out into the distance. It was as if she were looking into the past, seeing those scenes over and over again in her mind.

  "Where exactly in the ghetto?" asked Mr. Vincent.

  "We were in the school inside the ghetto. This was used as a synagogue. When the adults were led out to their deaths, we children hid there and said prayers for their souls."

  "Could you see the graveyard from the school?"

  Mrs. Pensky looked at the lawyer quizzically. "No, you couldn't," she said.

  "Then how did you witness the killings?"

  "I heard the guns fire," she said in her clear voice. "I can picture it as if I were standing right there now."

  "If you didn't see the killings, how do you know that it was Ukrainians who did the killings?" he asked.

  "I just know," she said emphatically. "It was the Ukrainians."

  Kat's eyes had been riveted on the witness throughout this exchange. The woman was so sure, yet she hadn't seen it. Kat turned her head slightly so that she could see the men and women who had come to support the plaintiff's side. They were all nodding in agreement. It seemed that they too knew too, despite the lack of a witness.

  "Mrs. Pensky, may I ask you to look at the defendant?"

  Mrs. Pensky reluctantly turned her eyes in that direction. It was as if she didn't want to see Danylo.

  Kat looked over at her grandfather and saw that he was staring right at Mrs. Pensky, then she saw Mrs. Pensky meet his gaze.

  "Do you recognize this man?" asked Mr. Vincent.

  "I know that he was one of those Ukrainian Police," said Mrs. Pensky in her clear voice.

  The judge intercepted, "Please, Mrs. Pensky, answer the question."

  "No, I do not recognize him."

  "Mrs. Pensky, how far away is Ozeryany from Mr. Feschuk's village of Orelets?"

  "Ten or twenty kilometres away," she responded.

  Mr. Vincent walked over to the long wooden table on his side of the courtroom and then he reached down and picked up a black and white photograph. He walked over to the witness stand and handed the photograph to Mrs. Pensky.

  "Please take a look at the photograph," Mr. Vincent said. "This is a photo of Danylo Feschuk when he was nineteen years old. Do you recognize him?"

  Mrs. Pensky took the photo in her hands and stared at it. She even raised her glasses and squinted at it again before handing it back. "No," she said. "I don't recognize this man."

  "I have no more questions, your honour."

  Mercifully, a break was called.

  "I need some fresh air," said Kat to her mother as they stood up, stretching their legs.

  "Why don't you take the subway home?" suggested Orysia. She was tired herself, but she could see that this was even harder on her daughter. This was why she hadn't wanted her to come in the first place. "You could start supper for me," Orysia continued.

  There was nothing that Kat wanted to do more than to get out of the courthouse. She was still trying to sort out all that she had heard. However, she had a feeling that the worst was yet to come, and she had to hear it with her own ears.

  "I can't go home right now," said Kat.

  Orysia looked at her watch. "You've still got ten minutes before the hearing starts back up. Why don't you at least get some fresh air?

  "That's a good idea."

  Not wanting to wait for the elevator, she ran down all five flights of stairs. It felt wonderful to stretch her legs.

  Kat breathed in a lungful of fresh cold air as she stepped outside the main entryway, then blinked a few times to get used to the natural light. A fine dusting of snow had fallen since the morning, making everything that much brighter and cleaner looking.

  She walked down the street a bit, just for the feel of the wind on her cheeks, and as she did so, she looked at the jumble of buildings around her — new skyscrapers and old churches all on the same block. She tried to imagine what this street might have looked like five decades ago in the midst of World War II.

  "He did it, you know."

  The voice spoke so close to Kat's ear that she gasped. She swung around and came face to face with the protester. Seeing her up close gave Kat a shock. She had known that the woman was old, but with their faces just a few inches apart, Kat realized that it wasn't just age that had etched the lines on the woman's face. Unspeakable horror, untold grief. It was all there for the world to see.

  "How do you know?" asked Kat.

  "They were all like that," said the woman. "They are all war criminals."

  "Do you mean to tell me that you think every single Ukrainian auxiliary policeman was a war criminal?" asked Kat.

  "Every one," replied the woman emphatically. "You and your family should kneel down and pray. Pray for forgiveness until your knees bleed."

  Kat was taken aback by the hate in the woman's voice. Kat could think of nothing to say. She turned from the woman and walked back to the courthouse.

  The next witness was a rheumy-eyed man whose sparse grey hair was combed from one side over to the other in a vain attempt to hide the fact that he was almost entirely bald. This man spoke no English, and so two translators had been called in: one for the defendant and one for the plaintiff.

  Mrs. Caine stood in front of the witness box. "Can you please state your name?"

  The plaintiff's translator mumbled something to the man and the other translator nodded in agreement. The man answered.

  Kat hardly needed a translator. The man was speaking Ukrainian.

  "My name is Pavlo Abramovich," said the man. "I was born in 1924 and raised in the village of Orelets."

  "Do you know this man sitting here?" Mrs. Caine asked, pointing to Danylo.

  "Yes," he replied. "I will never forget that man."

  "Why is that?" asked Mrs. Caine.

  "That man helped the Germans. He was a collaborator."

  "Did you witness him helping the Germans?"

  "Yes, I did," said the witness, nodding emphatically. "I will never forget. It was in the summer of 1941. The Germans had gone through the village and rounded up all the Jews and the Communists. Mr. Feschuk was given the job of punishing us."

  "What punishment did he give you?" asked Mrs. Caine.

  "He pointed his pistol at us."

  "Did he threaten to shoot you?"

  "Not in so many words," replied the man. "We were very frightened. We thought he was going to kill us."

  "What did he do to you?" asked Mrs. Caine.

  "He pointed the pistol at us, ordered
some of us to get down on the ground, and then he made us do push-ups."

  Kat didn't think it was very nice of her grandfather to make people do push-ups, but for the life of her, she didn't see how this constituted a war crime. She heard rustling behind her, so she turned around. One of the men from her church had his arms crossed and a sour expression of disbelief on his face. Another man shook his head and tsk-tsked under his breath.

  Mr. Vincent stood up.

  "Were you a Communist during World War II?" asked Mr. Vincent.

  Mr. Abramovich sat up straight in his chair. "Yes," he replied. "Even in the face of the Fascist invasion, I stayed true to my political beliefs."

  "Mr. Abramovich," said Mr. Vincent. "When Mr. Feschuk made you do push-ups, was that the punishment you expected?"

  The witness shook his head. "I was surprised that he didn't kill us," he said.

  "No more questions," said Mr. Vincent.

  Mrs. Caine then called her last witness of the day. Miss Lily Solonenko was a wheelchair-bound woman with closely cropped white hair and papery thin skin. She too spoke Ukrainian and still lived in the village of Orelets. Through the translators, she explained that she was a six-year-old girl in the summer of 1941.

  "What do you remember about the defendant, Danylo Feschuk?" asked Mrs. Caine.

  "He was my neighbour," said Miss Solonenko. "I remember the first day he wore the armband of the auxiliary police. It scared me, but he told me that I had nothing to fear from him."

  "Did you witness him harming any of the villagers?" asked Mrs. Caine.

  "Not the villagers," replied Miss Solonenko, "But he was one of the guards at the prisoner of war camp."

  "Can you explain," asked Mrs. Caine.

  "Yes," replied Miss Solonenko. "There was a barbed wire enclosure where the Germans kept Soviet prisoners of war. The conditions were very brutal. The men were not given food or water. They were basically herded into the enclosure and left to die."

  "Can you tell me what you saw regarding Mr. Feschuk?" asked Mrs. Caine.

  "Yes," said Miss Solonenko. "These men were Slavs just like us. There were even two boys in there who had relatives in our village. Germans were starving them to death. It was terrible. One night I looked out from my attic window, and I saw Mr.Feschuk standing with the German guards. I was so shocked. Even the other auxiliary police wouldn't stoop so low as to help guard the POW camp."