Mr. Vincent stood up to ask his questions. "Miss Solonenko, did anyone in the village try to feed the prisoners of war?"
"Yes," she replied. "But they weren't successful. My own mother once threw over a loaf of bread. A dozen poor starving men lunged for it at once, but instead of bread, they got a bullet in their head. The prisoners of war were not to be fed. Bread in a POW's mouth was punishable by death."
"Did any of the villagers try to release the POWs?" asked Mr. Vincent.
"How could they do that?" asked Miss Solonenko incredulously. "The Germans would have rounded up a dozen or more villagers and hanged them in retaliation."
"Would anyone be in a position to let the prisoners out?"
"There was a rumour that some had escaped to the forest, but I don't know how they would have managed it," she replied.
"No more questions," said Mr. Vincent.
And with that, the hearing was adjourned for the day. As soon as the judge left the chamber, Orysia was on her feet to talk to Mr. Vincent.
Kat and Danylo stayed sitting. Every muscle in Kat's body ached from the strain of listening so intensely and trying to make sense of it all. In her mind was an image of a barbed wire enclosure with starving men herded up like cattle. Had her grandfather actually willingly guarded such a place? She looked at him, sitting beside her. His face was grey with fatigue. Even though everyone around them was getting up, stretching their legs and gathering their belongings, Danylo sat, still as death.
"Are you okay?" asked Kat, placing her hand on her grandfather's forearm.
"My zolota zhabka" he said. "Through what eyes are these people viewing me? They must think I am a monster."
Kat leaned over and gave her grandfather a gentle bear hug. "You are my grandfather," she said. "And I love you."
Orysia was still talking with Mr. Vincent. His two colleagues began to gather up the books and the papers from the table and they were putting them away in wide leather briefcases. Mr. Vincent looked up and saw Danylo and Kat still sitting. He broke off his conversation with Orysia and walked over to them.
"Mr. Feschuk," he said. "I know you're tired, but could you stay for a bit longer? I need to ask you some questions."
Danylo inclined his head in a tired nod.
Orysia came over and stood beside Mr. Vincent. "Kat, why don't you take the subway home?"
Kat regarded her mother and then Mr. Vincent. She got the distinct impression that they wanted to talk about some things without her there. "Okay, Mom," she said. "That way I can start dinner."
"That would be great," said Orysia, brushing Kat's cheek lightly with a kiss.
As Kat walked to the subway stop, she marvelled at the people she passed. To them, this was just another day.
The testimony she had heard so far was devastating for a number of reasons. First, to hear what horrors so many people had lived through many decades ago. Kat had known about much of this, but it hadn't really hit home until those survivors had got up into the witness stand and given their testimony. It was also devastating for another reason. Not one of the people who had testified that day had anything specific to say against her grandfather. She was also curious about the uniforms. Her grandfather had been issued an armband only, but again and again, she heard of the black uniformed police. Were these the SS?
If the worst anyone could say against her grandfather was that he had made people do push-ups, why was he being grouped with people who had done far worse? It especially troubled her to think that her grandfather and others like him were being painted with a broad brush of guilt, even through there were no witnesses and no evidence. What was going on?
She wished her grandfather would actually talk to her about the things he'd had to live through. Maybe then she would be able to understand. It was a time in his life that he had shut the door on. Had it not been for this hearing, Kat wouldn't even know this much about it.
When she got home, she was dismayed to find a police car idling in her driveway and what looked to be the beginnings of another swastika being spray-bombed on the front of the house.
The passenger door of the police vehicle opened, and out stepped the middle-aged police officer who had been to her house before Christmas. He had a big grin on his face.
"Miss Baliuk," he said. "I am so glad that you're home. We caught your graffiti artist."
"You're kidding," said Kat.
She peered in through the back window of the car and saw a head of short dark hair and a blue winter jacket. The person turned to face Kat.
It was Michael. He looked at her with a pleading look in his eyes. She watched his lips through the cruiser window and saw them form the words, "I didn't do it."
"We caught him in the act," said the officer to Kat. "My partner had a suspicion that he'd be back today, what with the hearing and all, so we've been down this way several times."
Kat had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had just been starting to get to know Michael, and now this? What made it worse was that Michael was Mr. Vincent's son. What would this mean to her grandfather's case?
Kat grasped the officer's hand. "Thank you," she said. If only all the other matters could be solved so simply, she thought to herself.
As the officer got back into the cruiser, Kat asked, "Can I paint over his artwork, or do you still need it?"
"Go ahead and paint it. We've taken samples and photos." And with that, the cruiser backed out and pulled away.
Kat walked up the back steps and into the summer kitchen with a heavy heart. What a dreary end to a dreary week. She noticed that there were two packages sitting on the picnic table in the summer kitchen: an open box with something wrapped in newspaper nestled inside and something flat and oblong, secured with a plastic grocery bag. She opened the one in the grocery bag first, and discovered a casserole dish of chicken cacciatore. There was an envelope stuck inside the bag, so she pulled it out to read it. It was a note from her grandfather's neighbour, Mrs. Wentworth, and it read, "Dear Danylo and family, I know how you love my chicken cacciatore, so enjoy! Re-heat at 350 degrees for one hour. My prayers are with you."
Kat's eyes began to water. What a thoughtful gesture of Mrs. Wentworth.
Kat then pulled at the newspaper wrapping in the second package. Inside was a Zip-Loc bag of small crescent-shaped pastries. Kat opened the bag and pulled one out. Biting into it, she grinned with delight. They were filled with apricot preserve, just like Baba used to make. There was something wrapped in tinfoil besides the bag of cookies, and so Kat pulled back a bit of the foil to look inside. A loaf of rye bread, homemade and fresh from the oven. This package needed no note; it was from the priest's wife.
When Orysia and Danylo arrived home, they were greeted with the aroma of chicken cacciatore warming in the oven, and not a trace of graffiti on the house.
Mr. Vincent called that night and asked to speak to Orysia. She frowned with concern as she listened to what he had to say and then she handed the phone to Kat. "He would like to talk to you too," she said.
"I'm sorry about the incident with Michael at your house today," Mr. Vincent said. "But remember, innocent until proven guilty, right?"
"Right," said Kat.
"Let's put this behind us and deal with your grandfather's hearing," said Mr. Vincent.
"Absolutely," she said. "One thing at a time."
CHAPTER 26
KAT DID NOT usually sleep in on a Saturday morning, but January 12th was no usual Saturday morning. The week before, and especially the day before, had been so exhausting that she had gone to bed at nine o'clock on Friday night and didn't wake up until nearly noon when she heard a persistent tapping at her door. She looked over at Genya's bed and saw that it was neatly made. Not a trace of her older sister: had she even come home last night?
The tapping continued, and then her mother's voice called, "Kat, are you awake?"
"Come in," said Kat.
Orysia walked in, holding a mug of lemon tea.
Kat
sat up in bed and gratefully took the mug of tea from her mother.
"I need your help," said Orysia.
"Sure," said Kat.
"Mr. Vincent has asked that your grandfather come to the office this afternoon. They need to go over a few things before the hearing continues on Monday, and I would like to be there with him."
"Okay," said Kat, not quite understanding how she fit into all of this.
"I have a ton of things I need done, though," said Orysia. "And your sister isn't here. We need groceries, and more rags and paint from the hardware store, and I need to drop an envelope off at the bank."
"I can do all that for you," said Kat.
"That's what I was hoping," said Orysia. "I could drive you to the mall and you could call me when you're done, and I could swing by and pick you up, even if Mr. Vincent isn't finished with your grandfather."
"Sure," she said. It would have been a lot easier had Genya stuck around, thought Kat. At least she had a driver's licence.
When she got back from doing errands, Ian was sitting on the front steps, a rolled up paper bag on his lap. When Orysia pulled the car into the driveway, Ian stood up and walked over to the driver's side of the car and opened the door for her.
"Thank you," she said. "Have a good time tonight," she said, eyes sparkling mysteriously.
Ian grinned.
Kat watched this exchange with mild curiosity, then popped the trunk and grabbed one of the grocery bags. "Can you take this in?" she asked Ian.
"Sure," he said. He took it in one arm and held his rolled up bag in the other, and walked around to the back of the house.
"What's in your bag?" Kat asked, following close behind him with more groceries.
Ian grinned. "Something to take your mind off the hearing," he said.
Kat was intrigued.
She set down her own grocery bag and grabbed Ian's and set it on the table too. She looked out the window and saw that her mother had already backed out of the driveway and was heading back to Mr. Vincent's office for the rest of the meeting.
Ian handed her the rolled up bag. Inside was something black. Kat looked up at him.
"Lisa and I decided that you need a diversion," said Ian, grinning. "So we're taking you to The Savage Garden tonight."
"What?" exclaimed Kat. The Savage Garden was a club where people into Goth culture hung out.
"Don't look so worried," said Ian. "It's fetish night tonight, meaning all ages are allowed in."
"I don't know...." said Kat.
"I already talked to your mother about it," said Ian. "And she thinks you should go."
This hearing really must be affecting her mind, thought Kat. Since when did her mother approve of such things?
"She said she'd drive us all there and pick us up at the stroke of midnight," said Ian.
Okay, now it sounded more like her mother. "That would be great," said Kat.
"Lisa and I will come by at 9 and we can all drive down together," said Ian.
Kat watched in amazement as he walked down the street towards his own house.
As she unpacked the groceries, she noticed that the light on the answering machine was blinking. Kat pushed "play" and listened:
"This is detective Ann Marie Foulds. Would either Iris or Walter Baliuk call when they get in?"
As soon as Orysia got home, she called the detective immediately, and Kat could see her mother's shoulders relax in relief as she listened to what the detective had to say. "Good news and bad news," she said as she hung up the phone. "The good news is that Michael Vincent is not our graffiti artist."
"Thank goodness," said Kat. Her faith was restored in humanity. Yet hadn't the police said that they had caught him in the act? "How did they clear him?"
"His fingerprints don't match the ones from the graffiti," explained Orysia. "Which leads me to the bad news. They still have no idea who did it."
Frustrating, thought Kat. But she was so happy that Michael hadn't done it.
"Why don't you give Michael a call while I start supper?" suggested Orysia.
Kat called, but Michael seemed distant. It made her feel bad that she had ever suspected him.
"Can you come over Sunday afternoon?" she asked. "I could really use some feedback on an art project I'm thinking about."
"I'll see," said Michael.
CHAPTER 27
"I DON'T KNOW how you can stand to go to the hearing," said Genya as Kat was going through her Goth clothes. "I can barely stay sane just thinking of all this stuff."
"He is our grandfather," said Kat. "And the least you could do is come to the hearing once. I know he would get strength in that."
"Kat," said Genya. "You've already lost your year. I don't want the same to happen to me."
Kat sighed. Her sister had a point. She just wished Genya hadn't decided to opt out of the family. "Why are you even here now?" asked Kat. "I mean, you hardly even sleep here any more."
"Needed a change of clothes," said Genya. She opened her chest of drawers and pulled out a sweater and a skirt, then stuffed them into her knapsack. Then she walked over to Kat's bed and looked at the items Ian had brought.
"This is neat," said Genya, holding a black short skirt up to her waist.
Kat looked at it sceptically.
Almost as if Genya knew what she was thinking, she said. "The neatest thing about this is that it's vinyl and fits like a glove." Then she put both of her hands inside the waist and pulled.
Then Genya, in her usual take-charge manner, put together an outfit for Kat from the items Ian had brought. By the time Kat struggled into the black corset top, the skintight skirt, fishnet stockings and knee-high vinyl stiletto boots, she truly did feel like she was someone else.
Genya had a huge grin on her face as she angled the door mirror so Kat could get a good look at herself. "Well," said Kat. "I sure am not me."
"Too bad you have to wear those glasses," said Genya.
"I'm blind without them," said Kat. "And you know it."
"Yeah," said Genya. "But let me do your make-up, okay?"
When they were little, Genya used to love putting make-up on Kat. She also would put make-up on her mother and even on Baba. Kat sighed with nostalgia. It would be so nice to be back in those simpler days.
Genya painted china doll lips on Kat in black eyeliner, and outlined her eyes in kohl. They didn't have white face make-up, but Genya mixed up a concoction of foundation and concealer that did a pretty good job. Kat's hair was its natural colour, but Genya gelled it wild. "Promise not to touch it," she admonished, "or you'll spoil the effect."
Kat felt giddy with anticipation as she walked on the sidewalk between Ian and Lisa on their way to The Savage Garden. They passed a small shop or two, and a garment factory. The door opened as they walked by and a haggard looking Vietnamese woman stepped outside. Under one arm was the end of a bolt of glittery cloth. She clutched it protectively as she darted past the three teens.
"This is the street where my grandparents lived when they first came to Canada," said Kat. "Baba worked in one of those garment factories too."
"It's all Vietnamese now," said Lisa. "These women can barely scrape by."
The entrance to The Savage Garden looked like a cross between a construction zone and a cave. Ian pushed on the door and Kat was greeted with a blast of retro Goth music and a swirl of cigarette smoke. She stepped in, Lisa and Ian close behind. They were enveloped in darkness and steamy warmth.
Kat could feel Ian's hand under one of her elbows, and Lisa's arm around her waist and she was grateful for their closeness because the place was packed. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she took in all of the outrageous outfits. Compared to some of these, she was downright conservative.
A middle aged man with red contact lenses, a black shirt with a priest's collar and a long leather skirt was standing beside a pool table, chalking a cue. Beside him was a woman in her twenties wearing skintight black leather pants and a leather bra. She was bending over t
he pool table, lining up her balls.
Amidst the outrageous outfits, there were a few people who must have come only to sightsee. Kat noticed that these people wore regular black clothing — black jeans, shirts, skirts — but no vinyl and nothing daring.
There were a number of small tables scattered around the room where people clustered for conversation. Each table was anchored in place with a pole that extended from floor to ceiling. The walls were mostly painted black, but some parts were metallic, and Kat could see the outline of machine sculpture through the cigarette smoke.
There were a few people dancing frenetically, but most were either talking, or just walking around, enjoying the sights. Kat looked up and saw that there were some raised platforms decorated to look like jail cells. People were dancing up there too.
"Do you want to dance?" asked Lisa, motioning her towards the centre of the floor.
"No," said Kat.
Lisa pulled Ian to the dance floor and Kat watched.
It was such a welcome change to have such extreme sensory overload. The music was so loud and the lights flashing were so intense that it blocked out all thought. She revelled in the anonymity of it all.
CHAPTER 28
KAT WAITED ALL day Sunday, but Michael didn't call. Once, she picked up the phone and began to dial his number, but she changed her mind halfway through and put the receiver back on the cradle.
She opened the front curtains, thinking that maybe Michael was walking down the street to her house, but all she saw was the woman with the picket sign.
She was filled with impatient energy and a million thoughts. There was really only one thing that would ever settle her down, and that was to set her mind free by creating something with her hands. It was only days after Christmas, but what Kat had the urge to create was a pysanka — a written egg.
It felt odd to be getting out the mason jars of dye from their dark storage area months before Easter, but the sight of them brightened her spirits. A written egg was hope. And she could never write just one egg. After all, once you got the dye out and tested it to see which colours needed replacing, and then once you found some really nice smooth and perfect chicken eggs, it seemed a shame to just make one.
Hope's War Page 14
