Dr. Sterzer's answer caused a ripple of whispers in the courtroom.
"Order," admonished the judge. "If you can't hold your tongue, you will have to step outside.
The whispers ceased.
"I have no further questions," said Mrs. Caine.
Kat was surprised by Doctor Sterzer's testimony. This was a whole side of World War II that she had never had an inkling about. As he spoke, the image of a whole army hidden in the woods formed in her mind. But it also raised a question for her. How did her grandfather transform himself from an auxiliary policeman to an UPA soldier? She hoped some of the other witnesses would shed light on this question.
CHAPTER 35
"THIS FIRST PYSANKAis going to be awesome," said Kat, blotting the black mottled thing she had pulled out of the mason jar of dye with a paper towel.
Michael grimaced. "Somehow, I find that hard to believe."
This Tuesday night was the fourth time that he had come by after supper in the past week. Since Kat had first shown him her pysanky, he became determined to perfect the process for himself.
What had confused him the most was the concept of doing everything backwards. The melted beeswax went on like black ink, but it was used only as a temporary seal for the colour underneath it.
Each day before he left, Kat submerged his egg into a different mason jar of dye, starting with the lightest first: yellow, then red, then black. By the time she fished it out of the last jar and blotted it dry, it was totally black and mottled with bumps and ridges.
Michael's eyebrows frowned in confusion. "Okay," he said. "I know that all the colours are underneath the wax, but how do you get the wax off?"
"Very carefully," said Kat with a smile.
She lit the small stub of the candle on her table, then waited for the flame to burn clean and long. "Now watch."
Holding the blackened egg between her thumb and forefinger, she held it close beside the flame. Within seconds, the beeswax heated up and began to liquefy and drip. With a quick motion, Kat grabbed a facial tissue and blotted away about an inch square of melted wax. A tiny bit of Michael's colourful pattern was peeping through. Kat held the egg at a slightly different angle and again held it close to the flame, then blotted away the melted wax. More pattern was revealed, and the tedious process continued.
"Why don't you just put the whole thing in the microwave?" asked Michael.
"It would explode," said Kat.
"Oh."
Kat didn't want to confuse him by telling him that it was actually possible to microwave the beeswax off pysanky, but first, the raw egg had to be removed from inside. And it had to be removed after the succession of wax and dye had been applied. It was incredibly tricky to do it without breaking the egg and without disturbing the design. One time, when Kat had accompanied her grandmother to the chemotherapy room, she had joked about the big-barrelled syringe the nurse used to inject the anti-cancer concoction they had nick-named the "red devil" because of its vile side-effects. "Wouldn't that be a great syringe for pysanky?" her grandmother had remarked.
After a few minutes, Kat had removed almost all of the wax. There were a few places where it stuck, so she scraped the remaining bits away with her fingernail, and then she held the finished work up with a grin. "See?" she said. "I told you it would be awesome."
Michael's egg pattern was one that Kat had sketched out for him as a good one to start with. It consisted of two stylized eight pointed stars: one on the front and one the back. The points were each so elongated that they connected up with their mirror image on the other side of the egg. The result was stunning, although there were a couple of fingerprint smudges and one or two places where the wax had loosened and dye had bled through in the wrong place.
"Why did that happen?" asked Michael, pointing at the imperfections.
"You were holding the egg too tightly," explained Kat. "Next time, don't try so hard."
Michael nodded in understanding.
CHAPTER 36
THE TESTIMONY ON Wednesday consisted of a succession of villagers. Kat secretly agreed with her father's opinion. It would have been just as effective and much cheaper if one or two of them had testified. They all said the same thing: that Danylo had walked a tightrope in his role as an auxiliary police officer. He had to make the Germans think he was obeying them, while all the time he was working against them. None had witnessed brutality on his part.
One witness from New Jersey had a different story to tell. Kat watched as the white haired man with piercing blue eyes entered the witness stand.
"What is your name?" asked Mr. Vincent.
"Sergei Kovalenko," he said.
"Can you tell me about yourself?" asked Mr. Vincent.
"I am a retired insurance salesman," said the man. "I was born in Russia. I came to the United States from a Displaced Persons camp after the war."
"How do you know Mr. Feschuk?" asked Mr. Vincent.
"I will never forget that man," said Mr. Kovalenko, nodding in Danylo's direction. "I was a prisoner of war, and he helped me escape." Sergei then told the courtroom of that fateful time.
Within the barbed wire enclosure, the odour was overwhelming. Some of the prisoners had died, but the guards didn't remove the bodies right away. The stench of the corpses competed with the smell of dried vomit and feces. The prisoners were not fed, and they were not given water and so it was a wonder they were able to create such a mess, but the mess was there for all to see. And smell.
Sergei had tried to stay away from the other prisoners of war. Although he had no hope of surviving beyond a couple of days, he felt a moral obligation to try to stay as healthy as he could for as long as he could.
Within the barbed wire enclosure, there were perhaps 500 men. Each day, more were brought in, but each day many died, so the number was constant. Sergei was already in his second day, so he knew his time was near. He would sit as still as he could to conserve his energy, and he would watch the guards.
One day, a Ukrainian auxiliary policeman brushed past him, just inches from his face. "Watch the gate. Escape," the man said, then continued walking.
Escape? Could he even hope for that? And what was he to watch the gate for? Something different, he presumed. He gestured to a couple of others who were healthy like him and told them what the policeman said. So there were about five of them, surreptitiously keeping their eyes on the gate, not knowing what they were supposed to see.
It happened the next day. A beautiful, young and healthy girl walked past with a basket of eggs at the exact same time the corpses were being removed. The one guard left at the gate was momentarily startled when the girl tripped and fell.
Sergei and his friends were ready. They slipped out.
Sergei and the others went to the forest, and they found many others like themselves. Some of the villagers came out to find them and brought food. Others brought weapons.
Sergei never saw the policeman again until one memorable day in February of 1943, when thousands of Ukrainian policemen escaped to the woods.
"Mr. Kovalenko," Mr. Vincent asked. "What was the approximate date of your escape from the POW camp?"
"It was in 1941," replied Sergei. "I do not know the exact date, but it was in the fall."
"So as early as 1941, you witnessed Mr. Feschuk performing anti-Nazi activity."
"That is correct."
"What would have happened if Mr. Feschuk had been caught helping you to escape?"
Sergei shook his head in dismay. "I don't even want to think about it," he replied. "He would have been killed, and many other villagers would have been killed too."
"Thank you, Mr. Kovelenko," said Mr. Vincent. "No further questions."
Mrs. Caine stood up. "Mr. Kovelenko, how did you become a prisoner of war?"
"My whole unit surrendered to the Germans."
"You refused to fight the Nazis?" asked Mrs. Caine.
Mr. Kovelenko sat up straight in his chair and regarded Mrs. Caine sternly. "I fought
the Nazis once I was in the UPA. In the Red Army, we were issued one rifle for every two soldiers. The Germans arrived in tanks. What did you expect us to do?"
"I would have expected you to die with honour," said Mrs. Caine. "No more questions."
It was only 2:45.
The judge looked from the plaintiff to the defence. "We have one more witness," he said. "And that is Danylo Feschuk."
Then the judge removed his glasses and regarded Danylo.
"Would you like to testify today, or would you like to wait until tomorrow?"
Danylo leaned towards a microphone to answer, but before he did, Mr. Vincent stood up.
"We ask that the hearing be adjourned for the day. Mr. Feschuk is tired."
"Fine," said the judge, banging his gavel. "The court will resume tomorrow at 9 am."
CHAPTER 37
BY THE TIME Kat arrived at Cawthra, Lisa had taken the parachute out of the knapsack and it was draped out on the stage floor. It was amazingly huge: it stretched all the way from one side of the stage to the other.
Lisa and Kat tried to hang it with the three huge scallops like they had before, but they couldn't get the knack anymore. It kept on looking lopsided. They experimented with different ways to hang it, and Ian stood at the back of the auditorium and watched. "That's perfect," he called out on their sixth attempt.
The two girls stepped back to view their work. It was angled in such a way that the khaki satiny material formed into one huge loopy triangle, with the small end at the top, widening to the full expanse of the stage at floor level. The velvet maroon curtains contrasted nicely in texture and colour as a backdrop to the set. It was an elegant and stark setting for Ian, with his white hair and long black coat with the red satin lining.
Ian walked down the centre aisle towards the stage as Lisa climbed up a ladder to unfasten the top of the parachute. A moment later, it was in billows on the floor. Ian bent down to wind it into a compact ball. He unzipped the knapsack carrying case and drew out a bundle of chamois. Inside was the ornate Victorian knife that he had bought at the surplus store.
"Why are you still carrying that around?" asked Kat, a note of concern in her voice.
"No reason," said Ian. "I just like the look of it." He ran his finger over the polished blade with admiration.
Kat was not convinced. "You don't take a knife to school just because you like the look of it," she said.
"I do."
"Even a pen knife on a key chain is forbidden," said Kat angrily. "Do you want to get kicked out of Cawthra? I can't believe you could be so dumb."
Ian looked up at her with an annoyed expression on his face. "You are such an incredible priss sometimes," he said. He had finished bundling the parachute by this time and shoved it into the knapsack. He wrapped the knife in the piece of chamois and placed it inside the front of his leather jacket.
They walked out of the auditorium and into the school hallway together.
"I'm calling my mom to pick me up," said Kat, walking towards the pay phone at the front of the school. "Do you guys want a ride home?"
Ian looked at her with a scowl. "I'll catch the bus," he said, turning his back on them both and walking out the front door of the school.
Lisa looked from Ian's back to Kat and rolled her eyes. "I'll take a ride if the offer's open."
Kat called home and was surprised when Genya answered. "Mom's lying down," she said. "But I'll come and get you."
"Don't be too upset with Ian," said Lisa. "He's always in a bad mood before a concert."
Kat just shrugged. Ian had been so patient with all of her strange moods of late. The least she could do was be patient when he had something on his mind. As they walked towards Lisa's locker, Kat updated Lisa on the latest developments of her grandfather's case.
Ian was still angry by the time he had reached the bus stop. Kat was a nice kid, but she was so conservative that sometimes it made him want to scream. Why was she always looking at him with such disapproval? What was the big deal about carrying a knife, anyway? Couldn't she see that it was an awesome looking knife?
He was the only person waiting by the bus stop, and he paced back and forth to keep himself warm in the January air, hoping that he hadn't just missed a bus. He didn't still want to be standing there when Kat's ride arrived. The parachute knapsack was strapped to his back, and he carried the other one filled with his books. He didn't even know why he had brought his books home. He wasn't about to do any homework on concert night. However, if he walked back to his locker to get rid of the stuff, he would exit at the exact same time as Kat and Lisa. And he was mad at Kat.
He looked up the street and noticed that a couple of jocks from another high school were walking towards him. Ian hated jocks. He used to be one himself, and he knew that they looked upon people like him with utter disdain. He looked down the street to see if the bus was coming yet, but none was in sight. He looked back and noticed that the jocks — there were three of them — were coming straight towards him.
Where was that stupid bus?
Ian surveyed the three when they were just a dozen feet away from him. The tallest was the jerk Kat seemed to know. Dylan and he had been on the same all-star hockey team eons ago. The other two he didn't know.
"Hey Ian, is that you?" said Dylan as he came up and stood beside the bus stop.
Ian looked at his team mate of long ago and scowled a nod.
Dylan was a full head taller than he was and probably weighed at least fifty pounds more.
His two friends weren't much smaller.
One of Dylan's friends pushed Ian's shoulder with rough jocularity and asked, "Are you a fag, or what?"
Ian rolled his eyes. Puhlease, he thought. What was this guy's problem?
"Hey," said the jock angrily. "I asked you a question." He poked Ian roughly. "You look like a fag to me."
"What I am is no business of yours," replied Ian with cold anger.
"So you think," he taunted.
Ian was doing a slow burn by this time. He looked down the street and saw that there was still no bus in sight. He stepped away from the three other teens and began walking down the street. Perhaps he would hitch a ride home.
"Hey, my friend was talking to you," said Dylan.
Ian continued walking. He could hear three sets of Nikes close behind him, but he didn't want to turn around. Suddenly, he felt a punch on his arm.
Ian reached into his jacket and unwrapped the ornate Victorian knife. He felt someone pulling on his knapsack. He swung around, knife in hand. "Leave me alone!" he shouted.
Dylan saw the knife and in a flash, he had grabbed Ian's wrist and squeezed it. The pressure made Ian drop the knife with a clatter onto the sidewalk.
One of Dylan's friends picked it up. "We'll show you, you fag."
Dylan grabbed a huge handful of Ian's hair and pulled with all his might. Ian's legs buckled, and before he knew it, he was kneeling on the ground. The teen with the knife fell upon him. Ian felt a sharp pain on his scalp, and then a warm gush. Through a veil of blood, Ian could see that the teen with the knife was grinning and holding a handful of white hair.
The teen threw it down on the sidewalk, then wiped the remnants of blood from his hand onto Ian's jacket.
"Ew," he said. "I hope I don't get AIDS now."
Next, Dylan grabbed the knapsack that had fallen from Ian's hands and ripped it open, scattering school books all over the sidewalk. Someone cut the straps of the other knapsack from his back and opened it up.
"What do we have here?" one of them asked.
Ian's eyes were closed in pain, but he could hear the sickening sound of ripping fabric. He felt the dull thud of someone kicking him in the ribs.
"GET OFF HIM!"
Ian heard the shrill scream as blackness enveloped him.
With strength they didn't know they had, Kat and Lisa punched and bit the three large teens who were attacking Ian. Dylan and his friends looked up in complete shock and amazement when they saw
who Ian's champions were.
They dropped the knife and scattered.
Kat was utterly shocked that Dylan would be involved in such an incident of violence. What had gotten in to him?
Ian lay, still as death, on the sidewalk. The blood from his scalp wound had spilled onto the sidewalk and was beginning to form a small pool. Long strips of cut parachute fluttered in the wind. Lisa gathered it up as best she could while Kat took a strip of it and stanched the wound on Ian's head. She was thankful to see that the thugs had not yet torn out his nose ring. Small comfort.
The knife lay on the ground, smudges of Ian's blood and a wisp of hair still visible on the blade. A clump of white hair was stuck to the sidewalk, looking like a stomped mouse. The sight made Kat want to vomit.
Lisa followed Kat's gaze. "We can't just leave that," she said. She rooted through her knapsack for her binder and then tore out a sheet of paper. Gingerly, she wrapped the knife up into it and then placed it in her own knapsack. Then she pulled the hank of hair from the sidewalk and wrapped it in a separate sheet of paper. Next she gathered up Ian's scattered school books and put them back into his other knapsack.
"When is your sister getting here?" asked Lisa. "Do you want to call her on my cell phone?"
"She'll be here any minute," said Kat, still holding the bit of fabric to Ian's wound and fighting back tears.
Genya had come upon the scene moments later, although to Lisa and Kat it had seemed like hours. As usual, Genya's calm efficiency was an asset. She had assessed the situation before even stopping the car. She pulled up right at the bus stop and set her emergency lights on flash then scrambled out of the car.
"We've got to take him to the hospital," cried Kat to her sister.
"Not so fast," said Genya. "We don't want to move him in case he has a neck injury. We've got to call an ambulance."
Lisa flipped open her cell phone and called 911. When the ambulance came, Lisa scrambled in beside Ian's stretcher, leaving Ian's two knapsacks behind. Kat picked them up and put them in the trunk of the car, and then she and her sister followed behind the ambulance.
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