Hope's War

by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

  The protester looked troubled and agitated. She held out her hand to Danylo, and he grasped it gently.

  "I survived the Holocaust," the woman said. "And what I remember is being led away at gun point by the Nazis, while the Ukrainians looked on. They did nothing to save us."

  Danylo understood how her memories could be shaped that way.

  "What I realize now is that the Ukrainians were as helpless as the Jews." Tears welled up in the woman's eyes. "My name is Sarah Goldman," she said. "And this is my granddaughter Carol."

  The teen stepped forward and shook Danylo's hand and then she looked at Kat and smiled.

  Throughout this exchange, Danylo's supporters had listened in silence. Dr. Nguyen stepped beside Danylo and placed a hand on his shoulder. Ian and Lisa were close behind.

  "Mr. Feschuk," said Dr. Nguyen. "I would like to invite you to a get-together at our house tonight."

  Danylo turned to Dr. Nguyen in gratitude.

  "Yes," said Lisa, stepping forward. "A potluck. All these people here," she motioned with her hands to show Danylo's friends and supporters, Mrs. Goldman and her daughter, "are invited too."

  CHAPTER 40

  THE PHONE RANG.

  Kat had just changed from her court clothing into jeans and a sweater. When no one else answered, she flew down the stairs and grabbed the phone. It was for her mother.

  Orysia listened with surprise, and then put the phone back on its cradle. "They think they've found the graffiti artist again," her mother said.

  Kat frowned sceptically. "Let's hope they have some evidence this time."

  "Actually," said Orysia. "They think it was Dylan Tomblin, that boy you used to go to camp with."

  "Dylan?" exclaimed Kat. "Why would he do such a thing?"

  "I don't know," said Orysia, "but Dr. Bradley called the police last night after the concert because she was concerned about vandalism. When they got there, they caught this boy on school property with a spray can in his pocket."

  "And from that, they think he's our graffiti artist?"

  "No," said her mother. "They ran his fingerprints through the system, and it matched."

  When Danylo stepped through the threshold at the Nguyens' house, he was enveloped in hugs, handshakes, and the steamy scent of lemon grass simmering in broth. He felt as if he were in a dream state as he looked around him and saw so many familiar faces, all regarding him with happy smiles. His friends from the church and the Ukrainian community were there, and his neighbour, Mrs. Wentworth, as were the Vincents, Ian and his family, and even Karen — Genya's friend.

  Danylo could feel tears of gratitude fill his throat. This hearing had been so hard on him, yet these people had not prejudged. They listened to the testimony and drew their own conclusions. It gave him a sense of relief to know that Canada worked differently than the regimes he had fled.

  Lisa's parents had set up a table along one wall of the kitchen. She handed Danylo the first plate, and grabbed him by the hand and led him to the head of the line. There were fragrant casserole dishes, and bowls and platters of food. Many of the dishes were entirely new to him, but they all smelled wonderful. He spooned a bit of each onto his plate and savoured the moment.

  The weekend passed and there was no word from the judge. In spite of the fact that she had pretty well lost the year, Kat went to school on Monday. She craved a routine: something to take her mind off of her grandfather's trial.

  She walked into art class with a sense of déjà vu. It was as if time had stood still. All the same people she had not seen or even thought about in the last few weeks were all there, and they were all chattering away about the usual things: music, clothes, who had the hots for whom. There was not even a ripple of attention or interest at her sudden return.

  Well, that wasn't entirely so: Beth turned in her chair and regarded Kat appraisingly.

  "You've got a lot of catching up to do," she said.

  "I know," said Kat. "But I've been doing some projects at home too."

  "Did your grandfather get his papers filled out?" she asked. "Sort of," replied Kat. "We're still waiting to hear from the judge."

  Just then, Michael walked in, and he slipped into the desk beside Kat. He gave her a grin.

  "Your father was awesome on Friday," said Kat.

  "Your grandfather wasn't so bad either," replied Michael.

  At lunch, Kat noticed that there had been changes. Callie and Beth sat together at the table with the other grade ten arts students, but Michael wasn't there. Kat stood at the cafeteria entrance with her laden tray and scanned the room. It didn't take her long to spot Ian's shaved head. As if his unusual scalp wasn't enough, he was standing, flailing his arms so she'd notice. As she walked closer, she noticed that not only was Lisa sitting with him, but so was Michael.

  Kat set down her tray and regarded these three true friends of hers. Who would have thought that this unlikely trio would have stuck with her through thick and thin?

  Lisa swallowed a spoonful of chocolate pudding and then looked up at Kat with an excited grin. "Ian has news," she said.

  Kat set her tray down beside Michael and across from Lisa and Ian. "What?" she asked. She looked over at Ian and saw that he looked like he was about to burst.

  "Remember that guy who came out of the concert with Dr. Bradley?" he asked Kat, his eyes shining with excitement.

  The concert seemed like a million years away. Kat thought about it. "Oh yeah," she said. "The agent."

  "That's right," grinned Ian. "I tried out for a TV commercial yesterday."

  "You're kidding," said Kat, her eyes glowing with pleasure. "Did you play the piano for him?"

  Ian's grin diminished almost imperceptibly. "No," he said. "He was interested in my look, not my music."

  "Oh," said Kat.

  Lisa, who could barely contain her excitement throughout this exchange, bumped her shoulder against Ian's affectionately and said, "Come on, Ian, just tell her what happened."

  Kat looked at Ian questioningly.

  "I got cast in a TV commercial for an Internet banking company," said Ian.

  "That's a riot," said Kat. "I would have never pegged you as a banker type."

  Ian smiled. "You're always underestimating me."

  CHAPTER 41

  A WEEK WENT by. Then another. And another. Time stood still at the Baliuk residence. Every time the phone rang, Orysia jumped to answer it. Kat would watch her mother's face, her heart pumping in anticipation, but soon she would realize that the caller was yet another neighbour or well-wisher or friend.

  Kat's father was still posted in Oregon, and her grandfather was still in Genya's bedroom. There was only one thing that didn't stand still in the Baliuk household, and that was Genya. Once the hearing was over, she plunged herself into her school-work as if nothing else mattered.

  There was a voice mail message when Kat got home from school on the first Tuesday in early March.

  "This is Mr. Vincent," the message said. "Iris, please call when you get home."

  Orysia was at the old house with Danylo, packing up the last of the rooms. Kat ran all the way there. "Call Mr. Vincent," she said breathlessly. "I think the judge has made his decision."

  Danylo's phone had already been disconnected, so they had to walk all the way back home before returning the call. Danylo slumped on the sofa in exhaustion, and Kat sat beside him and held his hand while her mother called the lawyer.

  Orysia put the phone down. "We're to be at court tomorrow at 9," she said.

  With such short notice, there were not many observers. Mrs. Caine was there, as was Mr. Vincent, but aside from Danylo, Orysia and Kat, the only other people present were a couple of reporters.

  The judge regarded the almost empty room, then sat down in his usual place high up on the platform. He cleared his throat, then began to read from a paper in front of him.

  Kat tried to listen as the judge summarized the details of her grandfather's hearing. He pointed out that this was not a crim
inal trial, but a deportation hearing. "I am not here to judge whether Mr. Feschuk is a war criminal," he said. "My job today is to determine whether, on the balance of probabilities, Mr. Danylo Feschuk lied to immigration authorities when he came to Canada."

  Why then, Kat wondered, had all of those witnesses been called?

  "There were a number of banned immigrant categories at the time Mr. Feschuk came to Canada," said the judge. "Let us go over them and see how Mr. Feschuk fits. Was he a Communist? No. Was he a member of the SS? No. In fact, he couldn't have been a member of the SS because he was not Aryan. Was he a member of the Nazi Party? Again, he wasn't eligible. Only German citizens were allowed to join the Nazi Party. Was he a criminal? No. A professional gambler, a prostitute, a black market racketeer? No, Mr. Feschuk was none of these things."

  The judge flipped over his page and considered what he had written on the next page. "Mr. Feschuk did not use a fictitious name, he wasn't a member of the Mafia, nor of the Italian Fascist Party and he wasn't a Trotskyite."

  The judge then looked over his glasses at Danylo. "However, the next category is more problematical. Was he a member of a revolutionary organization?"

  Danylo regarded the judge unflinchingly, waiting for his answer. "No," said the judge. "There is nothing revolutionary about defending your country."

  Danylo breathed a sigh of relief.

  "However," continued the judge. "On the balance of probabilities, I find that Danylo Feschuk lied during his immigration screening."

  Kat raised her hand to her mouth, stunned.

  "I believe that if Mr. Feschuk had told immigration authorities that he was an auxiliary policeman, they would have questioned him very carefully about this, even though this would not have been a reason to deny him entry."

  Kat stared at the judge in confusion.

  "The fact that he claims not to remember much about the interview implies to me that he wasn't subjected to such questioning, and therefore must have lied about what really happened," continued the judge. "I find, on the balance of probabilities, that Mr. Feschuk obtained Canadian citizenship by false representation or by knowingly concealing material circumstances."

  Kat felt a slow flush of anger envelop her. She wanted nothing more than to go over and shake the judge. Did he really think that his judgement was justice? She looked over at her grandfather, who was sitting between Kat and her mother. Danylo's face was pasty white in shock. She saw that her mother had grabbed one of Danylo's hands in a white knuckled grip, and Kat reached out and clasped the other.

  The judge set down his papers and took off his glasses. He looked over at Danylo and his family and seemed to understand the emotional turmoil they were in. Gently, he said, "The Minister of Citizenship may wish to consider the following points: there is no evidence that Mr. Feschuk lied during immigration proceedings. There is no evidence that Mr. Feschuk was a Nazi; there is no evidence that Mr. Feschuk committed any crimes in his position as an auxiliary police officer. There is evidence that Mr. Feschuk used his position with the auxiliary police to work against the Nazis. While the Minister may consider these points, it is not in the scope of this court to do so."

  With that, the judge stood up and walked out of the chambers.

  Danylo, Kat and Orysia did not move. Instead, they sat, hands locked in each other's. One of the reporters flipped his steno pad shut and walked out of the room, but the other one approached the family. He was a young man with wire-rimmed glasses and an earnest expression.

  "Mr. Feschuk," the reporter said, pen poised over steno pad. "What will you do now?"

  Danylo looked into the reporter's face, but did not reply. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, the reporter left.

  The only people in the courtroom now were Mrs. Caine, Mr. Vincent, Danylo, Orysia and Kat. Mrs. Caine stuffed some sheets of paper into her briefcase and then clicked it shut. She smiled triumphantly at Danylo as she walked past him to the exit.

  "He had nothing to lie about," Orysia said to Mr. Vincent.

  "I know," he replied.

  "What do we do now?" she asked.

  "There is no appeal to a deportation and denaturalization hearing," said Mr. Vincent in a strained voice. "I don't know what to say."

  CHAPTER 42

  THAT NIGHT, KAT tossed and turned. She kept on dreaming about what was going to happen to her grandfather. Were the RCMP going to show up at their door and handcuff Dido? Where would they take him? If they deported him back to Ukraine, where would he live? Kat knew that no family had survived in Orelets.

  Kat still hadn't slept a wink when she heard the squeak of the front door opening and the thunk of a newspaper being dropped in. She shivered slightly as she got out of bed so she grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it over her nightgown for warmth and then padded down the stairs. It was still dark out, but already, both the Globe & Mail and the Toronto Star were sitting between the doors. She grabbed them both and sat down on the living room sofa. A headline on the bottom of the front page of the Globe caught her eye, "Ex-Nazi set for deportation."

  The judge had found that her grandfather was not a Nazi, but they weren't going to let that fact get in the way of a good headline, she thought cynically. Kat didn't even have the heart to read the article. The newspaper slid from her lap and landed on the floor.

  The front page of the Star was even more sensational, "Ex-Nazi lied to live here." Kat felt her face redden in anger. Where did this "ex-Nazi" stuff come from? As she scanned the article, anger turned to a feeling of hopelessness. There was no mention of the fact that her grandfather had worked with the Ukrainian resistance. The implication was that her grandfather had joined the auxiliary police in order to avoid farm labour in Germany. And to kill Jews. Kat threw the paper down onto the floor. How could this sort of thing happen in a country like Canada?

  She walked across the living room, into the kitchen, and opened the basement door. She was so angry and distressed that only one thing could settle her, and that was her art. She didn't even bother turning on the light, but instead, relied on the glimmers of sunrise that were peeking through the basement windows. On her TV tray sat several of the pysanky she had worked on so carefully during the hearing. They had brought her comfort and hope each evening as she had a chance to sit by herself and understand what each witness had been trying to convey. What was the point, anyway, she thought now. Who had been listening? The judge had heard all the same points that she had, yet he had managed to come to a completely different conclusion.

  Kat picked up her favourite egg. It was the one, that for her, embodied life and hope. It was the first one she had made during her grandfather's hearing: the one with forty triangles. Legend had it that far away, a monster was chained to a cliff. Once a year, the monster's servants would travel the world and count how many new pysanky had been made. Each year that there were fewer than the year before, the chains were loosened, and there was more evil let loose in the world. Making pysanky was Kat's pleasant chore to keep evil at bay.

  But after reading those newspaper accounts of her grandfather, all Kat could think of was that evil had been let loose. She reached into her shoe box of dyes and implements, and pulled out the huge chemo syringe that reminded her of Baba, but in an ugly, deathly way. She took a deep breath and plunged it into the fortieth triangle at the bottom of the egg. With cold precision, Kat drew out the yolk and the white of her favourite egg. By doing so, she killed it, but she also saved it from bursting from rot in years to come.

  When she was finished, she held up the empty shell about 6 inches from her face. It was beautiful, but empty: no longer a symbol of hope and love. Just an empty shell. With anger born of despair, she took that beautiful egg and smashed it on the TV tray. And then she walked back upstairs.

  She stood in the living room and stared out the window, watching the sun slowly rise. One sob escaped her throat, then another, and another.

  From behind the closed door of his bedroom, Danylo could hear his zolota zhabk
a weeping. It broke his heart to hear it. What did she think of him now that the judge had ruled against him, he wondered. Did she still love him? And did she understand the truth? He could only hope.

  He took his terry cloth robe down from the hook on the back of the door and put it on over his pyjamas. He opened the door and looked out. There she was, his golden frog, his zolota zhabka, with a broken heart. It was his fault. Perhaps he should have packed his bags and left when the deportation order had first come. Perhaps then, she would have been saved this sorrow?

  He stepped out of the bedroom and approached Kat. She looked up and quickly wiped her tears. When he sat down beside her, she showed him the ugly words from the newspapers. Tears began to form in his eyes too. It was bad enough that they were stripping his citizenship, but to call him a Nazi — that was too much. Perhaps he should leave this country. He had obviously overestimated the Canadian sense of justice.

  The two sat together on the sofa without exchanging words. Moments and minutes and hours passed. The sun rose.

  Genya came down the stairs and walked into the living room, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "What's the matter?" she asked, glancing from her sister to her grandfather.

  Kat looked up. "Read this," she said, gathering up the papers at her feet and handing them to her sister. She watched Genya's expression change from bored sleepiness, to incomprehension, to anger.

  "This is crap," said Genya. Danylo looked up and met his older granddaughter's eyes. He felt a glimmer of gratitude. Of all people, he felt that Genya would be the first to abandon him. "You are innocent, Dido," she said vehemently. "We've got to fight this."

  Kat looked up at her sister with hope.

  Genya wasn't alone in her fighting spirit. A group of concerned citizens called a meeting at the church hall that very evening, and Kat was thrilled when hundreds of supporters gathered. In addition to people from the congregation, there were a number of students from St. Paul's and from Cawthra. There was a large contingent from the Vietnamese community, and even a number of complete strangers. Kat spied Ian's shaved and stitched head at the back of the hall, and so she darted down the aisle before the meeting started to greet her friend. He was not alone. Both Lisa and Michael were with him.