Hope's War

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Hope's War Page 5

by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch


  "Parachutes," said Kat.

  "What?" said Ian, looking at her in confusion. "Parachute what?"

  "That's the backdrop," said Kat. "For your solo."

  Lisa's pale face broke into a delighted smile. "That's brilliant," she said. "It would be a huge piece of shiny material, and it would catch the lighting beautifully, but without taking the attention away from Ian. White would be ideal." As she said this, she bumped him with her shoulder in a possessive way.

  "Where would I get a parachute?" asked Ian.

  "Ask me tomorrow," said Kat, pasting a weak smile onto her face.

  When the bus dropped Kat home after school that afternoon, her grandfather was nowhere to be found. He wasn't in the garden, and he wasn't sitting, brooding, in his favourite chair. The door to Genya's bedroom was closed, and so she gave it a light tap. When no one answered, she opened it a few inches and peeked in. Her grandfather was fast asleep on the top of the comforter. Salt of dried tears etched down the side of his cheeks.

  "Dido," she said, gently shaking him by the shoulder.

  His eyes jumped open, and he looked startled for a moment, but then he focused on her, standing there.

  "Dido," said Kat. "Why don't we go for a walk?"

  Danylo sighed with deep sadness and closed his eyes. "I'm tired," he said.

  Kat knew that it was more than mere tiredness that made him want to sleep. "Come on," she said. "I've been cooped up in school all day and could really use some fresh air."

  Danylo opened his eyes again and looked at her. "Okay," he said. "Why don't we walk to my house and check the garden and get the mail?"

  "Great," said Kat.

  Kat knew that it would take her grandfather a good ten minutes to get ready. It looked as if he hadn't shaven, and he would want to change into a freshly ironed shirt and trousers.

  She looked at her watch and considered. By the time they got back from Dido's house, it would be supper time. She had promised Ian that she'd look into parachutes. Better get a head start now.

  Kat opened the phone book to the yellow pages and looked up "parachutes." No parachutes per se, but several parachute clubs and sky diving instructors. It's a start, she thought.

  She dialled the first number and got an answering machine. Ditto for the second and third. Finally, on the fourth try, a human voice answered:

  "Swoop and Swirl Skydiving, can I help you?" the woman's voice said.

  "Um, hi," said Kat. "I've got a weird question ... do you know where I would be able to buy or rent a used parachute?"

  "Weird questions are my husband's department," said the woman. "Hold on."

  Kat waited, and in a minute, a male voice came on the line, "Yes?"

  Kat repeated her question. "Everyone thinks we have a whole basement full of used parachutes," said the man in an amused tone. "Skydivers don't even use that kind of parachute any more."

  "What do you mean, ‘that kind' of parachute?"

  "The big ones with all the material. During the war they were made of white silk. Worth a fortune now."

  "Oh," said Kat.

  "What about a modern army parachute?" the man offered helpfully.

  "Are they huge pieces of material?" asked Kat.

  "Yep," said the man. "But they're khaki, not white, and they're not silk anymore."

  "Do you have any idea where I would find one of those?" asked Kat.

  "You could try an army surplus store," suggested the man.

  Excellent idea, thought Kat. Why hadn't she thought of that? "How much do they usually cost?" she asked.

  "If you don't need the hardware, you could probably pick one up for about eighty bucks."

  "Thanks for your help," said Kat.

  She hung up just as her grandfather came out of the bedroom, his face freshly washed and his hair combed. They headed out the door and walked down the street towards her grandfather's house.

  The big verandah at the front of the house looked less inviting than it usually did. Danylo hadn't dropped by daily in the last month. Now, more often than not, it was up to Orysia to stop by after work and pick up the mail. Dust and bits of debris had accumulated, giving the house an abandoned look. Kat could imagine her grandmother rolling in the grave at the thought of such a neglected home, so while her grandfather went around to the back yard to check on the garden, Kat decided to grab a broom from the garage and give the verandah a good sweep. She started with the white painted wooden steps and made her way slowly towards the front door, creating a cloud of dust as she went. When she finally got up to the door, she gingerly grabbed the welcome mat and carried it down the steps and to the middle of the lawn to shake it out. She was walking back up the steps to sweep the bit of verandah that had been covered by the mat when she noticed a piece of paper sticking underneath the doorstep. Someone must have put a flyer under the welcome mat. She crouched down and pulled it out from under the doorstep. It wasn't a flyer, but a letter. Kat was about to put it in her pocket to give to her grandfather when she turned the letter over and saw how it was addressed. One word: murderer.

  Kat was so starded that she dropped it like a hot coal. Just then, her grandfather came around from the back yard. "Did you get the mail, Kataryna?"

  Kat quickly picked up the envelope and hid it in her pocket, and then she placed the clean welcome mat back where it belonged. "I was just about to do that," she said, straightening out her legs and standing up. She reached into the homemade wooden mailbox beside the front door and pulled out half a dozen envelopes. She quickly looked through them to see if there were any others like the one she had hidden. There weren't.

  "Here Dido," she said, handing him the stack of bills and junk mail.

  When they got home, Kat excused herself and hurried to her room. Shutting the door tightly, she opened up the letter with trembling hands. There was a single sheet of stationery and several newspaper clippings which fluttered to the ground as she unfolded the sheet of paper. There was one line scrawled with a shaky hand. It read: Tour turn to pay, old man.

  Kat picked up one of the clippings from the floor. It was a magazine photograph of a man in a dark coloured Nazi police uniform. He was shooting a child. She picked up the other and saw that it was a newspaper article about the thousands of Nazi war criminals that were supposed to be hiding out in Canada.

  Was this some nut's idea of a joke? Why was someone sending her grandfather hate mail like this? She had to find out.

  Normally, Kat didn't go into her parents' bedroom, but she used the excuse of putting away laundry. The white wash that was still sitting in the dryer contained several of her father's shirts, so she ironed them, and walked into her parents' room to put them in the closet.

  It didn't take her long to find what she was looking for. In fact, the whole story was spread out on the cover of her parents' double bed. Kat held the top sheet and read it with shaking hands:

  Take notice that the Minister of Citizenship and Immigration intends to make to the Governor in Council a report within the meaning of section 10 and 18 of the Citizenship Act, R.S.C 1985, c. C-29 and section 19 of the Canadian Citizenship Act R.S.C 1955, c.33 on the grounds that you have been admitted to Canada for permanent residence and have obtained Canadian citizenship by false representations or fraud or by knowingly concealing material circumstances, in that you failed to divulge to Canadian immigration and citizenship officials your collaboration with German authorities and your participating in atrocities against the civilian population during the period 1943-1944, as an auxiliary policeman in German-occupied Ukraine.

  And Further take notice that, if the Governor in Council is satisfied, upon the said report, that you have obtained Canadian citizenship by false representation or fraud or by knowingly concealing material circumstances, you will cease to be a Canadian citizen, as of such date as may be fixed by order of the Governor in Council;

  Kat dropped the paper back on the bed as if it were dirty. What did this mean? That her beloved grandfather was a war crimi
nal? The paper talked about atrocities committed and collaboration and thirty days to respond. Kat thought she was going to vomit.

  She threw the ironed shirts on the bed and ran out of the room. She ran upstairs to her own bedroom and sat on her bed, holding her head in her hands, trying to make sense of it all. Beside her sat the piece of mail that had been sent to her grandfather. Was there someone out there who had reason to believe that her grandfather had done something like what the photo showed? The thought was chilling.

  Kat folded the letter and the clippings and put them back into the envelope. She didn't know how to tell her grandfather or her parents about it, but she was afraid to throw it away, so she stuck it between her mattress and box spring.

  After she regained her composure, Kat walked back down the steps with slow determination. Her grandfather was in the kitchen, staring into an empty teacup. She sat down in the chair across from him and waited for him to look up and meet her eyes.

  "Dido," she said. "Tell me what this is all about."

  "What is it that you want to know?" he asked.

  "What did you do during the war?"

  "I did nothing wrong," he said, his voice cracking with emotion. He got up from his chair and walked out of the kitchen.

  Kat sat there, staring at the empty chair.

  CHAPTER 10

  IN THE SOLITUDEof Genya's transformed bedroom, Danylo had a jumble of thoughts running through his mind. What person nowadays could understand the kind of choices he had to make in his youth? Movies and television liked to make war seem like a battle between right and wrong, good and bad. But what if both sides were bad? Stalin on one side, and Hitler on the other? What choices did you have then? If he could live that time all over again, his choices would still be the same. The pity was that people now couldn't understand how his was the only noble choice.

  Thoughts of the past were quickly washed aside with practical considerations of the current situation. How was he going to afford a lawyer? A trial? He didn't want his daughter and son-in-law to go bankrupt all because of him. Why had the RCMP targeted him after all these years?

  Danylo thought of his home a few blocks away. He thought of all the memories it held. He had never been much further than Toronto since he came to Canada. When he and his wife first came, they had lived in a rooming house around Spadina and Queen, and after saving their pennies and dollars for years, they had bought their first home with a garden in the back and a verandah in the front. That home had been on Bathurst Street, and they had lived there for decades. When they finally moved to Mississauga, it was to be closer to Orysia and Walt and the girls. The quaint tree-lined street had been his refuge, his home, for almost twenty years now. When his wife died, he couldn't bear being there on his own with all the memories. Perhaps he should sell it. But even so, how much money would it fetch? Surely not enough to pay for his court case? And if he did sell it, where would he live? He couldn't possibly camp out in Genya's room forever. That would hardly be fair to her.

  Danylo walked over to the dresser and opened the top drawer. Beneath the yellowed envelope was Nadiya's plain wooden jewellery box nestled amidst his socks and underwear. He opened it. Inside was a simple gold Orthodox crucifix on a fine chain that he had given her on their tenth anniversary. There was also a homemade brooch that Orysia had made when she was a child and Nadiya had worn with pride all these years since. A few other homemade mementoes, but nothing in the box of monetary value. Danylo lifted the top tray out to see if there was anything secreted below. Nothing but a small container of prescription medication. These were morphine tablets. His wife would take them when the pain from her cancer became too overwhelming. She didn't like to take them very often because she considered it a moral failing to give in to her pain, and so she had hidden them here so that she wouldn't resort to them easily. Danylo held the pill bottle up to the light and counted how many tablets it contained. More than a dozen. Enough to stop his pain. Should he take them now and save his family all this pain?

  He opened the container and shook the pills out into his palm. It would be so easy to take these now, and forget everything. His family would be spared the burden of his court costs. What did he have to live for, after all? But then he looked at his wife's golden crucifix. How could he kill himself? That would be a sin.

  The image of Kataryna filled his mind. There were unanswered questions in her eyes. When she had looked at him, their eyes met, and she held his gaze. It was as if she were trying to look into his very soul. To find the truth.

  If I kill myself, considered Danylo, my zolota zhabka can only assume that I've done something bad. He stared at the pills in the palm of his hand with longing. I can't do it. This burden has been given to me, and I must live it. He put the pills back into their container and snapped the cap back on.

  Kat was still sitting, staring at the empty chair when Genya walked in.

  "What's up, little sister?" Genya asked, setting her school-books down on the kitchen table and regarding Kat with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

  Kat looked up at her older sister. "I have something to show you." And with that, she led Genya to her parents' bedroom and pointed to the correspondence fanned out on the bed.

  Genya walked reluctantly over to the bed and picked up the top sheet. "We really shouldn't be in here," she said. "This must be private if they've left it in here."

  "It's not exactly hidden," said Kat. "Besides, this concerns us all."

  Genya read the top sheet, and when she was done, it fluttered from her hand like a dead bird. "I don't get it," she said.

  "Neither do I," said Kat. "I think it's time for a family meeting."

  That evening, after dinner was cleared away, Danylo, Walt, Genya and Kat sat back down at the kitchen table. Orysia got the stack of papers from the master bedroom and brought them for all to see.

  "You girls have a right to know what's happening," began Walt.

  Kat noticed that her father seemed worn down. There was an extra line of worry on his forehead that hadn't been there a month ago, and pockets of shadow were beginning to form under his eyes.

  "The problem is," continued Orysia. "That we're not quite sure what's happening yet ourselves. That's why we hadn't told you about this sooner."

  "There is a misunderstanding," said Walt. "The government thinks your grandfather committed Nazi crimes during World War II."

  Kat frowned.

  Genya was silent.

  Danylo bowed his head.

  Walt flipped through the papers on the table. "We're trying to make sense of this," he said. "We've got to hire a lawyer quickly and get to the bottom of it. When we find out more, we'll tell you, okay?"

  CHAPTER 11

  KAT FELT RATHER odd walking beside Ian. Yonge and Gerrard was not a place one would normally see Goths; Queen Street West — sure, but Yonge was rapper territory.

  A cluster of teens in baggy pants and over-sized running shoes walked past Kat and Ian just as they arrived at the door of Mr. Surplus. Kat expected to hear a ripple of comment as she entered the store with Ian, but the other kids in the store didn't even blink. The store clerks were just as blasé. If anyone stood out here, it was Kat. She looked far too normal.

  Kat crinkled her nose at the sharp smell of old cloth. The store was so narrow that if she held both arms straight out at her sides, she could touch the merchandise that was displayed on both walls. And what merchandise it was! Under a glassed counter was an array of army knives and medals. Down the middle aisle was an overstuffed series of shelves topped with combat helmets, gas masks, and officer's caps. In the shelves themselves was a variety of used clothing, cheap T-shirts, and odds and sods of army wear. The racks on either side were stuffed solid with khaki shirts and pants, camouflage gear and the odd traditional uniform. Even the walls were covered with an array of uniforms.

  Kat looked around and saw that she was the only one in the whole store that wasn't in some sort of costume. Aside from the two or thre
e rappers, there were kids, adults and sales staff dressed in army fatigues. It was hard to tell the customers from the staff.

  "Can I help you?"

  Kat turned around with a start. There before her was a man who was almost as short and slight as she was herself. He was wearing camouflage, and his yellow-dyed hair was sprayed hard into a 70s look.

  "We're interested in parachutes," said Ian.

  The camouflage man smiled brightly, baring a set of crooked teeth in need of a good flossing. "Do you need the hardware or just the material?"

  Ian looked to Kat with a question in his eyes.

  "We just need the material," she said.

  "I think we have one or two in the back," said the man, disappearing through an opening that was barely visible within the racks of clothing. Ian darted in after him and Kat followed.

  The sales clerk rooted through the shelves, throwing items on the floor as he continued his search. "I just saw them in here yesterday," said the man. "They couldn't both have sold."

  Kat looked in the shelves herself to see if she could identify something that would turn out to be a parachute. It looked like this was a pillow storage area: stacks and stacks of stuffed cloth squares.

  "Here's one," the man said, pulling down what looked like a khaki coloured pillow case from one of the top shelves. As it hit the floor, yards of shiny grey-green material spilled out of the case and around Kat's feet. She bent down and picked up an edge of it and pulled. Metres more material came out of the tiny case. It was hard to believe that so much material could be stuffed into such a small package.

  "This is nice stuff," said Ian, fingering some of the material himself. "I like this colour better than white."

  "So do I," said Kat. "I think this will make a perfect backdrop."

  The yellow-haired clerk listened to their conversation with satisfaction. "So I'll ring it up?"

  "How much is it?" asked Ian.

 

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