Hope's War

by Marsha Forchuk Skrypuch

  As Kat listened to the professor's testimony, stories that her grandmother had told her began to surface in her thoughts. Kat could never really put them in context before. A sob caught in Kat's throat. She missed her grandmother so much. But as the professor continued, Kat remembered the stories as crisply as if she were stepping into her grandmother's shoes:

  A sign was posted in the village square: Limited quantity of fresh bread, post office, two o'clock, first come-first served.

  Nadiya couldn't believe it. Bread? She and her mother had been surviving on handfuls of horse feed that they'd steal from the Germans' stables when they were sent in to clean them. "Mama is so sick with hunger," thought Nadiya to herself. "She'll be so proud of me if I bring home a loaf of real bread."

  When Nadiya got to the post office, her heart sank. There were already more than twenty villagers lined up. Mostly, it was wretched starving old women with distended bellies, but there were a few people Nadiya's age too.

  Nadiya was about to leave when a soldier came out and beckoned the half dozen young people in the crowd. "I may have some more bread in the back," he said. "Follow me."

  Nadiya hesitated, but she saw that the others were eager to follow. A loaf of bread was nothing to sniff at. So she followed too. But no sooner was she inside the post office when she felt a sharp blow to her head. When she woke up, she was in a boxcar packed tight with Ukrainian boys and girls. The smell of vomit and feces was intense, but worse was the weeping and wailing of all the teens who would never see their families again.

  At the munitions factory she was sent to, she was fed a bowl of gruel once a day that was mostly water with scraps of mouldy potato. She was constantly hungry and her fingers were sore and swollen from handling metal all day. At night, she slept in a small room with dozens of other women. She could hear the sound of allied bombers flying overhead. Munitions factories were prime targets. On her breast she wore the badge of shame: OST. Subhuman.

  Kat could almost see her grandmother sitting beside her, telling her these stories. She had to stop thinking of it, or she would burst into tears. She tried to concentrate on what Mr. Vincent was asking the professor.

  "What were Ukraine's total losses during World War II?"

  "Some go as high as 14.5 million, but in my estimation, approximately 10 million Ukrainians lost their lives during World War II. Of that total, four million were civilians. This figure includes 600,000 Jewish Ukrainians."

  Throughout the professor's testimony, Kat would occasionally turn in her chair slightly so that she could see the reactions on the faces of the people in the audience. She was struck by the fact that several of the people on the opposite side wore angry expressions and had their arms crossed. Kat noted in particular the girl with the hair clip. She looked like she was about to explode.

  Curiously, the reaction of her grandfather's supporters were exactly the opposite. While Professor Thompson spoke of Ukrainian losses, most were perched on the edge of their chairs and nodding in agreement. Kat remembered that when the plaintiff's witnesses were testifying, the reactions had been reversed.

  This appalled Kat. Why were both sides not equally concerned with all the deaths? Was one human not equal to another? Kat's heart ached for all of the people who had been destroyed so long ago by two madmen. Whether Jews or Gypsies, Ukrainians or Poles, Russians or Germans, each of these people had been killed because of their race. Kat had assumed that the world had matured since then, but when she looked at the reactions of the people in the courtroom, she realized how little progress had actually been made.

  At the first break, Kat didn't go down to the cafeteria for coffee with the others. Instead, she took the subway home. Professor Thompson had a stack of papers six inches high, and Kat had a feeling he'd be testifying all day. She didn't need a history lesson right now. What she needed was time to think. Thank goodness tomorrow was Saturday.

  CHAPTER 32

  KAT WAS SUFFERING from information overload. Her head was still swimming with all the facts and figures from the historian. She had wanted to get home and clear her head, but as soon as her house came into view, she realized that would be impossible. While they were gone, the house had again been attacked by the crazed swastika artist. On top of that, there was so much mail that it wouldn't even fit in the mailbox. Instead, the letter carrier had left the thick elastic-fastened bundle leaning against their front door. Too much information, Kat's mind screamed at her. She grabbed the mail bundle and walked around to the back door. On the summer kitchen table was more food — a casserole dish of cabbage rolls and perogies from the church women, a lemon cake from a neighbour, spring rolls from the Nguyens. Between the letter carrier and all these people dropping by and the police on top of it, Kat wondered how the graffiti artist ever found time to do his work.

  She unlocked the door between the summer kitchen and the kitchen and carried the food and the mail inside. The first thing she wanted to do was to report the graffiti, so she walked to the phone. It was already blinking the number three. She pushed the "play" button on the answering machine. The first message was for her mother. It was from one of the women at the church, calling to let her know that a petition to the Minister of Justice was being circulated for signatures.

  The second message was from her father in Oregon. It was short and sweet. "Dearest Orysia, I love you. I am thinking of you and the girls and your father."

  The message comforted Kat. She missed her father terribly, and she knew her mother did too.

  The third beep sounded, and a gruff voice said, "You're all a bunch of Nazi-pig-murderers."

  The words hit Kat like a slap across the face. How did this nut get their unlisted number? She was about to hit delete, but then she remembered that by doing so, she would destroy evidence. She called the police instead.

  CHAPTER 33

  TESTIMONY FOR DANYLO'S defence resumed on Monday. Wasyl Kozenchuk was a professor from the university of Sorbonne in Paris, France and he was the first witness to be called.

  "Professor Kozenchuk, can you tell me your background?" asked Mr. Vincent.

  Danylo noticed that Professor Kozenchuk was an exquisitely dressed man with manicured fingernails and carefully combed brown hair that had not even a hint of grey. He must be close to my age, estimated Danylo, but he looked much more fit and athletic.

  "I was born in Soviet Ukraine in 1924, but escaped to France in 1938 with my parents. Even as a boy, my gift for language was noticed, and I received a scholarship to the University of Sorbonne, where I studied languages and political history. I am now a full professor of history. I am fluent in German, Russian, Ukrainian, Polish, French and English."

  "Professor Kozenchuk, what is your current research?"

  "I have spent the last decade poring through government documents from the Third Reich."

  "What is your key area of study?" asked Mr. Vincent.

  "I am a French citizen, but my heritage is Ukrainian. I am intensely interested in the Ukrainian question and the Third Reich."

  "Thank you," said Mr. Vincent. "As you know, the reason we are here today is because Mr. Danylo Feschuk is accused of being a collaborator with the Nazis between 1941 and 1943 in his role as a Ukrainian auxiliary police officer in Orelets, a village in the region of Volhyn, Ukraine."

  "It must be pointed out," replied the professor, "that the Volhyn region of Ukraine was a problem area for the Germans. In World War II, this area was still heavily forested and swampy. For weeks and even months, German control of this area was limited to the main roads. Resistance activity, from both the Ukrainian patriots and the Red partisans, was heavy. The locals knew the forests and the swamps, but the Germans didn't."

  "Can you explain what this has to do with Mr. Feschuk and his role as an auxiliary police officer?"

  Professor Kozenchuk flipped through a sheaf of notes that he had brought with him to the witness stand. "Mr. Feschuk joined the auxiliary police in August of 1941, correct?"

  "That is co
rrect, Professor."

  "That was two months after Stefan Bandera and the OUN — the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists — had declared Ukrainian independence from Germany, only to be arrested by the Nazis and thrown into a concentration camp. The OUN members who were not arrested went underground and into the forests of Volhyn and Polessia, where they continued their resistance against the Nazis."

  "How did they set out to accomplish this?" asked Mr. Vincent.

  "By sabotage and infiltration. They took jobs with the Germans in administration, as interpreters, mayors and so on, in order to monitor the actions of the Germans and to plan their next move."

  "Can you explain how Danylo Feschuk fits into this?" asked Mr. Vincent.

  "Another area of infiltration was the auxiliary police. Bandera's resistance movement needed weapons. The only way to get weapons was from the police and from the militia. They hid their true purpose and stockpiled weapons for more than a year — until February of 1943. At that time, three thousand Ukrainian auxiliary police in Volhyn simultaneously took to the forests. They killed their Nazi superiors and brought with them their stockpiles of weapons."

  Danylo remembered what it was like to actually live through that time. Danylo and his fellow auxiliary police were to congregate at sunrise each morning for their orders from the Chief of Police, a German named Oskar Behr. In addition to the Ukrainian auxiliary police, there were three German police, and Danylo had to step carefully in order to make sure these Germans didn't suspect what he was up to. As far as the Ukrainian auxiliary police were concerned, all but one of them were secretly working with the resistance — the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists.

  It was a dangerous game. Once a week, the orders from the German-controlled headquarters in Rivne would arrive. How many slave labourers were required; how many girls for the German brothels; how many blonde and blue-eyed Ukrainian girls to be impregnated by Aryan soldiers, then discarded once the babies were born.

  The auxiliary police outnumbered the Germans, but they were issued sometimes a pistol with no more than two bullets, sometimes no weapon at all. In addition to that, every rebellion was treated brutally. For the sake of the villagers, as much as for Danylo himself, it was imperative that the Germans didn't catch on to their game.

  When the first orders for workers to Germany came in, some of the villagers willingly signed up. How bad could it be, they thought? Germans are civilized. But those first workers sent word back home. The villagers soon realized that to be shipped as an Ostarbeiter to Germany was nothing short of becoming a slave.

  Danylo remembered all too well when the next orders — oblava — came in. On his rounds of the village that day, Danylo whispered to all he met," Oblava— go underground until sunset."

  When the Germans swept through the village to make their quota, they were sorely disappointed. The only people they managed to catch were an old chicken thief and a wife beater.

  Danylo's attention was drawn back to the witness's testimony.

  "Professor Kozenchuk," said Mr. Vincent. "The court heard expert testimony yesterday from Professor Chris Gillin regarding killings allegedly done by auxiliary police in Volhyn. From the documents you have studied, would you be able to shed more light on this question?"

  "I certainly can," replied Professor Kozenchuk. "There is evidence that some Ukrainian auxiliary police were involved in killings. Thugs and common criminals were often glad to take these jobs. These auxiliary police killed not only Jews, but OUN members."

  "So you are agreeing with Professor Gillin that some auxiliary police were involved in the killing of civilians?"

  "I am. But certainly not all, or even most. The documents point to the fact that these jobs were infiltrated heavily by the OUN, and it is not credible that members of the OUN would commit murder on behalf of their German enslavers."

  That was the understatement of the year, thought Danylo. In fact, it was difficult to restrain the OUN infiltrators from killing the Nazis too soon. Everything had to be orchestrated precisely, or the Einsatzgruppen— the elite Nazi killing units — would arrive and butcher the whole of Orelets.

  "If the Ukrainians were so unreliable, why did the Germans continue to use them at all?" asked Mr. Vincent.

  "By sheer necessity. They didn't have enough manpower," said the Professor. "But the documents reveal that the Germans didn't trust Ukrainians with important jobs. For example, let me read you this report from the Chief of the Security Police and the SD. It is from Berlin, and is dated December 8, 1941."

  After he finished reading the report, the professor said, "This document shows clearly that even as early as 1941, the Germans were quite aware that Ukrainians could not be trusted to support them. It is not reasonable that the Germans would trust all auxiliary police with such an important role as mass killing. There was the risk that the Ukrainians would turn on the Germans and kill them instead."

  "Professor Kozenchuk, another Soviet accusation is that the OUN was an anti-Semitic organization. Do any of the documents you've examined illuminate that issue?"

  "In fact," replied the professor, "the Nazis were alarmed by what they saw as Jewish influence in the OUN. For example, in this report from Berlin, dated March 30, 1942, the Chief of the Security Police and the Security Service "Report on events in the USSR no. 187" states: "Today, it has been clearly established that the Bandera movement provided forged passports not only for its own members, but also for Jews."

  "Thank you, Professor Kozenchuk," said Mr. Vincent. "I have no more questions."

  The judge looked up from his notes and regarded the plaintiff's lawyer, Mrs. Caine, who was still sitting. "Do you have any questions for the professor?" asked the judge.

  Mrs. Caine stood up from her chair and walked over to the witness. "Professor Kozenchuk, in all of your testimony, you have not once produced a document vindicating Mr. Feschuk from atrocities. Do you have any specific proof that Mr. Danylo Feschuk was not involved in crimes against civilians?"

  "No, I do not," said the professor.

  "No more questions," said Mrs. Caine.

  The professor wearily stepped down from the witness stand. It had been a gruelling day for him and everyone else.

  Kat stood up from her seat and stretched. As she turned and joined the others who were milling out of the courtroom and into the hallway, she noticed in the back row a head that had to be Ian's. His hair was stark platinum white. He was wearing one of his father's suits and his face was scrubbed clean of make-up. He caught her eye and smiled. As she passed his spot, he stepped in beside her and walked out of the courtroom at her side.

  "Hey there," he said. "I just caught the tail end of that testimony, but it sounded like pretty powerful stuff."

  "It was," said Kat. Then she looked at him quizzically. "Why aren't you in school?"

  "I skipped out of my last period, hoping to catch you here."

  "Why?"

  "Thursday night is the winter concert," he said. "I haven't talked to you forever, and I was hoping that you hadn't forgotten."

  Kat had forgotten. With all that had been going on with her grandfather, the school concert had been the last thing on her mind.

  "You'll still be able to help with the backdrop, won't you?" asked Ian with a pleading look in his eyes. "Lisa can't do it on her own. We tried."

  Kat considered for a moment. It would actually be nice to be doing something entirely different for a change. She hadn't been back to the school since before the hearing started. "Sure," she said. "But Lisa and I need to do a dry run before the concert."

  "Can you meet us at school on Thursday right after you leave the hearing?" asked Ian.

  "I'll try," said Kat.

  CHAPTER 34

  WHEN THE FIRST witness was announced on Tuesday morning, there was a ripple of whispers in the courtroom. Doctor Samuel Sterzer walked over to the witness stand with methodical determination.

  Orysia hadn't told Danylo that Dr. Sterzer had agreed to testify at h
is hearing. He hadn't seen him for more than four decades, but Danylo thought that if he had encountered him on the street, he would have recognized him immediately.

  Dr. Sterzer was very short and slim, and his leathery skin was tanned but surprisingly unwrinkled. He wore no jewellery — not even a wedding ring. And his blue suit was crisp and conservative. Once he sat down in the witness stand, he looked around until his eyes met Danylo's, and then he nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

  "Doctor Sterzer," began Mr. Vincent. "Can you tell me your background?"

  "I am a medical doctor with a family practice in Tel-Aviv, Israel."

  "Can you tell me your relationship to the defendant, Mr. Danylo Feschuk?"

  "Certainly," replied Dr. Sterzer. "We were both in the UPA — Ukrainian Insurgent Army — from 1943 to 1945."

  "Can you tell me what you know about the defendant, Mr. Danylo Feschuk?" asked Mr. Vincent.

  Dr. Sterzer regarded the lawyer for a moment and then he looked over at Danylo. "He was one of the many UPA soldiers in the Volhyn region. I met him when he brought me a patient. A girl who had been tortured by the Gestapo. He carried her in his arms for more than a mile to get to my underground hospital. I will never forget his face."

  "Dr. Sterzer, was Danylo Feschuk a Nazi collaborator?"

  "No, he was not," replied the doctor.

  "No more questions."

  Mrs. Caine got up from her chair and approached the witness stand. "Did you know Mr. Feschuk between 1941 and 1943?"

  "I met him in 1943."

  "So you have no way of knowing what sort of man he was before he joined the UPA?"

  "Madame," said the doctor. "The UPA was a disciplined fighting unit and they were people of the highest principals. Even seemingly minor infractions like swearing or drinking were not allowed. To hurt a villager was punishable by death. If Mr. Feschuk had been a collaborator, the UPA would have sentenced him to death."