KAT FOUND IT hard to concentrate at school the next day. During art class, Mr. Harding was still having them do life drawings, and Beth was the current volunteer. Kat propped her sheet of paper on a drawing board and grabbed a pencil to sketch with. What was happening with her grandfather, she wondered. What was it that her parents weren't telling her?
"Are you with us, Ms. Baliuk?" asked Mr. Harding, standing behind her. Kat looked around and realized that the timer had sounded. Everyone else had completed a line sketch, yet she had not even begun. She was too embarrassed to reply, so she just smiled at him weakly.
He looked at her not unkindly and said, "I'll only be marking you on your best sketches, but you should try to do them all."
Kat nodded. She could feel the tears welling up in her throat and she willed herself not to sob.
At lunch, she stood in the cafeteria line with her tray and mechanically grabbed the first things she saw. It wasn't until she sat down with Beth, Callie and Michael that she realized what she had bought: two bowls of Jell-O and a piece of cheese. Strange.
Kat was so involved in her own thoughts that she didn't hear when Beth asked her a question. Kat nearly jumped through the roof when Beth placed a hand on her forearm, "Are you feeling all right?" asked Beth, a concerned look in her eyes.
Kat sighed deeply. "I'm fine."
Callie and Michael had finished their lunch by this time, and they got up to go outside for some fresh air. "You guys coming?" asked Callie.
Kat shook her head. "You go ahead," she said to Beth.
Ian noticed that Kat was sitting by herself, and so he left his friends and walked over.
"Can I sit down?" he asked.
"Sure," said Kat.
"What happened last night?"
Kat's head jerked up suddenly. "What are you talking about?"
"Your mom looked so upset," said Ian. "And now you're acting weird."
"It's nothing," said Kat.
Lisa was watching Ian and Kat from the other table, and Kat noticed her get up and walk over. She flopped down in the chair next to Ian and looped her hand through his arm. "Something going on?" she asked, looking at Ian.
Ian could tell by Kat's expression that the last thing she wanted was to talk about anything serious with Lisa listening in.
"We're talking about the winter concert," said Ian quickly.
Kat saw Ian's mouth move, but she had already retreated into her own thoughts. What was going on with her grandfather? What was it that had happened fifty years ago? She remembered the old photographs that Dido kept in his room. The one of her great-aunt Kataryna was about 50 years old. And the wedding. Baba's parachute silk wedding dress. Did this have sometime to do with the war, Kat wondered?
"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 criminal? 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.