WHEN KAT GOT home, she noticed yet another strange car in the driveway. Not a black sedan this time, but a vintage green Porsche. When she walked through the back door, she could hear several voices drifting in from the living room. Both of her parents were there, and a man. The man was saying, "I've printed off some background information for you about the Deschenes Commission and how all of these proceedings got started...."
Kat poked her head into the living room before dashing upstairs to the bedroom. A man in a slightly rumpled suit was perched uncomfortably on the edge of one chair. In his outstretched hand was a manila file folder filled with a thin sheaf of papers. Her parents were sitting side by side on the sofa, holding hands, and her grandfather was in his favourite rocking chair. Funny that she didn't realize he was even there. He had been that quiet.
Orysia looked up as her daughter dashed by and called to her. "Kat," she said. "Come in here for a moment. I'd like you to meet Mr. Vincent."
Mr. Vincent put the file folder down on the coffee table.
Kat hesitantly stepped into the living room. Mr. Vincent got up from where he was perched and stepped towards her,
holding out his hand. Kat assumed this was the Vincent of the Vincent and Grey law firm her parents had argued about. She had expected someone older, someone more ironed. She extended her hand and they exchanged firm handshakes.
"Your mother tells me that you're an art student at Cawthra," Mr. Vincent said.
"Yes," responded Kat.
"My son Michael is there too," said the lawyer. "What grade?" asked Kat.
"Same as you. In fact, I think you're in the same art class. Mr. Harding's class?"
"Oh, Michael" said Kat. "We're in the same class. We even sit together at lunch."
"So I've heard," said Mr. Vincent with a smile.
Kat smiled weakly. She hoped and prayed that Mr. Vincent didn't chat work over dinner every night. All she didn't need was for the kids at school to find out about her grandfather.
She began to walk towards the stairs to her room when Orysia said, "Kataryna, you're welcome to stay here and listen to what Mr. Vincent has to say."
Kat hesitated. She would like to hear, but she thought maybe the lawyer would feel uncomfortable talking about these things in front of her.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
"Yes," said her mother. "Sit right here." She patted a space beside her on the sofa.
"We had thirty days from the date of this notice to respond," Mr. Vincent continued, once Kat had sat down. "Otherwise, Mr. Feschuk would automatically have had his citizenship revoked. On your behalf, I have already responded and we're waiting for a hearing date."
Orysia suppressed a sob.
Kat glanced over at her grandfather. He had an agitated look of frustration on his face.
"What is it that they're saying I did?" he asked.
"I am not quite sure," replied Mr. Vincent. "I am hoping to get the details soon. All I know is that you're being accused of not disclosing your collaboration with the Nazis when you had your immigration interview to come to Canada."
"But how can I disclose collaboration if I didn't collaborate?" asked Danylo angrily. "I fought the Nazis and the Communists."
"The Soviets were our allies," said Mr. Vincent. "Better not mention any of that. Perhaps we can mention about fighting the Nazis though. What I will do now is respond on your behalf for evidence from the prosecution."
That night, after everyone was asleep, Kat was awakened by the sound of pounding rain on the roof. She got up out of bed and stared out at the water streaming down on her window. It reminded her of so many tears. Her mother had done practically nothing but cry since the accusation against Dido. Kat herself felt like she was about to cry at all sorts of unexpected moments. She knew how the sky felt.
The last thing Kat felt like doing was sleeping. Too many things on her mind. She pulled on a housecoat over her long nightshirt and crept downstairs. A mug of warm milk would help her get some needed sleep. She poured some milk into a saucepan and set it on the stove. The action reminded her of her grandmother. Baba had been such a good one to talk to when Kat had something on her mind. How many times had they sat over a hot mug of milk and talked from their hearts?
As the milk warmed, Kat walked into the living room, listening to the rain against the side of the house. It was coming down so hard that there was an earthy mustiness in the air that reminded her of mushrooms. It's pidpenky time, Kat thought. And that reminded her of her grandmother too. Baba had loved all kinds of mushrooms, but her favourite were pidpenky.When they were plentiful, she would make mushroom soup, mushroom dumplings, mushroom stuffed pastry, and Kat's alltime favourite, nalisnyky— thin crepe-like pancakes fried in butter and stuffed with pidpenky.
Dido loved pidpenky too, although he had an aversion to other mushrooms. In fact, he refused to eat spring mushrooms at all.
It had become something of a ritual for Kat and her grandfather to wait for the perfect fall day to pick pidpenky.It had to be before the first frost, but after a heavy rain. Perhaps a day out in the fresh air would do both her and her grandfather some good. Tomorrow was Friday. She'd suggest they go on Saturday.
She noticed that there were still papers scattered about the living room, and she thought she'd clean up a bit while waiting for the milk to heat. On the coffee table, she noticed that the manila file that Mr. Vincent had brought was still sitting there, undisturbed. Hadn't he said that this would give some background information about what was happening to her grandfather? Kat picked up the file and took it with her to the kitchen table. She continued to straighten up the living room, then walked into the kitchen and poured the now steaming milk into a mug. She sat down at the kitchen table with her milk and the file.
It was about a dozen typed sheets. The header said, "Library of Parliament" and "Parliamentary Research Branch" and there was a Government of Canada crest on the top. The title was "Commission of Inquiry on War Criminals." This was the Deschenes Commission report.
She flipped through the pages but the type just swam in front of her eyes. It was too overwhelming to read right now, she decided. Maybe later. She finished the last of her milk and headed back to bed.