WHEN KAT CAME downstairs on Ukrainian Christmas morning, the first thing she did was to peek through the front curtains. The protester was gone, thank goodness.
Her mother, still in her housecoat, was already up and busy preparing the goose. It would roast while they were at church for Sluzhba Bozha.Kat could never understand why they didn't just have leftover meatless cabbage rolls, perogies, borscht and nalysniky from the evening before for their midday meal. There were tons of leftovers. But her mother was a stickler for tradition, so in spite of all the leftovers, fresh meat-filled cabbage rolls and roast goose was served on Rizdvo— Christmas day.
Kat poured herself a glass of water, not wanting to have food before Divine Liturgy, and then she helped her mother. Danylo and Genya were still getting ready by the time the goose and cabbage rolls were in the oven.
While her mother got dressed for church, Kat opened the front door and retrieved both the Globe & Mail and the Toronto Star from the mailbox. She didn't even glance at the headlines as she carried the papers into the kitchen and deposited them on the table. But then a word on the front page of the Star caught her attention. The word was "Nazi". Kat unfolded the front page and her heart stopped. The headline was: Local man accused of Nazi crimes.
Below the headline was a large colour photo of her grandfather at the front step of their house. The top of Kat's own head was clearly visible behind him. Kat felt as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She quickly sat down on a kitchen chair and gulped for air. This can't be happening, but then again, why not? The hearing was at the end of the week. She tried to scan the article, but the words swam before her eyes. How and when had this photo been taken? Her grandfather was wearing his suit and Ukrainian blouse, and the reindeer pin was clearly visible on his lapel. It looked like it had been taken last night. How did they get such a close shot without them knowing, Kat wondered? Perhaps someone was watching them now? The thought made her shudder.
She threw the paper down on the table and flipped through the Globe.On A6 she stopped. A small news item caught her eye: Nazi war criminal hearing set for January 11th.
Kat willed herself to be calm and then read every word in the article. The bile rose in her throat. As far as the press saw it, her grandfather wasn't "accused"; he was guilty.
While she was still pondering the article, her mother walked out of her bedroom, dressed for church and looking happier than Kat had seen her for awhile. But when Orysia saw the expression on her daughter's face, her smile crumpled into concern. "What has happened?" she asked.
"Dido made front page of the Star; page 6 in the Globe."
She held out the papers, but Orysia shook her head.
"I don't want to see it," said Orysia. "I can tell by your face that I don't want to see it."
Just then, Genya came down the stairs, and Danylo came out of his room at almost the exact same moment.
"What is the problem?" asked Genya, looking from her sister to her mother.
Kat picked up the front section of the Star and held it up. "This is what's the matter," replied Kat.
"Great," said Genya. "Just what we need. We're going to be living our life in a fishbowl." As she said this, she gave her grandfather a hostile glance. "And Merry Christmas to you too."
Danylo stood there, stunned. He didn't know what he was more upset about: the articles in the newspapers, or Genya's reaction. He reached out and grabbed the newspaper from Kat's hand and held it at arm's length, trying to get it into focus. "It calls me a Nazi," he said with bewilderment. "I fought the Nazis."
"Ignore it," said Orysia. "Let us put this behind us and go to church. It's Christmas Day." And with that, Orysia grabbed her car keys and marched out the front door.
Kat was following close on her mother's heels, but no sooner was Orysia outside than she came back in, almost bumping into Kat. There were tears spilling down her cheeks. "My God. I can't take this." She sat limply down on the sofa. "Go and see what they've done."
Someone had taken what looked like blood and had splattered the white wood of the house with it. There was a huge black swastika spray bombed beneath the red spatters.
"I'm calling the police," said Genya, striding into the kitchen and grabbing the phone.
Danylo walked up to Orysia and put her head on his shoulder, just as he used to do when she was a child and needed comforting. Instinctively, he patted her back, and she hugged him fiercely.
Genya stepped back into the living room, the phone still in her hand. "The police are coming right over to photograph the damage."
Orysia raised her head from Danylo's shoulder and looked at Genya with dismay. "But we'll miss church."
"Actually, Mama, they asked us to wait until they get here. We'll be late, but they will send a couple of plain clothes officers into the cathedral to keep an eye on things while we're there."
"They said that?" asked her mother in awe.
"This is a hate crime," replied Genya. "They take it seriously."
Kat was amazed at her sister's cold command of the situation. Did nothing ruffle her?
It wasn't long before two officers pulled into the driveway in a patrol car. One was a black woman with hair buzzed short, and the other was an older man with a paunch. He carried a camera and an evidence kit.
The woman got out a pad of paper and asked questions, while the man took photos of the graffiti from a number of different angles. Once he had finished taking photos, he took a small plastic spatula out of the evidence kit and scraped some of the red paint or blood off the house. He placed both the spatula and the sample into a plastic bag from the kit, and then he sealed and labelled it.
"This is nasty business," said the woman officer, still scribbling in her notepad. "But I guess it's not surprising, given the circumstances."
Kat bristled, "My grandfather is innocent until proven guilty."
"I know that," said the woman, arching one brow and looking Kat in the eye. "But you are a magnet right now."
Kat nodded.
"Is this the only hate incident you've experienced?" asked the officer.
Kat's eyebrows creased in confusion for a moment, and then she said, "Does stuff sent in the mail count as a hate incident?"
"Absolutely," said the woman. "Has your grandfather received hate mail?"
Danylo, who was listening to this exchange, answered for Kat. "No," he said. "I have received nothing suspicious in the mail."
"Actually, Dido, you have," said Kat. And then she looked at the officer. "Hold on a minute and I'll get it."
She loped up the stairs to her bedroom, and retrieved the envelope and clippings that she had hidden under her mattress. When she brought it down and showed it to the police officer, Danylo's cheeks reddened with anger.
"When did that arrive?" he asked.
"A while ago," admitted Kat. "I didn't want to upset you."
The officer had an evidence bag ready. "Drop it in," she said. "It's too bad that you didn't report this immediately," she said to Kat. "We would have had a much better chance of getting finger prints off it if you hadn't handled it so much."
Kat hung her head. "I'm sorry," she said.
"If you get something else, call us immediately."
"Okay," said Kat.
The woman reached into her pocket and drew out a card. "Keep this handy," she said. "The reporters and photographers shouldn't be allowed on your private property. Ditto for protesters." The officer pointed to the sidewalk, "Anything past there is public, though, so we can't stop people from gawking as long as that's all they're doing."
They both got into the patrol car once the photos were taken. "We'll swing by this way a bit more regularly until things simmer down," said the woman. "The plain clothes should be at your church by now."
"Let's go," said Orysia, looking at her watch. "We've missed half the service already."
Danylo followed her out of the house, but paused when he got outside. He stared at the horrible graffiti on his daughter's house. "How can we leave with those marks still on our house?" said Danylo. "It shames me to have my daughter's house defaced like this."
"It is not you who should feel ashamed," said Orysia.
Bathurst Street was so jammed with cars in front of St. Volodymyr Cathedral that Orysia could barely get her car through, let alone find a parking spot. She dropped off Danylo and Kat at the steps, and then she and Genya drove around the block to find a parking spot. Miraculously, they found one.
Kat and Danylo stood in the chilly air while they waited for the other two. They could hear the singing of the people inside. "Are you sure you don't want to step in out of the cold?" asked Kat.
"No," said Danylo. "I don't know how I can even face all the people inside. They probably have seen the papers this morning."
"Dido," said Kat. "Those are your friends in there. They know who you are."
Danylo was silent.
The aroma of wool coats and liturgical incense greeted Kat's nose as she opened the doors of the cathedral and stepped inside. It was no larger than a regular church, but the sumptuous interior set it apart. Light streamed in through the stained glass windows and reflected off the massive crystal chandelier and lit up the gold leaf paintings on the walls. The cathedral was so packed that people were standing behind the pews at the back, and even out into the entryway. A couple of people turned to see who was coming in so late, and then there was a ripple of low whispers. In a wave, people moved, making room for Danylo and his family. Silent hugs and hands squeezed, and then Danylo and his family were ushered to a space in the pews.
Usually after the liturgy on Christmas day, people would hurry home. Christmas day was spent with family. But one of Danylo's old country friends grasped him firmly by the elbow and led him downstairs to the church hall. Puzzled, Orysia, Genya and Kat followed.
A cluster of people formed around Danylo, a buffer almost, thought Kat, from the real world. Some of Kat's friends from St. Paul's were there, and a couple of girls she'd lost touch with since graduating from St. Sofia's elementary school. There were also elderly people who Kat recognized as her grandparents' friends, and also their sons and daughters, who were her parents' friends.
When her grandmother was alive, she had been involved in the women's auxiliary, making perogies and cabbage rolls as bazaar fund-raisers with the other women. Kat watched as Lidia Krawchuk, who had been a dear friend of Baba's and was the current women's auxiliary president, stepped forward and grasped her mother's hand.
"In some ways I am glad that Nadiya is dead so that she doesn't have to suffer through this," said Mrs. Krawchuk. "That they could do this to a man who lost his family in World War II, and who fought bravely for Ukraine is a crime in itself."
Kat looked around and saw that others were nodding in agreement.
"We will do what we can to help," said the woman.
Orysia's eyes welled up with tears of gratitude. She wrapped her arms around the woman's shoulders and kissed her on the cheek.
Then Father Petrenko came down the steps. Kat noticed that he had replaced his sumptuous Christmas vestments of gold and white with a simple black cossock. In one arm he held a collection basket. "Danylo," the priest said, extending his hand. "I am thankful that you are here today. May your faith bring you comfort."
Danylo bowed his head.
"When I read the papers this morning, I was angered. What a shameful thing to print on the day of Christ's birth," continued the priest. "My father fought beside you in Ukraine," he continued. "God knows the truth."
Then Father Petrenko held up the basket. "We took a collection for you," he said. "This isn't much, but I hope it helps."
Kat looked over at her grandfather and saw that he had a brave smile on his face, but tears of gratitude were welling in his eyes. Orysia's demeanour was similar. What surprised Kat was her sister's expression. Genya, who was the epitome of cool control, had one of Danylo's hands clasped firmly in hers. Her mask of calm was betrayed by a trickle of tears down one cheek.