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 three 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.
"Two hundred dollars," the man replied.
Ian was about to say something, but Kat kicked him in the shin. "I was told that these parachutes were sold for about eighty dollars," she said.
The man looked at her indignantly. "That would have to be a pretty small parachute," he said. "This one is made of 64 piewedge shaped panels. The big end of each panel is 30 inches wide and they're sewn together into a huge circle. That's a heck of a lot of material. How big was your eighty dollar one?"
"I don't know," said Kat.
"Could be a 28 panel or something," said the man. "Are you making dresses out of this or what?"
"Stage backdrop," said Ian.