Kat also wondered what people outside of her own community were thinking about all of this? Would she ever be able to show her face at school again? Genya was as calm and cool as ever. She was angry at the disturbance in her life, but that was about it. She went to school on the day after Ukrainian Christmas as if nothing had happened.
Kat was finally drifting off when she heard a smacking sound on her bedroom window. Was this another graffiti artist's idea of a joke? Who was out there? She looked over to her sister to see if she had heard the noise, but Genya was sound asleep.
Kat pulled the covers closer around her and tried to do the same, but she was startled by another loud smack at her window. This was too much! What did people think this was? A circus? Surely the protesters could at least let them sleep in peace at night. Kat pulled her bedroom curtains back in a fury and raised her window. She stuck her head out and was about to yell angrily down at the insensitive clod who wouldn't leave her alone when she saw a familiar splash of purple hair. Actually, it wasn't all that familiar. Ian had been pink and turquoise and black. She hadn't seen his hair purple yet, but who else could it be?
"What are you doing down there?" she called.
The purple hair moved, and suddenly Kat could see Ian's face beneath it.
"I was worried about you," he called up in a loud whisper. "All the stuff in the papers, and then you didn't come to school."
"Stay right there," whispered Kat. "I'm coming down.
Kat pulled a pair of baggy overalls over her bare legs, tucked in the oversize T-shirt that doubled as a nightgown and hurried down the stairs. She didn't want to wake up the household, so instead of inviting Ian in, she shoved her feet into her winter boots, grabbed her coat, and slipped silently out the front door.
Kat shivered in the wintry air as she and Ian walked down the street to the park at the end. It was at this park that her grandfather had pushed her on a swing when she was little. She remembered the time when she found a five dollar bill in the sandbox. She had begged her grandfather with tears in her eyes to mail it to the poor children of Chernobyl. As soon as they got home that day, she watched him laboriously address an envelope in English. She stuck her bill in, and he added a five of his own for good measure, and then she licked the envelope shut.
The park looked menacing now in the dark. The silhouette of bare trees looked like giant claws stretching out towards them. A new set of climbers had been installed just the summer before and someone had cleared it of snow. Kat climbed up and sat at the top of the slide, Ian sat down beside her.
The words tumbled out in a mad rush as Kat tried to explain all that had been happening in her life. As she spoke, she was gripped by a violent case of the shakes. Her whole body was like a quivering mass of Jell-O. She didn't know whether it was from the cold or from nerves.
Ian took off his meticulously safety-pinned leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders, his arm lingered protectively against her back. The jacket was imbedded with the musky scent of Ian. It wasn't exactly pleasant, but she found it oddly comforting.
"You're going to freeze," said Kat, grateful for the coat, but worried about her friend.
"I'll be okay if we sit close," said Ian.
Kat leaned into him.
"So that's why the protester was there," he said. "Why didn't you tell me all of this before?"
Kat smiled bitterly. "It's not really a good conversation starter," she said. "I mean, what did you want me to say? ‘How are you doing today, and oh by the way, my grandfather might be a Nazi war criminal?'"
"You've got a point," said Ian. "So what happens now?"
Kat explained that her parents had already hired Michael's father, and that his first court appearance was on Friday. "But the accusations are so vague that it's hard to make a defence."
"Are you coming back to school tomorrow?"
"I don't know," said Kat. "How are the kids reacting to it?"
"It's not been a big deal. I mean, not a lot people pay attention to the news," said Ian. "The ones who heard about it are curious, but I don't think you've got to be worried about being lynched or anything like that."
"Thanks for that comforting thought," said Kat dryly.
"It's strange that the government would revoke citizenship and deport," said Ian.
"Unfair would be a better word," said Kat.
"No," said Ian. "What I mean is, it's like saying there are two classes of citizens in Canada: those who are born here and those who immigrated. I'd think a whole lot of immigrants would worry about who was going to be next on the government's hit list."
Kat hadn't thought of it that way. She had been so caught up in the drama that had engulfed her own family that she hadn't looked at the bigger picture.
"For example," continued Ian. "Look at Lisa. Her parents came over as Vietnamese boat kids. They escaped the Communists too."
"I didn't know that," replied Kat.
"Someone from the old country could just as easily accuse her parents or grandparents of something, and on the basis fabricated evidence, they could lose their Canadian citizenship too."
A chilling thought. It seemed odd that a country that prided itself on human rights would do something like this.
Suddenly, a set of headlights beamed on. There was a patrol car parked right in front of them at the edge of the park. Two officers bearing flashlights got out and walked over to Kat and Ian. The officers were both male, and neither was all that old.
"Care to explain what the two of you are doing out here in the middle of the night?" one of the officers asked.
"Just talking," replied Ian.
The officer looked at Ian from the top of his purple hair to the bottom of his knee length black boots and suppressed a grimace. "There's been some trouble in the area," said the cop.
"What kind of trouble?" asked Ian.
"Hate crime. You know anything about it?"
"I do," said Kat.
The officer looked at her sharply.
"It was at my house," she explained. "Swastika, animal blood."
"Gross," said Ian, looking over at Kat incredulously. "What kind of a nut-case would do something like that?"
The officer took another look at Ian's outfit and just smiled. "There are all sorts out there," he said. "You two should be getting home — it's a school night, after all."
"We will," Kat promised.
With that, the officers walked back to their car and drove off.
Ian and Kat walked back down the street towards her house in silence. Kat was still shivering slightly, so Ian had insisted that she keep wearing the jacket even though the frigid air easily flowed through the open seams.
"You must be frozen solid," she said. "Come in, and I'll get my mom to drive you home."
But when they got right up to the front lawn, there was a sudden shuffling sound and a metallic clank. Kat saw a pair of running shoes and a dark jacket brush past her. Ian bolted after the figure. She heard what sounded like cloth ripping, someone falling and then a few choice curses.
"He got away," said Ian, getting up and brushing snow away from his leather pants. "But at least I did a number on his jacket."
"Did you recognize him?"
"No. But he was taller than me. And he had dark hair."
When they got all the way up to the house, Kat could see that he had been in the midst of spray bombing another swastika. So far, it looked like a giant black plus sign. There was also a plastic margarine dish. Ian nudged it with the edge of his boot. "It's filled with something sloshy," he said.