Curiously, the reaction of her grandfather's supporters were exactly the opposite. While Professor Thompson spoke of Ukrainian losses, most were perched on the edge of their chairs and nodding in agreement. Kat remembered that when the plaintiff's witnesses were testifying, the reactions had been reversed.
This appalled Kat. Why were both sides not equally concerned with all the deaths? Was one human not equal to another? Kat's heart ached for all of the people who had been destroyed so long ago by two madmen. Whether Jews or Gypsies, Ukrainians or Poles, Russians or Germans, each of these people had been killed because of their race. Kat had assumed that the world had matured since then, but when she looked at the reactions of the people in the courtroom, she realized how little progress had actually been made.
At the first break, Kat didn't go down to the cafeteria for coffee with the others. Instead, she took the subway home. Professor Thompson had a stack of papers six inches high, and Kat had a feeling he'd be testifying all day. She didn't need a history lesson right now. What she needed was time to think. Thank goodness tomorrow was Saturday.
CHAPTER 32
KAT WAS SUFFERING from information overload. Her head was still swimming with all the facts and figures from the historian. She had wanted to get home and clear her head, but as soon as her house came into view, she realized that would be impossible. While they were gone, the house had again been attacked by the crazed swastika artist. On top of that, there was so much mail that it wouldn't even fit in the mailbox. Instead, the letter carrier had left the thick elastic-fastened bundle leaning against their front door. Too much information, Kat's mind screamed at her. She grabbed the mail bundle and walked around to the back door. On the summer kitchen table was more food — a casserole dish of cabbage rolls and perogies from the church women, a lemon cake from a neighbour, spring rolls from the Nguyens. Between the letter carrier and all these people dropping by and the police on top of it, Kat wondered how the graffiti artist ever found time to do his work.
She unlocked the door between the summer kitchen and the kitchen and carried the food and the mail inside. The first thing she wanted to do was to report the graffiti, so she walked to the phone. It was already blinking the number three. She pushed the "play" button on the answering machine. The first message was for her mother. It was from one of the women at the church, calling to let her know that a petition to the Minister of Justice was being circulated for signatures.
The second message was from her father in Oregon. It was short and sweet. "Dearest Orysia, I love you. I am thinking of you and the girls and your father."
The message comforted Kat. She missed her father terribly, and she knew her mother did too.
The third beep sounded, and a gruff voice said, "You're all a bunch of Nazi-pig-murderers."
The words hit Kat like a slap across the face. How did this nut get their unlisted number? She was about to hit delete, but then she remembered that by doing so, she would destroy evidence. She called the police instead.
CHAPTER 33
TESTIMONY FOR DANYLO'S defence resumed on Monday. Wasyl Kozenchuk was a professor from the university of Sorbonne in Paris, France and he was the first witness to be called.
"Professor Kozenchuk, can you tell me your background?" asked Mr. Vincent.
Danylo noticed that Professor Kozenchuk was an exquisitely dressed man with manicured fingernails and carefully combed brown hair that had not even a hint of grey. He must be close to my age, estimated Danylo, but he looked much more fit and athletic.
"I was born in Soviet Ukraine in 1924, but escaped to France in 1938 with my parents. Even as a boy, my gift for language was noticed, and I received a scholarship to the University of Sorbonne, where I studied languages and political history. I am now a full professor of history. I am fluent in German, Russian, Ukrainian, Polish, French and English."
"Professor Kozenchuk, what is your current research?"
"I have spent the last decade poring through government documents from the Third Reich."
"What is your key area of study?" asked Mr. Vincent.
"I am a French citizen, but my heritage is Ukrainian. I am intensely interested in the Ukrainian question and the Third Reich."
"Thank you," said Mr. Vincent. "As you know, the reason we are here today is because Mr. Danylo Feschuk is accused of being a collaborator with the Nazis between 1941 and 1943 in his role as a Ukrainian auxiliary police officer in Orelets, a village in the region of Volhyn, Ukraine."
"It must be pointed out," replied the professor, "that the Volhyn region of Ukraine was a problem area for the Germans. In World War II, this area was still heavily forested and swampy. For weeks and even months, German control of this area was limited to the main roads. Resistance activity, from both the Ukrainian patriots and the Red partisans, was heavy. The locals knew the forests and the swamps, but the Germans didn't."
"Can you explain what this has to do with Mr. Feschuk and his role as an auxiliary police officer?"
Professor Kozenchuk flipped through a sheaf of notes that he had brought with him to the witness stand. "Mr. Feschuk joined the auxiliary police in August of 1941, correct?"
"That is correct, Professor."
"That was two months after Stefan Bandera and the OUN — the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists — had declared Ukrainian independence from Germany, only to be arrested by the Nazis and thrown into a concentration camp. The OUN members who were not arrested went underground and into the forests of Volhyn and Polessia, where they continued their resistance against the Nazis."
"How did they set out to accomplish this?" asked Mr. Vincent.
"By sabotage and infiltration. They took jobs with the Germans in administration, as interpreters, mayors and so on, in order to monitor the actions of the Germans and to plan their next move."
"Can you explain how Danylo Feschuk fits into this?" asked Mr. Vincent.
"Another area of infiltration was the auxiliary police. Bandera's resistance movement needed weapons. The only way to get weapons was from the police and from the militia. They hid their true purpose and stockpiled weapons for more than a year — until February of 1943. At that time, three thousand Ukrainian auxiliary police in Volhyn simultaneously took to the forests. They killed their Nazi superiors and brought with them their stockpiles of weapons."
Danylo remembered what it was like to actually live through that time. Danylo and his fellow auxiliary police were to congregate at sunrise each morning for their orders from the Chief of Police, a German named Oskar Behr. In addition to the Ukrainian auxiliary police, there were three German police, and Danylo had to step carefully in order to make sure these Germans didn't suspect what he was up to. As far as the Ukrainian auxiliary police were concerned, all but one of them were secretly working with the resistance — the Organization of Ukrainian Nationalists.
It was a dangerous game. Once a week, the orders from the German-controlled headquarters in Rivne would arrive. How many slave labourers were required; how many girls for the German brothels; how many blonde and blue-eyed Ukrainian girls to be impregnated by Aryan soldiers, then discarded once the babies were born.
The auxiliary police outnumbered the Germans, but they were issued sometimes a pistol with no more than two bullets, sometimes no weapon at all. In addition to that, every rebellion was treated brutally. For the sake of the villagers, as much as for Danylo himself, it was imperative that the Germans didn't catch on to their game.