"That is correct."
"What would have happened if Mr. Feschuk had been caught helping you to escape?"
Sergei shook his head in dismay. "I don't even want to think about it," he replied. "He would have been killed, and many other villagers would have been killed too."
"Thank you, Mr. Kovelenko," said Mr. Vincent. "No further questions."
Mrs. Caine stood up. "Mr. Kovelenko, how did you become a prisoner of war?"
"My whole unit surrendered to the Germans."
"You refused to fight the Nazis?" asked Mrs. Caine.
Mr. Kovelenko sat up straight in his chair and regarded Mrs. Caine sternly. "I fought the Nazis once I was in the UPA. In the Red Army, we were issued one rifle for every two soldiers. The Germans arrived in tanks. What did you expect us to do?"
"I would have expected you to die with honour," said Mrs. Caine. "No more questions."
It was only 2:45.
The judge looked from the plaintiff to the defence. "We have one more witness," he said. "And that is Danylo Feschuk."
Then the judge removed his glasses and regarded Danylo.
"Would you like to testify today, or would you like to wait until tomorrow?"
Danylo leaned towards a microphone to answer, but before he did, Mr. Vincent stood up.
"We ask that the hearing be adjourned for the day. Mr. Feschuk is tired."
"Fine," said the judge, banging his gavel. "The court will resume tomorrow at 9 am."
CHAPTER 37
BY THE TIME Kat arrived at Cawthra, Lisa had taken the parachute out of the knapsack and it was draped out on the stage floor. It was amazingly huge: it stretched all the way from one side of the stage to the other.
Lisa and Kat tried to hang it with the three huge scallops like they had before, but they couldn't get the knack anymore. It kept on looking lopsided. They experimented with different ways to hang it, and Ian stood at the back of the auditorium and watched. "That's perfect," he called out on their sixth attempt.
The two girls stepped back to view their work. It was angled in such a way that the khaki satiny material formed into one huge loopy triangle, with the small end at the top, widening to the full expanse of the stage at floor level. The velvet maroon curtains contrasted nicely in texture and colour as a backdrop to the set. It was an elegant and stark setting for Ian, with his white hair and long black coat with the red satin lining.
Ian walked down the centre aisle towards the stage as Lisa climbed up a ladder to unfasten the top of the parachute. A moment later, it was in billows on the floor. Ian bent down to wind it into a compact ball. He unzipped the knapsack carrying case and drew out a bundle of chamois. Inside was the ornate Victorian knife that he had bought at the surplus store.
"Why are you still carrying that around?" asked Kat, a note of concern in her voice.
"No reason," said Ian. "I just like the look of it." He ran his finger over the polished blade with admiration.
Kat was not convinced. "You don't take a knife to school just because you like the look of it," she said.
"I do."
"Even a pen knife on a key chain is forbidden," said Kat angrily. "Do you want to get kicked out of Cawthra? I can't believe you could be so dumb."
Ian looked up at her with an annoyed expression on his face. "You are such an incredible priss sometimes," he said. He had finished bundling the parachute by this time and shoved it into the knapsack. He wrapped the knife in the piece of chamois and placed it inside the front of his leather jacket.
They walked out of the auditorium and into the school hallway together.
"I'm calling my mom to pick me up," said Kat, walking towards the pay phone at the front of the school. "Do you guys want a ride home?"
Ian looked at her with a scowl. "I'll catch the bus," he said, turning his back on them both and walking out the front door of the school.
Lisa looked from Ian's back to Kat and rolled her eyes. "I'll take a ride if the offer's open."
Kat called home and was surprised when Genya answered. "Mom's lying down," she said. "But I'll come and get you."
"Don't be too upset with Ian," said Lisa. "He's always in a bad mood before a concert."
Kat just shrugged. Ian had been so patient with all of her strange moods of late. The least she could do was be patient when he had something on his mind. As they walked towards Lisa's locker, Kat updated Lisa on the latest developments of her grandfather's case.
Ian was still angry by the time he had reached the bus stop. Kat was a nice kid, but she was so conservative that sometimes it made him want to scream. Why was she always looking at him with such disapproval? What was the big deal about carrying a knife, anyway? Couldn't she see that it was an awesome looking knife?
He was the only person waiting by the bus stop, and he paced back and forth to keep himself warm in the January air, hoping that he hadn't just missed a bus. He didn't still want to be standing there when Kat's ride arrived. The parachute knapsack was strapped to his back, and he carried the other one filled with his books. He didn't even know why he had brought his books home. He wasn't about to do any homework on concert night. However, if he walked back to his locker to get rid of the stuff, he would exit at the exact same time as Kat and Lisa. And he was mad at Kat.
He looked up the street and noticed that a couple of jocks from another high school were walking towards him. Ian hated jocks. He used to be one himself, and he knew that they looked upon people like him with utter disdain. He looked down the street to see if the bus was coming yet, but none was in sight. He looked back and noticed that the jocks — there were three of them — were coming straight towards him.
Where was that stupid bus?
Ian surveyed the three when they were just a dozen feet away from him. The tallest was the jerk Kat seemed to know. Dylan and he had been on the same all-star hockey team eons ago. The other two he didn't know.
"Hey Ian, is that you?" said Dylan as he came up and stood beside the bus stop.
Ian looked at his team mate of long ago and scowled a nod.
Dylan was a full head taller than he was and probably weighed at least fifty pounds more.
His two friends weren't much smaller.
One of Dylan's friends pushed Ian's shoulder with rough jocularity and asked, "Are you a fag, or what?"
Ian rolled his eyes. Puhlease, he thought. What was this guy's problem?
"Hey," said the jock angrily. "I asked you a question." He poked Ian roughly. "You look like a fag to me."
"What I am is no business of yours," replied Ian with cold anger.
"So you think," he taunted.
Ian was doing a slow burn by this time. He looked down the street and saw that there was still no bus in sight. He stepped away from the three other teens and began walking down the street. Perhaps he would hitch a ride home.
"Hey, my friend was talking to you," said Dylan.
Ian continued walking. He could hear three sets of Nikes close behind him, but he didn't want to turn around. Suddenly, he felt a punch on his arm.
Ian reached into his jacket and unwrapped the ornate Victorian knife. He felt someone pulling on his knapsack. He swung around, knife in hand. "Leave me alone!" he shouted.
Dylan saw the knife and in a flash, he had grabbed Ian's wrist and squeezed it. The pressure made Ian drop the knife with a clatter onto the sidewalk.
One of Dylan's friends picked it up. "We'll show you, you fag."
Dylan grabbed a huge handful of Ian's hair and pulled with all his might. Ian's legs buckled, and before he knew it, he was kneeling on the ground. The teen with the knife fell upon him. Ian felt a sharp pain on his scalp, and then a warm gush. Through a veil of blood, Ian could see that the teen with the knife was grinning and holding a handful of white hair.