Between Shades of Gray(13)

My hands became clammy. “I was trying to copy the figure from a library book—”

She raised her hand to stop me. “In addition to being quite social, however, you appear to be a gifted artist. Your portraits are”—she paused, rotating the drawing—“captivating. They show a depth of emotion well beyond your years.”

“Thank you,” I breathed.

“I believe your talent is above what we could develop here.

There is a summer program, however, in Vilnius.”

“In Vilnius?” I asked. Vilnius was a few hours away.

“Yes, in Vilnius. Next year, when you’re sixteen, you’d be allowed to enter. If accepted, you’d study with some of the most talented artists in northern Europe. Would that interest you?”

I tried to swallow my excitement long enough to speak. “Yes, Mrs. Pranas, it would.”

“Then I’d like to recommend you. You’ll fill out an application and submit some samples of your drawings,” she said, handing the folder with the notes and sketches to me. “We’ ll send them off to Vilnius as soon as possible.”

“Mrs. Pranas, thank you!” I said.

She smiled and leaned back in her chair. “It’s my pleasure, Lina. You have talent. You have a successful future ahead of you.”



Someone discovered a loose board behind some luggage on the back wall. Jonas crawled back and wiggled it aside.

“What do you see?”

“There’s a man in the trees,” said Jonas.

“Partisans,” said the bald man. “They’re trying to help us. Get his attention.”

Jonas stuck his hand out of the opening in the board, trying to wave.

“He’s coming,” said Jonas. “Shh!”

“They’re unhooking the cars with the men,” a man’s voice said. “They’re splitting the train in two.” He ran back into the woods.

Intermittent shots rang out in the distance.

“Where are they taking the men?” I asked.

“Maybe the men are going to Siberia,” said Mrs. Rimas. “And we’re going somewhere else.”

I preferred the thought of Siberia, if that’s where Papa would be.

Metal clanged and screeched. They were dividing the train. There was another sound.

“Listen,” I said. “The men.” It grew louder. Louder. They were singing, singing at the top of their lungs. Andrius joined, and then my brother and the gray-haired man. And finally, the bald man joined in, singing our national anthem. Lithuania, land of heroes ...

I wept.





17


THE VOICES OF THE MEN in the other cars had sounded full of pride, full of confidence. Fathers, brothers, sons, husbands. Where were they all going? And where were we going, a train car full of women, children, elderly, and infirmed?

I wiped my tears with my handkerchief and allowed others to do the same. When it was handed back to me, I paused, staring at it. Unlike paper, the handkerchief could travel hand to hand without deteriorating. I would use it to draw on for Papa.

While I devised a plan, the women in the car showed constant concern for the baby, who could not seem to nurse.

Mrs. Rimas urged Ona to keep trying. “Come, come, dear.”

“What is it?” asked my mother through the darkness of the car.

“It’s Ona,” said Mrs. Rimas. “Her ducts are clogged and she’s too dehydrated. The baby won’t suckle.”

Despite Mrs. Rimas’s efforts, nothing seemed to help.

We rolled for days, stopping in the middle of nowhere. The NKVD wanted to ensure we could not be seen and had nowhere to run. We waited for our daily stops. It was the only time the door would be open to light or fresh air.

“One person! Two buckets. Any dead bodies in there?” the guards would ask.

We had agreed to rotate. That way, everyone would get a chance to get out of the car. Today was my turn. I had dreamed of seeing blue sky and feeling the sun on my face. But earlier, it had begun to rain. We had all scrambled to hold cups and containers out of the little slot to catch the rainwater.

I snapped my umbrella closed, shaking the excess rainwater onto the sidewalk. A gentleman in a suit emerged from a restaurant, stepping quickly away from the drops I was splashing about.

“Oh, sir, I’m sorry!”

“No trouble at all, miss,” he said, nodding and touching the brim of his hat.

The smell of roasted potatoes and spiced meat drifted out of the restaurant. The sun appeared, spreading a golden filter across the concrete and warming the back of my head. Wonderful—the concert in the park wouldn’t be canceled tonight. Mother had planned to pack a hamper with our dinner for a moonlight picnic on the grass.

As I rolled the umbrella and wrapped the closure, I jumped when I saw a face staring at me from the puddle at my feet. I laughed at my disorientation, smiling at myself in the pool of water. The edges of the puddle shimmered beneath the sun, creating a beautiful frame around my face. I wished I could photograph it to draw later. Suddenly, a faint shadow appeared behind my head in the puddle. I turned around. A pastel rainbow arched out of the clouds.



The train slowed. “Hurry, Lina. Do you have the buckets?” asked Mother.

“Yes.” I moved closer to the door. Once the train stopped, I waited for the sound. Boots and clanking. The door jerked open.