Between Shades of Gray(19)

“But they were going to make us slaves,” argued Mrs. Arvydas.

“A little work wouldn’t kill you,” said the grouchy woman to Mrs. Arvydas. “They probably want some manual labor from us, that’s all. That’s why they took the other groups first, because most of you look so weak. I grew up on a farm. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

“Then you’re elected to go dig up some food,” said Andrius. “Now leave our mothers alone.”

Jonas and I were spread out on the grass, trying to stretch our stiff muscles. Andrius joined us, put his hands behind his head and stared up at the sky.

“Your forehead is getting red,” I told him.

“A sunburn is the least of my worries,” said Andrius. “I’m not turning my back to the guards. Maybe if we get a bit of color, we’ll be bought and hauled off into Soviet slavery like the witch wants,” he said.

Jonas rolled over onto his back like Andrius. “Just as long as we can stay together. Papa said that’s important.”

“I have no choice but to stay with my mother. I’m surprised she made it this far,” said Andrius, looking over in her direction. Mrs. Arvydas was swatting flies away with her silk handkerchief and losing her balance in the process. “She’s not exactly hardy.”

“Do you have any sisters or brothers?” asked Jonas.

“No,” said Andrius. “My mother didn’t enjoy being pregnant. My father said that since he had a son, he didn’t need any more children.”

“My papa said that they’re going to give us another brother or sister one day. I think I’d like a brother,” said Jonas. “So, what do you think everyone at home is doing? Do you think they wonder what happened to us?”

“If they do, they’re too scared to ask about it,” said Andrius.

“But why? And why were we sent away?” asked Jonas.

“Because we were on the list,” I said.

“But why were we on the list?” continued Jonas.

“Because Papa works at the university,” I replied.

“But Mrs. Raskunas works at the university, and she wasn’t taken,” said Jonas.

Jonas was right. Mrs. Raskunas had peered out from behind her curtains as we were being hauled off in the night. I had seen her staring. Why wasn’t her family taken? Why did they hide behind their curtains instead of trying to stop them from deporting us? Papa would never have done that.

“I can understand why the bald man is on the list,” I said. “He’s horrible.”

“He’s awfully eager to die, isn’t he?” said Andrius, staring up at the sky.

“You know what?” said Jonas. “Looking at the sky, it’s like I’m lying on the grass at home, in Lithuania.”

That sounded like something Mother would say, throwing color onto a black-and-white picture.

“Look,” continued Jonas, “that cloud looks like a cannon.”

“Make it blow up the Soviets,” I said, running my fingers over the blades of grass. “They deserve it.”

Andrius turned his head to me. I felt awkward under his prolonged gaze.

“What?” I asked.

“You always seem to have a mouthful of opinions,” he said.

“That’s what Papa said. See, Lina, you better be careful,” said Jonas.

My bedroom door swung open. “Lina, I want to see you in the living room,” said Papa.

“Why?” I asked.

“In the living room, NOW!” Papa’s nostrils flared. He walked out of the room.

“Mother, what’s wrong?”

“You heard your father, Lina. Go to the living room.”

We walked out into the hallway.

“Go to sleep, Jonas,” said Mother without even looking in the direction of my brother’s room. I looked over. Jonas was peeking out his bedroom door, his eyes wide.

Papa was steaming mad, and he was mad at me. What had I done? I walked into the living room.

“Is this what you waste your talent on?” He thrust a scrap of paper in my face.

“Papa, it was a joke,” I explained.

“YOU think it’s a joke. What if the Kremlin doesn’t think it’s a joke? They’re perfect likenesses, for God’s sake!” He dropped the paper into my lap.

I looked at my sketch. The likeness was perfect. Even in a clown suit, it was obviously Stalin. I drew him standing in our dining room, with Papa and his friends sitting around the table, launching paper airplanes at him. The men were laughing. Stalin had a sad clown face as airplanes hit his head. Papa and Dr. Seltzer were perfect likenesses. I hadn’t quite mastered the journalist’s chin yet.

“Are there others?” my father demanded, snapping the paper from me.

“It was for fun,” said a small voice. Jonas stood in his pajamas in the hallway. “Please don’t be mad, Papa.”

“Were you in on this, too?” yelled my father.

“Oh, Jonas,” said Mother.

“He wasn’t in on it! I drew it myself. I showed it to him because I thought it was funny.”

“Have you shown this to anyone else?” asked Papa.

“No. I just drew it this afternoon,” I said.

“Lina,” said Mother. “This is serious. The Soviets could arrest you if they saw your drawing.”