Between Shades of Gray(32)

“I love you, Lina,” whispered Mother.

“Our Father, who art in heaven,” began Mrs. Rimas.

BANG!

He shot into the hole. Dirt crumbled down from above our heads. Mrs. Rimas screamed. Komorov told us to shut up. He circled around and around, muttering that we were disgusting pigs. Suddenly, he began kicking dirt from the large pile into the hole. He laughed and kicked faster and faster. The soil landed on my feet, then on my dress, then on my chest. He kicked furiously, covering us in dirt, still pointing the gun at our faces. If I sat up, I’d be shot. If I didn’t sit up, I’d be buried alive. I closed my eyes. A heavy load of dirt sat on my body. Then finally, dirt fell onto my face.

BANG!

More dirt crumbled above our heads. Komorov laughed wildly, kicking dirt onto our faces. Dirt covered my nose. I opened my mouth to breathe and choked on the soil.

I heard Komorov cackling and then hacking. He laughed and coughed, trying to regain composure, as if he had outdone himself. Kretzsky said something.

BANG!

Then it was quiet. We lay there, buried in our own efforts. I heard a muffled rumble of the truck driving away. I couldn’t open my eyes. I felt Mother squeezing my hand. She was still alive. I squeezed back. Then I heard Kretzsky’s voice above us. Mother sat up and frantically began wiping dirt from my face. She pulled me up. I hugged her, not wanting to let go. Mrs. Rimas dug the grouchy woman out. She wheezed and coughed up dirt.

“It’s okay, darling,” said Mother, rocking me into her. “He’s just trying to scare us. He wants us to sign those documents.”

I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t even speak.

“Davai,” said Kretzsky softly. He reached out his hand.

I looked up at his outstretched arm. I hesitated. He reached down farther. I grabbed his forearm. He grasped mine. I dug my toe into the dirt and let him pull me out. I stood at the side of the hole, face-to-face with Kretzsky. We stared at each other.

“Get me out of here!” yelled the grouchy woman. I looked away, where the truck had driven off. Kretzsky sent us back to digging. No one spoke for the rest of the day.





38


“WHAT’S WRONG?” asked Jonas when we arrived back at the shack.

“Nothing, dear,” said Mother.

Jonas looked from Mother to me, searching our faces for answers.

“We’re just tired.” Mother smiled.

“Just tired,” I told Jonas.

Jonas motioned us over to his pallet of straw. Inside his small cap were three large potatoes. He put his finger to his lips so our gasps wouldn’t be audible. He didn’t want Ulyushka to take the potatoes for rent.

“Where did you get them?” I whispered.

“Darling, thank you!” said Mother. “And I think we have just enough rainwater left. We’ll make a nice potato soup.”

Mother grabbed the coat out of her suitcase. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“To take food to Mr. Stalas,” she said.

I checked my suitcase, thinking of the dead man knifed up against the kolkhoz office. My drawings were undisturbed. The lining on the bottom of my suitcase was held down by snaps. I tore each drawing and page of writing from my tablet, slid it under the lining, and snapped it back in place. I would hide my messages to Papa until I found a way to send something.

I helped Jonas set the water to boil. Then it occurred to me. Miss Grybas wasn’t able to give us beets today. Mother didn’t take a potato. So what was she feeding the bald man?

I walked through the huts and quickly ducked out of sight. Mother was talking to Andrius in front of the bald man’s shack. She was no longer holding her coat. I couldn’t hear their conversation. Andrius looked concerned. He discreetly handed a bundle to Mother. She reached out and patted his shoulder. Andrius turned to leave. I ducked behind the shack. Once Mother passed, I peeked out and began to follow him.

Andrius walked down the row of barracks. I stayed well behind, just close enough to see where he was going. He made his way to the edge of the camp, then continued on to a large log building with windows. He stopped and looked around. I ducked behind the edge of a shack. It looked like Andrius entered the building from the rear. I crept closer and hid behind a bush.

I squinted to peer in the window. A group of NKVD sat around a table. I looked to the back of the building. No, Andrius couldn’t have gone inside an NKVD building. I was just about to follow him farther. Then I saw her. Mrs. Arvydas appeared in the window carrying a tray of glasses. Her hair was clean and styled. Her clothes were pressed. She was wearing makeup. She smiled and distributed the drinks to the NKVD.

Andrius and his mother were working with the Soviets.





39


I SHOULD HAVE BEEN grateful for the potato soup that night. But all I could think about was Andrius. How could he do it? How could he work with them? Did he live in that building? I thought about lying in that hole while Andrius lay in a bed, a Soviet bed. I kicked at my itchy straw, staring at the rusted ceiling.

“Mother, do you think they’ll let us sleep tonight? Or will they insist we go to the office to sign the papers?” asked Jonas.

“I don’t know,” said Mother. She turned her head to me. “Andrius gave me that nice bread we had with our soup. It’s very courageous of him to take risks like that for us.”