Between Shades of Gray(34)

40


THE STRAW PRICKLED AGAINST my face. Jonas had fallen asleep a long time ago. A soft whistle blew each time he exhaled. I tossed and turned.

“He’s trying, Lina,” said Mother.

“He’s sleeping,” I said.

“Andrius. He’s trying and you’re blocking him at every pass. Men aren’t always graceful, you know.”

“Mother, you don’t understand,” I said.

She ignored me and continued. “Well, I can see you’re upset. Jonas said that you were nasty to Andrius. That’s unfair. Sometimes kindness can be delivered in a clumsy way. But it’s far more sincere in its clumsiness than those distinguished men you read about in books. Your father was very clumsy.”

A tear rolled down my cheek.

She chuckled in the darkness. “He says I bewitched him the very instant he saw me. But do you know what really happened? He tried to talk to me and fell out of a tree. He fell out of an oak tree and broke his arm.”

“Mother, it’s not like that,” I said.

“Kostas,” she sighed. “He was so clumsy, but he was so sincere. Sometimes there is such beauty in awkwardness. There’s love and emotion trying to express itself, but at the time, it just ends up being awkward. Does that make sense?”

“Mmm, hmm,” I said, trying to muffle my tears.

“Good men are often more practical than pretty,” said Mother. “Andrius just happens to be both.”

I couldn’t sleep. Each time I closed my eyes I saw him winking at me, his beautiful face coming toward mine. The smell of his hair lingered around me.

“Are you awake?” I whispered.

Joana rolled over. “Yes, it’s too hot to sleep,” she said.

“I feel like I’m spinning. He’s so ... handsome,” I told her.

She giggled, tucking her arms under her pillow. “And he dances even better than his older brother.”

“How did we look together?” I asked.

“Like you were having a great time,” she said. “Everyone could see that.”

“I can’t wait to see him tomorrow,” I sighed. “He’s just perfect.”

The next day after lunch we ran back to the cottage to brush our hair. I nearly ran over Jonas on my way out.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“For a walk,” I said, rushing after Joana.

I walked as fast as I could without breaking into a jog. I tried not to crumple the drawing rolled in my hand. I had decided to draw him when I couldn’t sleep. The portrait came out so well that Joana suggested I give it to him. She assured me he’d be impressed with my talent.

His brother rushed up to Joana, meeting her in the street.

“Hey, stranger,” he said, smiling at Joana.

“Hi!” said Joana.

“Hi, Lina. What do you have there?” he said, motioning to the paper in my hand.

Joana looked over toward the ice cream shop. I moved around her to find him.

“Lina,” she said, reaching out to hold me back.

It was too late. I had already seen. My prince had his arm around a girl with red hair. They were cozy, laughing, sharing an ice cream cone. My stomach plunged and twisted.

“I forgot something,” I said, backing away. My fingers wrenched the portrait in my sweaty hand. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll come with you,” said Joana.

“No, that’s all right,” I said, hoping the blotches of heat I felt on my neck weren’t visible. I attempted a smile. The sides of my mouth trembled. I turned and walked away, trying to keep my composure until I reached a safe distance.

Clenching my jaw didn’t stop the tears. I stopped and leaned against a trash can on the street.

“Lina!” Joana caught up to me. “Are you all right?”

I nodded. I opened the crinkled portrait of his handsome face. I ripped it up and threw it away. Stray pieces escaped my grip and blew across the street. Boys were idiots. They were all idiots.





41


AUTUMN APPROACHED. The NKVD pushed us harder. If we so much as stumbled, they reduced our bread rations. Mother could close her thumb and middle finger around my forearm. I had no tears. The sensation of crying would fill me, but my eyes would only dry-heave and burn.

It was hard to imagine that war raged somewhere in Europe. We had a war of our own, waiting for the NKVD to choose the next victim, to throw us in the next hole. They enjoyed hitting and kicking us in the fields. One morning, they caught an old man eating a beet. A guard ripped out his front teeth with pliers. They made us watch. Every other night they woke us to sign the documents sentencing us to twenty-five years. We learned to sit in front of Komorov’s desk and rest with our eyes open. I managed to escape the NKVD while sitting right in front of them.

My art teacher had said that if you breathed deeply and imagined something, you could be there. You could see it, feel it. During our standoffs with the NKVD, I learned to do that. I clung to my rusted dreams during the times of silence. It was at gunpoint that I fell into every hope and allowed myself to wish from the deepest part of my heart. Komorov thought he was torturing us. But we were escaping into a stillness within ourselves. We found strength there.

Not everyone could sit still. People became restless, exhausted. Finally, some gave in.