Between Shades of Gray(40)

“By reason of the voice of my groaning, my bones cleave to my flesh ...”



Someone gasped. Jonas’s voice trailed off. I clutched Andrius’s arm.

“Keep going,” said Mrs. Rimas. She wrung her hands.

The wind whistled and the walls of the hut shuddered. Jonas’s voice grew faint.

“I am like a pelican of the wilderness: I am like an owl in the desert.

“I watch, and am as a sparrow alone upon the housetop.

“Mine enemies reproach me all the day; and they that are mad against me are sworn against me.

“For I have eaten ashes like bread, and mingled my drink with weeping.

“My days are like a shadow that declineth; and I am withered like grass.”



“Make him stop,” I whispered to Andrius, dropping my head against his coat. “Please.” But he didn’t stop.

Jonas finally finished. A gust of wind clattered against the roof.

“Amen,” said Mrs. Rimas.

“Amen,” echoed the others.

“He’s starving,” I said.

“So what? We’re starving. I’m withered like grass, too,” said the bald man. “He’s no worse off than me.”

“He’s alive,” said Andrius quietly.

I looked up at him. Of course. He wished his father was alive, even if he was starving.

“Yes, Andrius is right,” said Mother. “He’s alive! And your cousin has probably sent him word that you’re alive, too!”

Mrs. Rimas read the letter again. Some people left the shack. Andrius was one of them. Jonas followed.





48


IT HAPPENED A WEEK later. Mother said she had seen signs. I saw nothing.

Miss Grybas waved frantically to me. She was trying to run through the snow.

“Lina, you must hurry! It’s Jonas,” she whispered.

Mother said she had noticed that his color had turned. Everyone’s color had turned. Gray had crept beneath our skin, settling in dark trenches under our eyes.

Kretzsky wouldn’t let me leave my work. “Please,” I begged. “Jonas is sick.” Couldn’t he help, just this once?

He pointed back to the stack of grain sacks. The commander walked around, yelling and kicking at us to hurry. A snowstorm was coming. “Davai!” yelled Kretzsky.

By the time I returned to our shack, Mother was already there. Jonas was lying on her pallet of straw, nearly unconscious.

“What is it?” I asked, kneeling beside her.

“I don’t know.” She pulled up Jonas’s pant leg. His shin was covered in spots. “It may be some sort of infection. He has a fever,” she said, putting her hand on my brother’s forehead. “Did you notice how irritable and tired he has become?”

“Honestly, no. We’re all irritable and tired,” I said. I looked at Jonas. How could I not have noticed? Sores lined his bottom lip, and his gums looked purple. Red spots dotted his hands and fingers.

“Lina, go get our bread rations. Your brother will need nourishment to fight this off. And see if you can find Mrs. Rimas.”

I fought my way through the swirling snow in the dark, the wind stabbing at my face. The NKVD wouldn’t give me three rations. Because Jonas collapsed on the job, they said, he had forfeited his ration. I tried to explain that he was ill. They waved me away.

Mrs. Rimas didn’t know what it was, nor Miss Grybas. Jonas seemed to slip further from consciousness.

The bald man arrived. He loomed over Jonas. “Is it contagious? Does anyone else have spots? The boy could be the angel of death for us all. A girl died of dysentery a few days ago. Maybe that’s what it is. I think they threw her in that hole you dug,” he said. Mother ordered him out of the shack.

Ulyushka yelled at us to take Jonas outside in the snow. Mother yelled back and told her to sleep somewhere else if she was worried about contagion. Ulyushka stomped out. I sat next to Jonas, holding a snow-cooled cloth to his forehead. Mother knelt down and spoke softly, kissing his face and hands.

“Not my children,” whispered Mother. “Please, God, spare him. He is so young. He’s seen so little of life. Please ... take me instead.” Mother raised her head. Her face contorted with pain. “Kostas?”

It was late when the man who wound his watch arrived with a kerosene lamp. “Scurvy,” he announced after looking at Jonas’s gums. “It’s advanced. His teeth are turning blue. Don’t worry; it’s not contagious. But you’d best find this boy something with vitamins before his organs shut down completely. He’s malnourished. He could turn at any point.”

My brother was a rendering from Psalm 102, “weak and withered like grass.” Mother rushed out into the snow to beg, leaving me with Jonas. I laid compresses on his forehead. I tucked the stone from Andrius under his hand and told him that the sparkles inside would heal him. I recounted stories from our childhood and described our house, room by room. I took Mother’s Bible and prayed for God to spare my brother. My worry made me nauseous. I grabbed my paper and began to sketch something for Jonas, something that would make him feel better. I had started a drawing of his bedroom when Andrius arrived.

“How long has he been like this?” he said, kneeling by Jonas.

“Since this afternoon,” I replied.