Between Shades of Gray(55)

The NKVD arrived with bread and buckets of mushroom soup. We woke Mother and dug in our bags for a cup or a dish.

“They are preparing us, preparing,” said the repeater. “We shall feast every day in America. Every day.”

“Why are they feeding us?” I asked.

“To strengthen us for work,” said Jonas.

“Eat every last bit,” instructed Mother.

After the meal, the guards began rounding up groups. Mother strained to hear.

She laughed weakly. “We’re going to bathe. We’ll be able to bathe!”

We scurried toward a large wooden bathhouse. Mother’s stride had steadied. We were divided at the gate into male and female groups.

“Wait for us,” Mother told Jonas.

We were instructed to take off our clothes and give them to Siberian men working at the door. All modesty dissolved. The women quickly undressed. They wanted to be clean. I looked down, hesitating.

“Hurry, Lina!”

I didn’t want them to touch me, to look at me. My arms folded over my breasts.

Mother spoke to one of the men. “He says we must hurry, that this is a travel stop. A large group is coming later today. He says that Latvians, Estonians, and Ukranians have already passed through,” said Mother. “It’s okay, darling, really.”

The men didn’t seem to be paying any attention. Of course not. Our shrunken bodies appeared almost androgynous. I hadn’t had a period in months. Nothing about me felt feminine. A piece of pork or a foamy beer would be more alluring to men.

After our showers, we were put on a truck with our belongings. They drove us several kilometers through the woods until we arrived at the bank of the Angara River.

“Why are we here?” asked Jonas.

Large wooden sheds dotted the bank. Tucked near the trees was a large NKVD building.

“They’re putting us on boats. Don’t you see? We’re going to America. America!” said the repeater. “We’re traveling up the Angara to the Lena and then across the sea to the Bering Strait. The Bering Strait.”

“That journey would take months,” said the man who wound his watch.

America? How could we leave Papa behind in a prison in Krasnoyarsk? How would I get my drawings to him? And what about the war? What if other countries became allies with Stalin? I saw Andrius’s face, when he told me we were on the list. Something about his expression told me we weren’t going to America.





66


THE BOATS WERE delayed. We waited on the stony banks of the Angara River for more than a week. They fed us barley porridge. I couldn’t figure out why they were feeding us more than bread. It was not out of kindness. Our strength would be needed, but what for? We sat in the sun, as if on vacation. I drew for Papa and wrote to Andrius every day. I drew on small scraps of paper so as not to be noticed and hid them between the pages of Dombey and Son. An Estonian woman noticed me drawing and gave me additional paper.

We hauled logs, but only for our nightly bonfires. We sat around the crackling fires and sang Lithuanian songs. The entire forest echoed in song from the people of the Baltics singing of their homeland. Two women were chosen to travel to Tcheremchov by train to help carry supplies back for the NKVD. They mailed our letters for us.

“Please, could you take this to Tcheremchov and pass it along to someone?” I handed a slat of wood to the woman.

“It’s lovely. The flowers—you’ve done a beautiful job. I had rue flowers in my backyard at home,” she said, sighing. She looked up at me. “Your father is in Krasnoyarsk?”

I nodded.

“Lina, please don’t get your hopes up. Krasnoyarsk is a long way from here,” said Mother.

One day, after sitting in the sun, Mother and I waded into the Angara. We ran out of the water, laughing. Our clothes clung tightly to our thin bodies.

“Cover yourself!” said Jonas, looking around.

“What do you mean?” said Mother, pulling at the wet fabric clinging to her.

“They’re watching,” said Jonas, motioning with his head to the NKVD.

“Jonas, they have no interest. Look at us. We’re hardly glamorous,” said Mother, wringing water from her hair. I wrapped my arms around my torso.

“They found Mrs. Arvydas interesting. Maybe he finds you interesting,” said Jonas.

Mother’s hands dropped. “What are you talking of? Who?”

“Nikolai,” said Jonas.

“Kretzsky?” I said. “What about him?”

“Ask Mother,” said Jonas.

“Stop it, Jonas. We don’t know Nikolai,” said Mother.

I faced Mother. “Why do you call him Nikolai? How do you know his name?”

Mother looked from me to Jonas. “I asked him his name,” she said.

My stomach dropped. Was Jonas right? “But Mother, he’s a monster,” I said, wiping water from the scar on my forehead.

She moved in closer, wringing out her skirt. “We don’t know what he is.”

I snorted. “He’s a—”

Mother grabbed my arm. Pain shot up into my shoulder. She spoke through clenched teeth. “We don’t know. Do you hear me? We don’t know what he is. He’s a boy. He’s just a boy.” Mother let go of my arm. “And I’m not lying with him,” she spat at Jonas. “How dare you imply such a thing.”