Between Shades of Gray(59)

“We’ll be warmer if we’re close together,” said Mother.

Ivanov approached with Kretzsky. I understood most of the conversation.

“The slowest pigs in Trofimovsk!” said Ivanov through his rotten teeth.

“You need a roof,” said Kretzsky, motioning with his cigarette.

“Yes, I know. And heat?” I said. We had enough logs for a roof, but what would we do for heat?

“We’ll need a stove,” Mother said in Russian.

Ivanov found that particularly funny. “You’d like a stove? What else? A hot bath? A glass of cognac? Shut up and get to work.” He walked away.

Mother looked at Kretzsky.

He looked down and then walked off.

“See, he won’t help,” I said.

We worked for another week, building from scratch. It wasn’t a house. It was a dung heap, a bunch of logs covered in mud, sand, and moss. It looked like something a child would make in the dirt. And we had to live in it.

The men finished building the barracks and a bakery for the NKVD. They were proper brick buildings with stoves or fireplaces in each room. The man who wound his watch said it was well outfitted. And we were expected to endure an arctic winter in a mud hut? No, they expected us not to endure at all.





71


THE DAY AFTER we finished our jurta, Janina came running to me. “Lina, there’s a ship! There’s a ship coming!”

Within seconds, the NKVD was upon us, pointing rifles in our faces. They ordered everyone into their jurtas. They ran, screaming, frantic.

“Jonas?” Mother yelled. “Lina, where is Jonas?”

“He was sent to fish,” I said.

“Davai!” barked Ivanov, pushing me into the jurta.

“Jonas!” yelled Mother, stumbling to get away from Ivanov.

“He’s coming, Elena,” said Mr. Lukas, running toward us. “I saw him behind me.”

Jonas arrived, out of breath from running. “Mother, there’s a ship. It has an American flag.”

“The Americans have arrived. They’ve arrived!” said the repeater.

“Will the Americans fight the NKVD?” asked Janina.

“Stupid girl. The Americans are helping the NKVD,” said the bald man.

“They’re hiding us,” said Mother. “The guards don’t want the Americans to see us, to know what they’re doing to us.”

“Won’t the Americans wonder what these mud huts are?” I asked.

“They’ll think they’re some sort of military unit,” said the man who wound his watch.

“Should we run out, so the Americans can see us?” I asked.

“They’ll shoot you,” said the bald man.

“Stay put, Lina!” said Mother. “Do you understand me?”

She was right. The NKVD was hiding us from the Americans. We stayed in our jurtas for more than five hours. That’s how long it took for the American ship to be unloaded. As soon as the ship sailed, the NKVD came screaming for us to get to work. There were supplies to be moved to the bakery and NKVD barracks. I watched as the American ship drifted out of sight, pulling thoughts of rescue away with it. I wanted to run to the shore, waving my arms, screaming.

The supplies were stacked on large wooden pallets and stood as tall and wide as four homes in Kaunas. Food. It was so close. Jonas told me to keep an eye on the wood from the pallet, that we could use it to build a door for our jurta.

The man who wound his watch spoke English. He translated the markings on the containers. Canned peas, tomatoes, butter, condensed milk, powdered eggs, sugar, flour, vodka, whiskey. More than three hundred Lithuanians and Finns moved mountains of food and supplies they would never again touch. How much food was there in America that a ship could drop such an enormous supply for fewer than twenty guards? And now the Americans had sailed away. Did they know the Soviets’ gruesome secret? Were they turning the other cheek?

After the food, we moved supplies—kerosene, fishing nets, fur-lined coats, hats, thick leather gloves. The NKVD would be cozy for the winter. The wind blew through my threadbare coat. I strained to lift crate after crate with Jonas.

“Please, stop,” Mother told Mr. Lukas.

“I’m sorry,” he said, winding his watch. “It calms me.”

“That’s not what I mean. Stop translating the words on the crates. I can’t bear to know what we’re carrying anymore,” Mother said as she walked away.

“I want to know,” objected the bald man. “I want to know what might be available if the opportunity presents itself for one of you.”

“What does he mean?” asked Jonas.

“Probably that he wants us to steal things for him,” I said.

“She’s doing it again,” said Jonas.

“What?” I asked.

Jonas motioned to Mother. She was talking to Kretzsky.





72


JONAS FOUND AN EMPTY barrel floating in the Laptev Sea. He was able to pull it ashore with a log. He rolled it up to our jurta. The men cheered.

“For a stove,” Jonas said, smiling.

“Good work, darling!” said Mother.

The men set to work on the barrel, using empty tin cans from the NKVD’s trash to create a stovepipe.