Between Shades of Gray(7)

“Is your little one a boy or a girl?” asked Mrs. Rimas.

“A girl,” said Ona weakly. She shifted her bare feet on the wooden plank. They were cut and full of dirt.

“She’ll need to eat soon,” said Mrs. Rimas.

I looked around the car. My head felt detached from my body. More people pushed into the small space, including a woman with a boy my age. I felt a tug.

“Are you going to sleep now?” asked a small girl with hair the color of pearls.

“What?”

“You’re in your nightgown. Are you going to sleep?” She thrust a tattered doll toward me. “This is my dolly.”

My nightgown. I was still in my nightgown. Jonas was still in my baby blue coat. I had completely forgotten. I pushed toward Jonas and Mother. “We need to change our clothes,” I said.

“There’s no room to open our suitcases,” said Mother. “And there’s nowhere to change.”

“Please,” said Jonas, pulling my coat tightly around him.

Mother tried to move toward the corner of the car but it was useless. She bent down and opened my suitcase a slight crack. Her hand dipped in and out, searching for something. I saw my pink sweater and a slip. Finally, she pulled out my dark blue cotton dress. She then searched for pants for Jonas.

“Excuse me, madam,” she said to a woman sitting in the corner of the car. “Could we trade places with you so my children can change their clothes?”

“This is our spot,” announced the woman. “We’re not moving.” Her two daughters looked up at us.

“I realize it’s your spot. It would just be for a moment, so my children have a bit of privacy.”

The woman said nothing and folded her arms across her chest.

Mother thrust us near the corner, almost on top of the woman.

“Hey!” said the woman, throwing up her hands.

“Oh yes, so sorry. Just for a bit of privacy.” Mother took my coat from Jonas and held it up to shield us. I changed quickly and then used my nightgown to make an additional changing curtain for Jonas.

“He peed,” said one of the girls, pointing at my brother. Jonas froze.

“You peed, little girl?” I said loudly. “Oh, poor thing.”

The temperature in the car had risen steadily since we had climbed in. The wet scent of an armpit hung in front of my face. We forged our way near the door, hoping for some air. We stacked our suitcases and Jonas sat on top, holding the bundle from our cousin Regina. Mother stood on her toes, trying to look out onto the train platform for Papa.

“Here,” said a gray-haired man, putting a small case on the floor. “Stand on this.”

“That’s very kind,” said Mother, accepting.

“How long has it been?” he asked.

“Since yesterday,” she said.

“What does he do?” said the man.

“He’s provost at the university. Kostas Vilkas.”

“Ah, yes, Vilkas.” The man nodded. He looked at us. His eyes were kind. “Beautiful children.”

“Yes. They look just like their father,” she said.

We all sat together on the velvet settee, Jonas on Papa’s lap. Mother wore her green silk dress with the full skirt. Her yellow hair fell in shiny waves against the side of her face, and her emerald earrings sparkled under the lights. Papa wore one of his new dark suits. I had chosen my cream-colored dress with the brown satin sash and a matching ribbon for my hair.

“What a handsome family,” said the photographer, positioning his large camera. “Kostas, Lina looks just like you.”

“Poor girl,” teased Papa. “Let’s hope she grows out of it and ends up like her mother.”

“One can only hope,” I teased back. Everyone erupted in laughter. The flash went off.





10


I COUNTED THE PEOPLE—forty-six packed in a cage on wheels, maybe a rolling coffin. I used my fingers to sketch the image in a layer of dirt on the floor near the front of the train car, wiping the drawings away and starting over, again and again.

People chattered about our possible destination. Some said NKVD headquarters, others thought Moscow. I scanned the group. Faces spoke to their future. I saw courage, anger, fear, and confusion. Others were hopeless. They had already given up. Which was I?

Jonas swatted flies away from his face and hair. Mother spoke quietly to the woman with the son my age.

“Where are you from?” the boy asked Jonas. He had wavy brown hair and blue eyes. He looked like one of the popular boys from school.

“Kaunas,” said Jonas. “Where are you from?”

“?an?iai.”

We looked at each other, silent and awkward.

“Where is your dad?” blurted Jonas.

“In the Lithuanian army.” The boy paused. “He’s been gone for a while.”

His mother looked like an officer’s wife, fancy and unaccustomed to dirt. Jonas continued to chatter, before I could tell him to stop.

“Our father works at the university. I’m Jonas. This is my sister, Lina.”

The boy nodded at me. “I’m Andrius Arvydas.” I nodded in return and looked away.

“Do you think they’d let us get out, even for a few minutes?” asked Jonas. “That way, if Papa is here at the station, he’ll see us. He can’t find us now.”