Between Shades of Gray (3 page)

“The university?” said the bald man, still wincing with pain. “Oh, well, he’s long gone then.”

My stomach contracted like someone had punched me. Jonas turned a desperate face to Mother.

“Actually, I work at the bank and I saw your father just this afternoon,” said a man, smiling at Jonas. I knew he was lying. Mother gave the man a grateful nod.

“Saw him on his way to the grave then,” said the surly bald man.

I glared at him, wondering how much glue it would take to keep his mouth shut.

“I am a stamp collector. A simple stamp collector and they’re delivering me to my death because I correspond internationally with other collectors. A university man would certainly be near the top of the list for—”

“Shut up!” I blurted.

“Lina!” said Mother. “You must apologize immediately. This poor gentleman is in terrible pain; he doesn’t know what he is saying.”

“I know exactly what I am saying,” the man replied, staring at me.

The hospital doors opened and a great cry erupted from within. An NKVD officer dragged a barefoot woman in a bloodied hospital gown down the steps. “My baby! Please don’t hurt my baby!” she screamed. Another officer walked out, carrying a swaddled bundle. A doctor came running, grabbing at the officer.

“Please, you cannot take the newborn. It won’t survive!” yelled the doctor. “Sir, I beg you. Please!”

The officer turned to the doctor and kicked the heel of his boot into the doctor’s kneecap.

They lifted the woman into the truck. Mother and Miss Grybas scrambled to make room for her lying next to the bald man. The baby was handed up.

“Lina, please,” Mother said, passing the pink child to me. I held the bundle and instantly felt the warmth of its little body penetrating through my coat.

“Oh God, please, my baby!” cried the woman, looking up at me.

The child let out a soft cry and its tiny fists pummeled the air. Its fight for life had begun.

THE MAN WHO WORKED at the bank gave Mother his jacket. She wrapped the suit coat around the woman’s shoulders and smoothed her hair away from her face.

“It’s all right, dear,” said Mother to the young woman.

“Vitas. They took my husband, Vitas,” breathed the woman.

I looked down at the little pink face in the bundle. A newborn. The child had been alive only minutes but was already considered a criminal by the Soviets. I clutched the baby close and put my lips on its forehead. Jonas leaned against me. If they would do this to a baby, what would they do to us?

“What is your name, dear?” said Mother.

“Ona.” She craned her neck. “Where is my child?”

Mother took the child from me and laid the bundle on the woman’s chest.

“Oh, my baby. My sweet baby,” cried the woman, kissing the infant. The truck lurched forward. She looked at Mother with pleading eyes.

“My leg!” wailed the bald man.

“Do any of you have medical training?” asked Mother, scanning the faces in the truck. The people shook their heads. Some wouldn’t even look up.

“I’ll try to make a splint,” said the man from the bank. “Does anyone have anything straight I can use? Please, let’s help one another.” People shifted uncomfortably in the truck, thinking about what they might have in their bags.

“Sir,” said Jonas, leaning around me. He held out his little ruler from school. The old woman who had gasped at my nightgown began to cry.

“Well, yes, that’s very good. Thank you,” said the man, accepting the ruler.

“Thank you, darling,” said Mother, smiling at Jonas.

“A ruler? You’re going to set my leg with a little ruler? Have you all gone mad?” screeched the bald man.

“It’s the best we can do at the moment,” said the man from the bank. “Does anyone have something to tie it with?”

“Someone just shoot me, please!” yelled the bald man.

Mother pulled the silk scarf from her neck and handed it to the man from the bank. The librarian slid the knot from her scarf as well, and Miss Grybas dug in her bag. Blood began to soak through the front of Ona’s hospital gown.

I felt nauseous. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something, anything, to calm myself. I pictured my sketchbook. I felt my hand stir. Images, like celluloid frames, rolled through my mind. Our house, Mother adjusting Papa’s tie in the kitchen, the lily of the valley, Grandma ... Her face soothed me somehow. I thought of the photo tucked in my suitcase. Grandma, I thought. Help us.

We arrived at a small train depot in the countryside. Soviet trucks filled the rail yard, packed with people just like ours. We drove alongside a truck with a man and woman leaning out. The woman’s face was streaked with tears.

“Paulina!” the man yelled. “Do you have our daughter Paulina?” I shook my head as we passed.

“Why are we at a countryside depot and not Kaunas station?” asked an old woman.

“It’s probably easier to organize us with our families. The main station is so busy, you know,” said Mother.

Mother’s voice lacked certainty. She was trying to convince herself. I looked around. The station was tucked in a deserted area, surrounded by dark woods. I pictured a rug being lifted and a huge Soviet broom sweeping us under it.

“DAVAI!” YELLED AN NKVD officer as he opened the back gate of the truck. The train yard swarmed with vehicles, officers, and people with luggage. The noise level grew with each passing moment.

Mother leaned down and put her hands on our shoulders. “Stay close to me. Hold on to my coat if you need to. We must not be separated.” Jonas grabbed on to Mother’s coat.

“Davai!” yelled the officer, yanking one of the men off the truck and pushing him to the ground. Mother and the man from the bank began to help the rest. I held the infant while they brought Ona down.

The bald man twisted in pain as he was carried off the truck.

The man from the bank approached an NKVD officer. “We have people who need medical attention. Please, get a doctor.” The officer ignored the man. “Doctor! Nurse! We need medical assistance!” shouted the man into the crowd.

The officer grabbed the man from the bank, stuck a rifle in his back and began to march him away. “My luggage!” he yelled. The librarian grabbed the man’s suitcase, but before she could run to him, he had disappeared into the crowd.

A Lithuanian woman stopped and said she was a nurse. She began tending to Ona and the bald man while we all stood in a circle around them. The train yard was dusty. Ona’s bare feet were already caked in dirt. Hordes of people passed by, threading through one another with desperate faces. I saw a girl from school pass by with her mother. She raised her arm to wave, but her mother covered her eyes as she approached our group.

“Davai!” barked an officer.

“We can’t leave these people,” said Mother. “You must get a stretcher.”

The officer laughed. “You can carry them.”

We did. Two men from the truck carried the wailing bald man. I carried the baby and a suitcase while Mother helped Ona walk. Jonas struggled with the rest of the luggage, and Miss Grybas and the librarian helped.

We reached the train platform. The chaos was palpable. Families were being separated. Children screamed and mothers pleaded. Two officers pulled a man away. His wife would not let go and was dragged for several feet before being kicked away.

The librarian took the baby from me.

“Mother, is Papa here?” asked Jonas, still clutching her coat.

I wondered the same thing. When and where had the Soviets dragged my father away? Was it on his way to work? Or maybe at the newspaper stand during his lunch hour? I looked at the masses of people on the train platform. There were elderly people. Lithuania cherished its elders, and here they were, being herded like animals.

“Davai!” An NKVD officer grabbed Jonas by the shoulders and began to drag him away.

“NO!” screamed Mother.

They were taking Jonas. My beautiful, sweet brother who shooed bugs out of the house instead of stepping on them, who gave his little ruler to splint a crotchety old man’s leg.

“Mama! Lina!” he cried, flailing his arms.

“Stop!” I screamed, tearing after them. Mother grabbed the officer and began speaking in Russian—pure, fluent Russian. He stopped and listened. She lowered her voice and spoke calmly. I couldn’t understand a word. The officer jerked Jonas toward him. I grabbed on to his other arm. His body began to vibrate as sobs wracked his shoulders. A big wet spot appeared on the front of his trousers. He hung his head and cried.

Mother pulled a bundle of rubles from her pocket and exposed it slightly to the officer. He reached for it and then said something to Mother, motioning with his head. Her hand flew up and ripped the amber pendant right from her neck and pressed it into the NKVD’s hand. He didn’t seem to be satisfied. Mother continued to speak in Russian and pulled a pocket watch from her coat. I knew that watch. It was her father’s and had his name engraved in the soft gold on the back. The officer snatched the watch, let go of Jonas, and started yelling at the people next to us.

Have you ever wondered what a human life is worth? That morning, my brother’s was worth a pocket watch.

“IT’S OKAY, DARLING. We’re all okay,” said Mother, hugging Jonas, kissing his face and tears. “Right, Lina? We’re all okay.”

“Right,” I said quietly.

Jonas, still crying, put his hands in front of his trousers, humiliated by the wetness.

“Don’t worry about that, my love. We’ll get you a change of clothes,” said Mother, moving in front of him to shield his embarrassment. “Lina, give your brother your coat.”

I peeled off my coat and handed it to Mother.

“See, you’ll just wear this for a short while.”

“Mother, why did he want to take me away?” asked Jonas.

“I don’t know, dear. But we’re together now.”

Together. There we stood on the train platform amidst the chaos, me in my flowered nightgown and my brother in a baby blue summer coat that nearly touched the ground. As ridiculous as we must have looked, no one even glanced at us.

“Mrs. Vilkas, hurry!” It was the nasal voice of Miss Grybas, the spinster teacher from school. She urged us toward her. “We’re over here. Hurry now, they’re splitting people up.”

Mother grabbed Jonas’s hand. “Come, children.” We made our way through the crowd, like a small boat cutting through a storm, unsure if we’d be sucked in or stay afloat. Red wooden train cars lined the platform, stretching in links as far as the eye could see. They were crudely built and dirty, the kind that would haul livestock. Masses of Lithuanians thronged toward them with their belongings.

Mother maneuvered us through the crowd, pushing and pulling our shoulders. I saw white knuckles clutching suitcases. People were on their knees crying, tying erupting bags with twine while officers stepped on the contents. Wealthy farmers and their families carried buckets of slopping milk and rounds of cheese. A small boy walked by holding a sausage nearly as big as his body. He dropped it and it immediately disappeared underfoot in the crowd. A woman bumped my arm with a sterling candlestick while a man ran by holding an accordion. I thought of our beautiful things, smashed on the floor at our house.

“Hurry!” shouted Miss Grybas, gesturing to us. “This is the Vilkas family,” she said to an officer holding a clipboard. “They’re in this car.”

Mother stopped in front of the car and scanned the crowd intently.
Please
, said her eyes as she searched for our father.

“Mother,” whispered Jonas, “these cars are for pigs and cows.”

“Yes, I know. We’ll have a little adventure, won’t we?” She boosted Jonas up into the car and then I heard the sounds—a baby crying and a man moaning.

“Mother, no,” I said. “I don’t want to be with those people.”

“Stop it, Lina. They need our help.”

“Can’t someone else help them? We need help, too.”

“Mother,” said Jonas, worried the train would begin to move. “You’re coming in, aren’t you?”

“Yes, darling, we’re coming. Can you take this bag?” Mother turned to me. “Lina, we haven’t a choice. Please do the best you can not to frighten your brother.”

Miss Grybas reached down for Mother. What about me? I was frightened, too. Didn’t that matter?
Papa, where are you?
I looked around the train platform, which was now in complete pandemonium. I thought about running, running until I couldn’t run anymore. I’d run to the university to look for Papa. I’d run to our house. I’d just run.

“Lina.” Mother stood in front of me now and lifted my chin. “I know. This is horrible,” she whispered. “We must stay together. It’s very important.” She kissed my forehead and turned me toward the train car.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet.”

“Do we have to be in these cattle cars?”

“Yes, but I’m sure it won’t be for long,” said Mother.

THE INSIDE OF THE car was stuffy and full of personal smells, even with the door open. People were wedged in everywhere, sitting on their belongings. At the end of the car, large planks of wood approximately six feet deep had been installed as shelves. Ona lay on one of the planks, peaked, the baby crying on her chest.

“OW!” The bald man smacked my leg. “Watch it, girl! You almost stepped on me.”

“Where are the men?” Mother asked Miss Grybas.

“They took them away,” she replied.

“We’ll need men in this car to help with the injured,” said Mother.

“There aren’t any. We’re sorted into groups of some kind. They keep bringing people and shoving them in. There are some elderly men, but they haven’t any strength,” said Miss Grybas.

Mother looked around the car. “Let’s put the little ones on the top plank. Lina, move Ona on that bottom plank so we can fit some more of the children.”