“I’m doing my homework.”
“A colleague of your father’s is going to Germany,” said Mother.
“I’ll be back for dinner.” Papa kissed Mother on the cheek and rushed out the back door.
News of the impending move burned through the camp like a spark riding gasoline. People dashed in and out of huts. Speculations flew. Stories changed each minute. Others cropped up the next. Someone claimed additional NKVD had arrived in camp. Someone else said they saw a group of NKVD loading their rifles. No one knew the truth.
Ulyushka threw open the door of the shack. She spoke to Jonas and quickly exited.
“She’s looking for Mother,” said Jonas.
“Does she know something?” I asked.
Miss Grybas ran into our shack. “Where is your mother?” she asked.
“She went to find Andrius and Mrs. Rimas,” I said.
“Mrs. Rimas is with us. Bring your mother to the bald man’s shack.”
We waited. I didn’t know what to do. Should I put everything in my suitcase? Were we really leaving? Could Jonas be right? Could we be going home? We hadn’t signed. I couldn’t shake the image of concern on Andrius’s face when he told me we were on the list. How did he know we were on it? How did he know he wasn’t?
Mother returned. People stood elbow-to-elbow in the bald man’s shack. The volume grew as we entered.
“Shh,” said the man who wound his watch. “Everyone, please sit down. Let’s hear from Elena.”
“It’s true,” said Mother. “There is a list and there is word of moving people.”
“How did Andrius find out about it?” asked Jonas.
“Mrs. Arvydas received some information.” Mother looked away. “I don’t know how she came by it. I am on the list. So are my children. Mrs. Rimas is on the list. Miss Grybas, you are not on the list. That’s all I know.”
People quickly began asking if they were on the list.
“Stop your yapping. She said that’s all she knows,” said the bald man.
“Interesting,” said the man who wound his watch. “Miss Grybas is not on the list. She hasn’t signed. So it’s not just those who refuse to sign.”
“Please,” choked Miss Grybas, “don’t leave me here.”
“Quit blubbering. We don’t know what’s happening yet,” said the bald man.
I tried to find the pattern. How were they sorting us for the impending move? But there wasn’t a pattern. Stalin’s psychology of terror seemed to rely on never knowing what to expect.
“We must be prepared,” said Mr. Lukas, winding his watch. “Think of the journey we had in coming here. We’re not nearly as strong. If we are to face that journey again, we must be prepared.”
“You don’t think they’ll put us back in the train cars, do you?” gasped Mrs. Rimas. A wave of cries rippled through the group.
How could we be prepared? None of us had food. We were malnourished, weak. We had sold nearly all of our valuables.
“If it is true, and I am not leaving, I will sign the papers,” announced Miss Grybas.
“No! You mustn’t!” I said.
“Stop,” said Mrs. Rimas. “You’re not thinking clearly.”
“I’m thinking very clearly,” said Miss Grybas, sniffing back tears. “If you and Elena are gone, I will be nearly alone. If I sign, they will allow me to teach the children in the camp. Even if my Russian is poor, I can still teach. And if I’m alone, I’ll need to have access to the village. They’ll grant access only if I sign. That way, I can continue writing letters for all of us. It must be done.”
“Let’s not make any decisions yet,” said Mother, patting Miss Grybas’s hands.
“Maybe it’s all a mistake,” said Mrs. Rimas.
Mother looked down and closed her eyes.
61
ANDRIUS CAME TO OUR shack late that night and spoke to Mother outside.
“Andrius would like to speak with you,” said Mother. Ulyushka said something to her in Russian. Mother nodded.
I walked outside. Andrius stood with his hands in his pockets.
“Hi.” He chipped at the dirt with his shoe.
“Hi.”
I stared down the row of shacks. A breeze lifted the ends of my hair. “It’s getting warm,” I finally said.
“Yeah,” said Andrius, looking up at the sky. “Let’s walk.”
The snow had melted and the mud had firmed. Neither one of us spoke until we passed the bald man’s shack.
“Do you know where they’re taking us?” I asked.
“I think they’re transferring you to another camp. It seems that some of the NKVD are going, too. They’re packing up.”
“I can’t stop thinking of my father and what it said in the file.”
“Lina, I figured out what the word in the file means,” said Andrius.
I stopped, looking to him for the answer.
He reached out and gently moved my hair away from my eyes. “It means ‘accessory,’” said Andrius.
“Accessory?”
“It probably means that he tried to help people who were in danger,” said Andrius.
“Well, of course he’d do that. But you don’t think he actually committed some kind of crime, do you?”
“Of course not! We’re not criminals,” he said. “Well, maybe you are—stealing logs, pens, and files.” He looked over at me, suppressing a grin.
“Oh, you should talk—tomatoes, chocolate, vodka.”
“Yeah, and who knows what else,” said Andrius.
He took my hand and kissed it.
We walked hand in hand, neither one of us speaking. My pace slowed. “Andrius, I’m ... scared.”
He stopped and turned to me. “No. Don’t be scared. Don’t give them anything, Lina, not even your fear.”
“I can’t help it. I’m not even used to this camp. I miss home, I miss my father, I miss school, I miss my cousin.” My breathing quickened.
“Shh,” said Andrius. He pulled me to his chest. “Be careful who you talk to. Don’t let your guard down, okay?” he whispered. His arms tightened around me.
“I don’t want to go,” I said. We stood, quiet.
How did I get here? How did I end up in the arms of a boy I barely knew, but knew I didn’t want to lose? I wondered what I would have thought of Andrius in Lithuania. Would I have liked him? Would he have liked me?
“I don’t want you to go,” he finally whispered, barely audible.
I closed my eyes. “Andrius, we have to get back home.”
“I know,” he said. “We will.” He took my hand and we started back.
“I’ll write to you. I’ll send letters to the village,” I said.
He nodded.
We arrived back at our shack. “Wait a minute,” I told him. I went inside. I gathered all of my drawings, even the ones on small scraps, from underneath the lining in my suitcase. I tore papers out of my sketchbook. I walked outside and handed the stack to Andrius. The drawing of his mother, her face bruised, slipped out and wafted to the ground. Her eyes stared up at us from the dirt.
“What are you doing?” he asked, quickly picking up the drawing.
“Hide them. Keep them safe for me,” I said, putting my hands on top of his. “I don’t know where we’re going. I don’t want them to be destroyed. There’s so much of me, of all of us, in these drawings. Can you find a safe place for them?”
He nodded. “There’s a loose floorboard under my bunk. It’s where I hid Dombey and Son. Lina,” he said slowly, looking down at the drawings. “You have to keep drawing. My mother says the world has no idea what the Soviets are doing to us. No one knows what our fathers have sacrificed. If other countries knew, they might help.”
“I will,” I said. “And I’ve been writing it all down. That’s why you have to keep these safe for me. Hide them.”
He nodded. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he said. “Don’t be stupid and go looking for files or running under any trains.”
We stared at each other.
“So, don’t smoke any books without me, okay?” he said.
I smiled. “I won’t. How long do you think we have?”
“I don’t know. It could be any day.”
I stood on my toes and kissed him.
“Krasivaya,” he said into my ear, his nose tracing along my cheek. “Have you learned it yet?” He kissed my neck.
“Not yet,” I said, closing my eyes.
Andrius exhaled and stepped back slowly. “Tell Jonas I’ll come by to see him in the morning, okay?”