“He deserves to be here. Maybe he’ll get sick and everyone will ignore him. Then he’ll see how it feels. He could get a doctor for us!”
“Lina, think of what your father would say. A wrongdoing doesn’t give us the right to do wrong. You know that.”
I thought about Papa. She was right. He would say something like that.
Jonas walked into the jurta. “How is she?” he asked.
I put my hand on Mother’s forehead. “She still has a high fever.”
“Darling,” said Mother to Jonas. “I’m so very cold. Are you cold?”
Jonas took off his coat and handed it to me. He lay down beside Mother, wrapping himself around her. “Okay, put the coat on top of us. Get the small hide from Ulyushka,” said Jonas.
“Ulyushka,” said Mother fondly.
“I’ll warm you, Mother,” said Jonas, kissing her cheek.
“I feel better already,” she said.
79
I PRACTICED THE Russian words. Doctor. Medicine. Mother. Please. My stomach jumped. I clutched the stone. I heard Andrius’s voice. Don’t give them anything, Lina. Not even your fear.
It wasn’t just Mother. The man who wound his watch was sick. Janina’s mother was sick. If I could just get some medicine. I hated the thought of asking them for anything. The NKVD had killed Papa. I hated them for it. I couldn’t let them do the same to Mother.
I saw Kretzsky near the NKVD barracks. He stood with Ivanov. I waited. I wanted to speak to Kretzsky alone. Time passed. I had to go to work in order to get my ration. I trudged through the snow toward them.
“Look, it’s a little pig,” said Ivanov.
“My mother is sick,” I said.
“Really?” he said, feigning concern. “I think I know something that might help.”
I looked at him.
“Give her plenty of sunshine, fresh fruits, and lots of vegetables.” He laughed at his own sick joke.
“We need a doctor. We need medicine,” I said, shivering.
“What else do you need? A bathhouse? A school? Well, you better get building. Davai!”
I looked at Kretzsky.
“Please, help me. We need a doctor. We need medicine. My mother is sick.”
“There is no doctor,” said Kretzsky.
“Medicine,” I said. “We need medicine.”
“Do you want another twenty years?” yelled Ivanov. “I can give you that. No bread today, you ingrate. Get to work! Davai!”
I didn’t get a doctor. I didn’t get medicine. I lost my ration and humiliated myself in the process. I began walking to the trees. I had forgotten what the sun felt like on my face. When I closed my eyes, I could see sunlight in Lithuania, and on Andrius’s hair. But I couldn’t imagine the sun on the Laptev Sea. Even if we did make it through the winter, would we have the strength to build things? Could we really build a bathhouse and a school? Who would be left to teach?
I couldn’t lose Mother. I would fight. I would do whatever it took. She trembled, slipping in and out of sleep. Jonas and I sandwiched her between us, trying to warm and comfort her. Mrs. Rimas heated bricks to warm her feet. Janina picked the lice off her eyelashes.
The bald man leaned over and tucked his ration under Mother’s hand. “Come on, woman. You’re better than this. You’ve got children to take care of, for God’s sake,” he said.
Hours passed. Mother’s teeth chattered. Her lips turned blue.
“J-Jonas, keep this.” She handed him Papa’s wedding band. “It’s full of love. Nothing is more important.”
Mother’s trembling increased. She whimpered between breaths. “Please,” she pleaded, staring at us with urgent eyes. “Kostas.”
We held her between us, our arms curled around her withered body.
Jonas breathed quickly. His frightened eyes searched mine. “No,” he whispered. “Please.”
80
JANUARY 5. Jonas held Mother through the lonely morning hours, rocking her gently, as she used to do with us. Mrs. Rimas tried to feed her and massage circulation into her limbs. She couldn’t eat or speak. I warmed bricks and shuttled them back and forth from the stove. I sat next to her, rubbing her hands and telling stories from home. I described every room in our house in detail, even the pattern on the spoons in the kitchen drawer. “The cake is in the oven baking and it’s hot in the kitchen, so you’ve decided to open the window over the sink and let the warm breeze in. You can hear children playing outside,” I told her.
Later that morning Mother’s breathing became increasingly labored.
“Warm more bricks, Lina,” my brother told me. “She’s too cold.”
Suddenly, Mother looked up at Jonas. She opened her mouth. Not a sound came out. The trembling stopped. Her shoulders relaxed and her head fell against him. Her eyes faded to a hollow stare.
“Mother?” I said, moving closer.
Mrs. Rimas touched her hand to Mother’s neck.
Jonas began to cry, cradling her in his eleven-year-old arms. Small whimpers became deep, racking sobs, shaking his entire body.
I lay down behind him, hugging him.
Mrs. Rimas knelt beside us. “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” she began.
“Mother,” cried Jonas.
Tears spilled down my cheeks.
“She had a beautiful spirit,” said the man who wound his watch.
Janina stroked my hair.
“I love you, Mother,” I whispered. “I love you, Papa.”
Mrs. Rimas continued.
“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies; thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
“Amen.”
It described Mother perfectly. Her cup overflowed with love for everyone and everything around her, even the enemy.
Mrs. Rimas began to cry. “Sweet Elena. She was so dear, so good to everyone.”
“Please, don’t let them take her body,” said Jonas to Mrs. Rimas. “I want to bury her. We can’t let her be eaten by foxes.”
“We’ll bury her,” I assured Jonas through my tears. “We’ll make a coffin. We’ll use the boards we sleep on.”
Jonas nodded.
The bald man stared blankly, and for once, said nothing.
“She looks pretty,” said Jonas, standing at the side of Grandma’s coffin. “Papa, does she know I’m here?”
“She does,” said Papa, putting his arms around us. “She’s watching from above.”
Jonas looked up toward the ceiling and then to Papa.
“Remember last summer, when we flew the kite?” said Papa.
Jonas nodded.
“The wind came and I yelled to you that it was time. I told you to loosen your grip. The string started unwinding, and the wooden spool spun through your hands, remember? The kite went higher and higher. I had forgotten to tie the string to the spool. Do you remember what happened?”
“The kite disappeared up into the sky,” said Jonas.
“Exactly. That’s what happens when people die. Their spirit flies up into the blue sky,” said Papa.
“Maybe Grandma found the kite,” said Jonas.
“Maybe,” said Papa.
The bald man sat, his elbows on his knees, talking to himself. “Why is it so hard to die?” he asked. “I helped turn you in. I said ‘No’ too late. I saw the lists.”
Mrs. Rimas spun around. “What?”
He nodded. “They asked me to confirm people’s professions. They asked me to list the teachers, lawyers, and military who lived nearby.”
“And you did it?” I said.
Jonas held Mother, still crying.
“I told them I would,” said the bald man. “And then I changed my mind.”
“You traitor! You pathetic old man!” I said.
“Pathetic, and yet I survive. Surely, my survival is my punishment. That has to be it. This woman closes her eyes and she is gone. I’ve wished for death since the first day, and yet I survive. Can it really be so hard to die?”
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