Between Shades of Gray

by Ruta Sepetys

  “No, you won’t. It was a gift,” I said. “Jonas, Grandma gave me that book.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Jonas, looking down at his chest.

  “You should be!” I yelled.

  “Lina, it was my idea,” said Andrius. “It’s not his fault.” I waved him away. Why did boys have to be such idiots?

  21

  WEEKS. I LOST TRACK of how long we had been traveling. I stopped watching for bodies to be hurled from the cars. Every time the train pulled away, we left a litter of corpses in our wake. What would people think if they saw them? Would someone bury them, or would they believe they were really thieves and prostitutes? I felt as if I were riding a pendulum. Just as I would swing into the abyss of hopelessness, the pendulum would swing back with some small goodness.

  One day, for example, just past Omsk, we stopped in the countryside. There was a small kiosk. Mother bribed a guard to let her out of the car. She came running back, her entire skirt bowed full and heavy. She knelt down in the car and released her skirt. Candy, toffees, lollipops, black licorice, mountains of gumdrops, and other treats spilled out onto the floor, unfolding like a rainbow in front of us. Bright colors everywhere—pink, yellow, green, red, and enough for everyone. The children squealed with delight and jumped up and down. I bit into a gumdrop. A burst of citrus exploded in my mouth. I laughed and Jonas laughed with me.

  There were cigarettes, matches, and dark chocolate wafers for the adults.

  “They didn’t have bread or anything substantial,” explained Mother as she divided the treasure amongst everyone. “There were no newspapers.”

  Children grabbed Mother’s legs in glee, thanking her.

  “Foolish woman. Why do you waste your money on us?” said the bald man.

  “Because you are hungry and tired,” Mother said, handing the man a cigarette. “And I know you would do the same for my children if they ever needed it.”

  “Bah,” he scoffed and looked away.

  Two days later, while on the bucket run, Andrius found an oval stone full of quartz and other minerals. Everyone passed it around, oohing and ahhing. Mrs. Arvydas joked and put it up to her finger as if it were a shimmering gemstone.

  “Didn’t you know?” she said. “I’m a train car princess.”

  We laughed. People smiled. I almost didn’t recognize them. I looked over at Andrius. His face beamed with a grin that changed his appearance entirely. He was handsome when he smiled.

  22

  AFTER SIX WEEKS, and the third day without food, the train stopped. They did not open the door. The bald man, who had been charting our progress from the city markers called from the window slot, guessed we were somewhere in the Altai region, just north of China. I tried to peek through cracks in the wagon boards, but it was dark outside. We banged on the doors. No one came. I thought of the loaf of bread I had left on my windowsill, still warm and swollen from the oven. If only I could have a piece. Just one small pinch.

  My stomach burned with hunger and my head throbbed. I missed drawing on real paper and longed for light to sketch properly. I was sick of being so close to people. I felt their sour breath all over me, elbows and knees constantly in my back. Sometimes I had the urge to start pushing people away from me, but it was no use. We were like matchsticks in a small box.

  Late morning came and we heard clanking. The guards opened the door and said we would be getting out. Finally. My entire body trembled at the shock of daylight. I marked “Altai” on my handkerchief.

  “Lina, Jonas, come here and comb your hair,” Mother instructed. She smoothed out our clothes, a wasted effort, and helped me twist my hair into a crown. Twisting it made it itch even more.

  “Remember, we must all stay together. Do not walk away or stray. Do you understand?” We nodded. Mother still clutched her coat tightly under her arm.

  “Where are we?” asked Jonas. “Will they give us a bucket of water?”

  “I don’t know yet,” said Mother, fixing her own hair. She pulled out a tube of lipstick and, with a weak hand, applied the melted color to her lips. Jonas smiled. She winked back at him.

  The NKVD had bayoneted rifles at the ready. The sun reflected off the dagger-shaped blades. They could puncture us within a fraction of a second. Miss Grybas and Mrs. Rimas helped the small children out first, and we followed. Andrius and the gray-haired gentleman carried the bald man from the car.

  We weren’t at a train station. We were in a wide, deep valley, surrounded by forested hills. I saw mountains in the distance. The sky had never looked so blue, so beautiful. I had to shade my eyes from the intense sun. I breathed deeply and felt the crisp, clean air draft my polluted lungs. The NKVD directed the deportees from each train car to sit in groups on the grass, twenty feet from the tracks. We were given two buckets of slop and water. The children lunged for it.

  It was the first time I had seen the other passengers. There were thousands of people. Did we look as pitiful as they did? Masses of Lithuanians with tattered suitcases and bulging bags poured out into the valley, dirty and gray with soiled clothing, as if they had lived in a gutter for years. Everyone moved in slow motion, some too weak to carry their belongings.

  I didn’t have control of my legs, nor did most others. Many buckled under their own weight onto the ground.

  “We must stretch before sitting down, sweetheart,” said Mother. “Our muscles have surely atrophied these past weeks.”

  Jonas stretched. He looked like a filthy street beggar. His golden hair stuck to his head in matted clumps, and his lips were dry and cracked. He looked at me, his eyes widened. I could only imagine the state I was in. We sat down and the grass felt heavenly, like a featherbed compared with the wagon floor. The chugging motion of the train, however, was still trapped in my body.

  I looked at the people from our train car. They looked at me. Revealed by daylight, we saw the strangers we had shared a black closet with for six weeks. Ona was only a few years older than me. It had been dark when they put her on the truck in front of the hospital. Mrs. Arvydas was more attractive than her shadow. She had a very shapely figure, smooth brown hair, and full lips. Mrs. Rimas was a short woman with thick ankles, close to Mother’s age.

  People tried to communicate with the other groups, looking for family members and loved ones. The man who wound his watch approached me.

  “Do you have a handkerchief I could borrow?” he asked.

  I nodded and quickly handed him the hankie, neatly folded to conceal my writing.

  “Thank you,” he said, dabbing his nose. He turned his back to me and walked amongst the crowd of people. I watched as he shook hands with a man he obviously recognized, passing the fabric within palms. The man patted his brow with the handkerchief before putting it in his pocket. Pass it along, I thought, imagining the hankie traveling hand to hand until it reached Papa.

  “Elena, look,” said Mrs. Rimas. “There are horse-drawn carts.”

  Mother stood up and looked down the row of groups. “There are men with the NKVD. They’re walking amongst the people.”

  Andrius combed through his wavy hair with his fingers. He looked around constantly, watching the guards yet keeping his head down. He had to be nervous. His face had healed but was still sallow with remnants of yellow bruises. Would they recognize him? Would they haul him away or kill him right in front of us? I moved near him, trying to position my body to conceal his. But he was taller, his shoulders wide. I looked at the sharp blades of the bayonets and felt my stomach pitch with fear.

  Ona began weeping loudly. “Pipe down,” ordered the bald man. “You’ll draw attention to us.”

  “Please, don’t cry,” said Andrius, shooting glances from Ona down to the guards.

  A group near the front of the train was herded into two horse-drawn wagons. They drove away. I watched as the NKVD walked with men from cluster to cluster. The men looked strange, certainly not Lithuanian or Russian. They had darker skin and black hair, and their general appearance was dishevel
ed, primitive. They stopped at the group of people next to us and began talking with the NKVD.

  “Elena, what are they saying?” asked Mrs. Rimas.

  Mother didn’t answer.

  “Elena? ”

  “They’re ...” She stopped.

  “What?” said Mrs. Rimas.

  “They’re selling us,” she whispered.

  23

  I WATCHED THE MEN walking amongst the groups, surveying the merchandise. They made people stand, turn around, and show them their hands.

  “Mother, why are they selling us?” asked Jonas. “Where are we going?”

  “Elena,” said Mrs. Arvydas, “you must tell them that Andrius is a simpleton. Please. If not, they’ll take him from me. Andrius, put your head down.”

  “They’re selling us in groups,” reported Mother.

  I looked around our cluster. We were mostly women and children, with only two old men. But we had Andrius. Despite his injuries, he looked strong and able.

  “Do we want to be bought?” asked Jonas. No one answered. A guard approached with a man. They stopped in front of our group. Everyone looked down, except me. I couldn’t help myself. I stared at the guard, who appeared well rested, clean, and fed. I saw Mother cough into her hand and discreetly try to wipe off her lipstick. The disheveled man pointed at her and said something to the guard. The guard shook his head and waved a circular motion around our group. The man pointed at Mother once again and then made an obscene gesture. The guard laughed and began muttering. The man surveyed our group, and then, he pointed at Andrius.

  The guard walked over to Andrius and barked a command. Andrius did not move. My stomach braided up into my throat.

  “He’s slow—leave him alone,” said Mrs. Arvydas. “Elena, tell them.”

  Mother spoke one word in Russian. The guard grabbed Andrius by the hair and raised his face. Andrius stared blankly. Ona cried and rocked back and forth. Mr. Stalas moaned and grumbled. The man waved his hands in disgust at our group and walked away.

  Other groups were purchased, loaded into wagons, and driven off through the valley to disappear through the V at the base of the hills. We finished the last drops of slop and water, debating whether we wanted to be bought.

  Someone mentioned escaping. Running away was briefly discussed until a gunshot rang out, followed by screams near the front of the train. The little girl with the dolly began to cry.

  “Elena,” said Mrs. Rimas. “Ask one of the guards where they’re taking the people.”

  Mother tried to speak with a guard, but he ignored her. For the moment, I didn’t care what happened. The grass smelled like fresh chives, and the sunshine filled me with strength. I stood up and stretched.

  The children spread out a bit, and the guards didn’t seem to care. The NKVD inspected the train cars, stopping only to scream that we were filthy pigs who disrespected the train. The engine hissed, readying for departure.

  “They’re going back for more,” said Andrius.

  “You think so?” asked Jonas.

  “They won’t stop,” said Andrius, “until they’ve gotten rid of all of us.”

  24

  HOURS PASSED and the sun began to sink. Only two groups remained. The grouchy woman stomped around and yelled at us. She said Mother made our group appear weak and that now they would probably shoot everyone.

  “Let them shoot us,” said the bald man. “I’m telling you, we’ll be better off.”

  “But they were going to make us slaves,” argued Mrs. Arvydas.

  “A little work wouldn’t kill you,” said the grouchy woman to Mrs. Arvydas. “They probably want some manual labor from us, that’s all. That’s why they took the other groups first, because most of you look so weak. I grew up on a farm. I’m not afraid to get my hands dirty.”

  “Then you’re elected to go dig up some food,” said Andrius. “Now leave our mothers alone.”

  Jonas and I were spread out on the grass, trying to stretch our stiff muscles. Andrius joined us, put his hands behind his head and stared up at the sky.

  “Your forehead is getting red,” I told him.

  “A sunburn is the least of my worries,” said Andrius. “I’m not turning my back to the guards. Maybe if we get a bit of color, we’ll be bought and hauled off into Soviet slavery like the witch wants,” he said.

  Jonas rolled over onto his back like Andrius. “Just as long as we can stay together. Papa said that’s important.”

  “I have no choice but to stay with my mother. I’m surprised she made it this far,” said Andrius, looking over in her direction. Mrs. Arvydas was swatting flies away with her silk handkerchief and losing her balance in the process. “She’s not exactly hardy.”

  “Do you have any sisters or brothers?” asked Jonas.

  “No,” said Andrius. “My mother didn’t enjoy being pregnant. My father said that since he had a son, he didn’t need any more children.”

  “My papa said that they’re going to give us another brother or sister one day. I think I’d like a brother,” said Jonas. “So, what do you think everyone at home is doing? Do you think they wonder what happened to us?”

  “If they do, they’re too scared to ask about it,” said Andrius.

  “But why? And why were we sent away?” asked Jonas.

  “Because we were on the list,” I said.

  “But why were we on the list?” continued Jonas.

  “Because Papa works at the university,” I replied.

  “But Mrs. Raskunas works at the university, and she wasn’t taken,” said Jonas.

  Jonas was right. Mrs. Raskunas had peered out from behind her curtains as we were being hauled off in the night. I had seen her staring. Why wasn’t her family taken? Why did they hide behind their curtains instead of trying to stop them from deporting us? Papa would never have done that.

  “I can understand why the bald man is on the list,” I said. “He’s horrible.”

  “He’s awfully eager to die, isn’t he?” said Andrius, staring up at the sky.

  “You know what?” said Jonas. “Looking at the sky, it’s like I’m lying on the grass at home, in Lithuania.”

  That sounded like something Mother would say, throwing color onto a black-and-white picture.

  “Look,” continued Jonas, “that cloud looks like a cannon.”

  “Make it blow up the Soviets,” I said, running my fingers over the blades of grass. “They deserve it.”

  Andrius turned his head to me. I felt awkward under his prolonged gaze.

  “What?” I asked.

  “You always seem to have a mouthful of opinions,” he said.

  “That’s what Papa said. See, Lina, you better be careful,” said Jonas.

  My bedroom door swung open. “Lina, I want to see you in the living room,” said Papa.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “In the living room, NOW!” Papa’s nostrils flared. He walked out of the room.

  “Mother, what’s wrong?”

  “You heard your father, Lina. Go to the living room.”

  We walked out into the hallway.

  “Go to sleep, Jonas,” said Mother without even looking in the direction of my brother’s room. I looked over. Jonas was peeking out his bedroom door, his eyes wide.

  Papa was steaming mad, and he was mad at me. What had I done? I walked into the living room.

  “Is this what you waste your talent on?” He thrust a scrap of paper in my face.

  “Papa, it was a joke,” I explained.

  “YOU think it’s a joke. What if the Kremlin doesn’t think it’s a joke? They’re perfect likenesses, for God’s sake!” He dropped the paper into my lap.

  I looked at my sketch. The likeness was perfect. Even in a clown suit, it was obviously Stalin. I drew him standing in our dining room, with Papa and his friends sitting around the table, launching paper airplanes at him. The men were laughing. Stalin had a sad clown face as airplanes hit his head. Papa and Dr. Seltzer were perfect likenesses. I
hadn’t quite mastered the journalist’s chin yet.

  “Are there others?” my father demanded, snapping the paper from me.

  “It was for fun,” said a small voice. Jonas stood in his pajamas in the hallway. “Please don’t be mad, Papa.”

  “Were you in on this, too?” yelled my father.

  “Oh, Jonas,” said Mother.

  “He wasn’t in on it! I drew it myself. I showed it to him because I thought it was funny.”

  “Have you shown this to anyone else?” asked Papa.

  “No. I just drew it this afternoon,” I said.

  “Lina,” said Mother. “This is serious. The Soviets could arrest you if they saw your drawing.”

  “But how would they ever see it? I threw it away,” I argued.

  “What if someone found it in the trash like I did? A wind could have blown this to the foot of Stalin,” said Papa. “You’ve drawn your father and his friends mocking the leader of the Soviet Union! Are there others?” he asked.

  “No, that’s the only one.”

  Papa tore up my drawing and threw the pieces into the fire.

  Andrius continued to stare at me. “Is that what you want?” he finally asked. “To blow up the Soviets?”

  I turned to look at him. “I just want to go home. I want to see my father,” I said.

  He nodded.

  25

  EVENING CAME and two groups were left. Most of the NKVD had departed with the train. Only five armed officers remained, with two trucks. Nearly seventy-five Lithuanians and only five Soviets, yet no one dared move. I think most of us were too tired and weak. The grass was a welcomed bed, the space a luxury. I made note of landmarks to draw for Papa.

  The NKVD made a fire and cooked their dinner while we sat and stared. They had American canned goods, bread, and coffee. After dinner they drank vodka and smoked, the volume of their voices rising steadily.

  “What are they saying?” I asked Mother.

  “They’re talking about their homes, where they’re from. They’re sharing stories of their friends and family,” she said.