Between Shades of Gray (24 page)

I stopped. “Jonas, have you seen Mother eat?”

“I think so,” he said.

“Think about it. We’ve seen her nibble, but she’s always giving us bread,” I said. “Just yesterday she gave us bread. She said it was an additional ration she got for hauling logs.”

“Do you think she’s giving us her ration?”

“Yes, or at least part of it,” I said. Mother was starving herself to feed us.

The wind howled as we walked toward the NKVD building. My throat burned with each breath. The sun did not appear. The polar night had begun. The desolate landscape was painted in blues and grays by the moon. The repeater kept saying we had to make it through the first winter. Mother agreed. If we could make it through the first winter, we’d survive. We had to endure the polar night and see the sun return.

“Are you cold?” asked Jonas.

“Freezing.” The wind sliced through my clothing and stabbed at my skin.

“Do you want my coat?” he asked. “I think it will fit.”

I looked at my brother. The coat Mother had traded was too big for him. He’d grow into it.

“No, then you’ll be cold,” I said. “But thanks.”

“Vilkas!” Kretzsky. He wore a long wool coat and carried a canvas sack.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“Looking for driftwood to burn,” said Jonas. “Have you seen any?”

Kretzsky hesitated. He reached into the bag and threw a piece of wood at our shins, walking away before we could say anything.

That night, September 26, the first snowstorm arrived.

It lasted two days. The wind and snow bellowed and blew through the cracks in our jurta. The freezing temperatures crept into my knees and hips. They ached and throbbed, making it hard to move. We huddled together for warmth. The repeater pushed in close. His breath smelled rotten.

“Did you eat fish?” asked the bald man.

“Fish? Yes, a little fish,” said the man.

“Why didn’t you bring any for us?” demanded the bald man. Others also yelled at the repeater, calling him selfish.

“I stole it. There was just a little. Only a little.”

“Liale doesn’t like fish,” whispered Janina. I looked at her. She clawed her scalp.

“Does it itch?” I asked.

She nodded. Lice. It was only a matter of time before our entire mud hut was crawling with them.

We took turns digging a path out the front door to make our way to the bakery for rations. I scooped up large amounts of snow to melt for drinking water. Jonas made sure Mother ate her entire ration and drank water. We had been relieving ourselves outside, but with the snowstorm in full rage, we had no choice but to sit on a bucket in the jurta. As a courtesy, the sitter did not face us, but some argued the rear view was worse.

WHEN THE STORM broke, the NKVD yelled at us to get back to work. We emerged from our mud hut. Even though it was dark, the white snow brightened the charcoal landscape. But that’s all we could see—gray everywhere. The NKVD ordered us to roll and chop logs for firewood. Jonas and I passed a jurta completely covered in snow.

“No,” cried a woman outside. The tips of her fingers were bloody, her fingernails shredded.

“Idiots. They built their door so it opened out. When it snowed, they trapped themselves inside. The weaklings couldn’t pull or claw the door down!” Ivanov laughed, slapping his thigh. “Four of them are dead in there! Stupid pigs,” he said to another guard.

Jonas’s mouth hung open. “What are you looking at?” yelled Ivanov. “Get to work.”

I pulled Jonas away from the crying woman and the snowcovered mound.

“He was laughing. Those people died and Ivanov was laughing,” I said.

“Four people died in the very first snowstorm,” said Jonas, looking at his feet. “Maybe more. We need more wood. We have to make it through the winter.”

They split us into groups. I had to walk three kilometers to the tree line to find wood for the NKVD. The bald man was in my group. We trudged through the snow, a dry crunching underfoot.

“How am I expected to walk in this with my bad leg?” complained the bald man.

I tried to rush ahead. I didn’t want to be stuck with him. He would slow me down.

“Don’t you leave me!” he said. “Give me your mittens.”

“What?”

“Give me your mittens. I don’t have any.”

“No. My hands will freeze,” I said, the cold already scraping against my face.

“My hands are already freezing! Give me your mittens. It’s only for a few minutes. You can put your hands in your pockets.”

I thought about my brother offering me his coat, and wondered if I should share my mittens with the bald man.

“Give me your mittens and I’ll tell you something,” he said.

“What are you going to tell me?” I asked, suspicious.

“Something you want to know.”

“What would I want to know from you?” I asked.

“Hurry, give me your mittens.” His teeth chattered.

I walked on, silent.

“Just give me your damn mittens and I’ll tell you why you were deported!”

I stopped and stared at him.

He snatched the mittens off my hands. “Well, don’t just stand there. Keep walking or we’ll freeze to death. Put your hands in your pockets.”

We walked.

“So?”

“You know a Petras Vilkas?” he asked.

Petras Vilkas. My father’s brother. Joana’s father. “Yes,” I said. “He’s my uncle. Joana’s my best friend.”

“Who’s Joana, his daughter?”

I nodded.

“Well, that’s why you’re deported,” he said, rubbing the mittens together. “Your mother knows. She just hasn’t told you. So there you have it.”

“What do you mean, that’s why we’re deported? How do you know?” I asked.

“What does it matter how I know? Your uncle escaped from Lithuania before you were deported.”

“You’re lying.”

“Am I? Your aunt’s maiden name was German. So your uncle’s family escaped, probably repatriated through Germany. Your father helped them. He was part of it. So your family was then put on the list. So your father’s in prison, you’ll die here in arctic hell, and your best friend is probably living it up in America by now.”

What was he saying? Joana escaped and went to America? How could that be possible?

It was possible.

Joana’s freedom had cost me mine.

“I’d give anything for a cigarette,” said the bald man.

“BUT WHY DIDN’T you tell me?”

“We were trying to protect your uncle. They were going to help us,” said Mother.

“Help us what?” asked Jonas.

“Escape,” whispered Mother.

There was no need to lower our voices. Everyone pretended to occupy themselves with their fingernails or clothing, but they could hear every word. Only Janina watched intently. She sat on her knees next to Jonas, swatting lice off her eyebrows.

“When they got to Germany, they were going to process papers for us to try to repatriate as well.”