by Ruta Sepetys
We were all on the list. I didn’t know what the list was, only that we were on it. Apparently so were the other fifteen people sitting with us. The back gate of the truck slammed shut. A low moan came from a bald man in front of me.
“We’re all going to die,” he said slowly. “We will surely die.”
“Nonsense!” said Mother quickly.
“But we will,” he insisted. “This is the end.”
The truck began to move, jerking forward quickly, throwing people off their seats. The bald man suddenly scrambled up, climbed the inside wall of the truck, and jumped out. He smashed onto the pavement, letting out a roar of pain like an animal caught in a trap. People in the truck screamed. The tires screeched to a halt and the officers leapt out. They opened the back gate, and I saw the man writhing in pain on the ground. They lifted him up and hurled his crumpled body back into the truck. One of his legs looked mangled. Jonas buried his face in Mother’s sleeve. I slipped my hand into his. He was shaking. My vision blurred. I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them. The truck jerked forward, moving once again.
“NO!” the man wailed, holding his leg.
The truck stopped in front of the hospital. Everyone seemed relieved that they would tend to the bald man’s injuries. But they did not. They were waiting. A woman who was also on the list was giving birth to a baby. As soon as the umbilical cord was cut, they would both be thrown into the truck.
5
NEARLY FOUR HOURS PASSED. We sat in the dark in front of the hospital, unable to leave the vehicle. Other trucks passed, some with people covered in large restraining nets.
The streets began to buzz with activity. “We were early,” one of the men commented to Mother. He looked at his watch. “It’s nearing three now.”
The bald man, lying on his back, turned his face toward Jonas. “Boy, put your hands over my mouth and pinch my nose. Don’t let go.”
“He will do nothing of the sort,” said Mother, pulling Jonas close.
“Foolish woman. Don’t you realize this is just the beginning? We have a chance now to die with dignity.”
“Elena!” A voice hissed from the street. I saw Mother’s cousin Regina hiding in the shadows.
“Have you any relief now that you’re on your back?” Mother asked the bald man.
“Elena!” The voice appeared again, a little louder.
“Mother, I think she’s calling you,” I whispered, eyeing the NKVD smoking on the other side of the truck.
“She’s not calling me—she’s a crazy woman,” Mother said loudly. “Be on your way and leave us alone,” she yelled.
“But Elena, I—”
Mother turned her head and pretended she was deep in conversation with me, completely ignoring her cousin. A small bundle bounced into the bed of the truck near the bald man. His hand grabbed for it greedily.
“And you speak of dignity, sir?” said Mother. She snapped the bundle out of his hands and put it under her legs. I wondered what was in the package. How could Mother call her own cousin “a crazy woman”? Regina had taken a great risk to find her.
“You are the wife of Kostas Vilkas, provost at the university?” asked a man in a suit sitting down from us. Mother nodded, wringing her hands.
I watched as Mother twisted her palms.
Murmurs rose and fell in the dining room. The men had been sitting for hours. “Sweetheart, take them the fresh pot of coffee,” said Mother.
I walked to the edge of the dining room. A cloud of cigarette smoke hovered over the table, held captive by the closed windows and drapes.
“Repatriate, if they can get away with it,” said my father, stopping abruptly when he saw me in the doorway.
“Would anyone like more coffee?” I asked, holding up the sterling pot.
Some men looked down. Someone coughed.
“Lina, you’re turning into quite a young lady,” said a friend of my father’s from the university. “And I hear that you’re a very talented artist.”
“Indeed, she is!” said Papa. “She has a very unique style. And she’s exceptionally smart,” he added with a wink.
“So she takes after her mother then,” joked one of the men. Everyone laughed.
“Tell me, Lina,” said the man who wrote for the newspaper, “what do you think of this new Lithuania?”
“Well,” interrupted my father quickly. “That’s not really conversation for a young girl, now, is it?”
“It will be conversation for everyone, Kostas, young and old,” said the journalist. “Besides,” he said, smiling, “it’s not as if I’d print it in the paper.”
Papa shifted in his chair.
“What do I think of the Soviets’ annexation?” I paused, avoiding eye contact with my father. “I think Josef Stalin is a bully. I think we should push his troops out of Lithuania. They shouldn’t be allowed to come and take what they please and—”
“That’s enough, Lina. Leave the pot of coffee and join your mother in the kitchen.”
“But it’s true!” I pressed. “It’s not right.”
“Enough!” said my father.
I returned to the kitchen, stopping short to eavesdrop.
“Don’t encourage her, Vladas. The girl is so headstrong, it scares me to death,” said Papa.
“Well,” replied the journalist, “now we see how she takes after her father, don’t we? You’ve raised a real partisan, Kostas.”
Papa was silent. The gathering ended and the men left the house at alternating intervals, some through the front door and some through the back.
“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.
6
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 al
ready 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.
7
“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.
8
“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 n
ow, 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.