Between Shades of Gray

by Ruta Sepetys

  My chest hurt and my eyes burned. I started to walk but stumbled.

  Andrius caught me. “Are you okay?” he asked. His face looked soft, concerned.

  “I’m fine,” I said, quickly wiping my eyes and pulling free of his grasp. “Let’s go find your father.”

  “No, you heard him. Hurry, run back. Tell your mother what he said.”

  “But what about your father?” I asked.

  “I’m going to try a few more. I’ll meet you back at our car,” he said. “Just go, Lina. You’re wasting time.”

  I hesitated.

  “Are you scared to go alone?”

  “No! I’m not scared,” I said. “My father said we should stay together, but we’ll go by ourselves.” I snatched Jonas by the hand. “We don’t need him, right, Jonas?”

  Jonas stumbled, looking over his shoulder at Andrius.

  12

  “HALT!” a voice commanded.

  We were so close, nearly under our train car. NKVD boots marched toward us. I tucked my thumb and Papa’s wedding band into my palm.

  “Davai!” the voice yelled.

  Jonas and I crept out from under the car.

  “Lina! Jonas!” yelled Mother, leaning out of the train.

  The officer pointed his gun at Mother, signaling for her to be quiet. He then circled around us, his boots coming closer with each turn.

  I felt Jonas edge up beside me. I tightened my fist, hoping the guard wouldn’t see Papa’s ring. “We dropped some things down the bathroom hole,” I lied, lifting up the bundle. Mother translated my words into Russian for the guard.

  The officer looked at the socks on top of the heap I was holding. He grabbed Jonas and began searching his pockets. I thought of the ham in my dress. How could I explain a slice of ham in my pocket when we were all so hungry? The guard shoved us both to the ground. He waved his rifle around our faces, yelling in Russian. I huddled near Jonas, staring down the barrel of his gun. I closed my eyes. Please, no. He kicked gravel at our legs and then spat, “Davai!” pointing toward the train car.

  Mother’s face was ashen. She did a poor job of hiding her fear this time. Her hands trembled and she was nearly panting. “You could have been killed!”

  “We’re okay, Mother,” announced Jonas. His voice shook. “We went to find Papa.”

  “Where is Andrius?” Mrs. Arvydas looked over our shoulders.

  “He came with us,” I said.

  “But where is he?” she demanded.

  “He wanted to look for his father,” I said.

  “His father?” She sighed deeply. “Why doesn’t he believe me? I’ve told him again and again that his father...” She turned around and began to cry.

  I realized I had made a great mistake. I should not have left Andrius behind.

  “We found him, Mother. We found Papa,” said Jonas.

  People crowded toward us. They wanted to know how many men were on the train and if we saw their loved ones.

  “He said he thinks we’re going to Siberia,” Jonas reported. “And he gave us some ham. The three of us ate it, but we saved a piece for you. Lina, give Mother the piece of ham.”

  I reached in my pocket and handed the piece of ham to Mother.

  She saw it, the ring on my thumb.

  “In case you need money,” I said. “He said you could sell it.”

  “And he said to remember the oak tree,” said Jonas.

  Mother took the ring off of my thumb and put it to her lips. She began to cry.

  “Don’t cry, Mother,” said Jonas.

  “Girl!” shouted the bald man. “What else did you bring to eat?”

  “Lina, give this piece of ham to Mr. Stalas,” said Mother, sniffing. “He’s hungry.”

  Mr. Stalas. The bald man had a name. I moved toward him. His withered arms were green and purple with bruises. I held out the piece of ham.

  “That’s your mother’s,” he said. “What else do you have?”

  “That’s all he gave me.”

  “How many cars were on that train?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe twenty.”

  “He said we’re going to Siberia?”

  “Yes.”

  “He’s probably right, your father,” he said.

  Mother’s crying subsided. I held out the piece of ham again.

  “That’s your mother’s,” said the bald man. “Make sure she eats it. I don’t like ham anyway. Now leave me alone.”

  “He wouldn’t come with us,” my brother explained to Mrs. Arvydas. “He and Lina started fighting and he said he was going to check more cars.”

  “We weren’t fighting,” I interrupted.

  “If they find him wandering around and discover he is the son of an officer—” said Mrs. Arvydas. She hid her face in her hands.

  The gray-haired man shook his head and wound his watch.

  I felt guilty. Why didn’t I stay with Andrius or insist he come back with us? I looked out of the train car, hoping to see him.

  Two Soviets pulled a priest down the platform. His hands were bound and his cassock was dirty. Why a priest? But then... why any of us?

  13

  THE SUN ROSE and the temperature in the car climbed quickly. The wet smell of feces and urine hovered over us like a filthy blanket. Andrius had not returned, and Mrs. Arvydas wept so hard it scared me. I felt sick with guilt.

  A guard approached the car and handed up a bucket of water and a bucket of slop.

  Everyone surged toward the buckets. “Wait,” said Miss Grybas, as if she were directing her class. “We must all take just a bit, to ensure everyone can eat.”

  The slop resembled gray animal feed. Some children refused to eat it.

  Jonas found the package from Mother’s cousin Regina. Inside was a small blanket, a sausage, and a coffee cake. Mother shared the food, giving small pieces to everyone. The baby continued to wail. Ona twisted and screamed right along with the child, who still refused to eat and looked a darker shade of pink.

  Hours passed. Andrius didn’t return. Mother sat down next to me. “How did your father look?” she asked, smoothing my braids and putting her arm around my shoulder.

  “Not too bad,” I lied. I put my head on her shoulder. “Why are they taking us? Is it really because Papa works at the university? That doesn’t make sense.”

  The bald man groaned.

  “See, like him,” I whispered. “He’s not a teacher. He’s a stamp collector and he’s being deported,” I said.

  “He’s not just a stamp collector,” said Mother under her breath. “Of that I am certain. He knows too much.”

  “What does he know?”

  Mother sighed, shaking her head. “Stalin has a plan, my love. The Kremlin will do anything to see it through. You know that. He wants Lithuania for the Soviet Union, so he’s moving us out temporarily.”

  “But why us?” I asked. “They already moved into Lithuania last year. Isn’t that enough?”

  “It’s not just us, dear. I imagine he’s doing the same to Latvia, Estonia, and Finland. It’s complicated,” said Mother. “Try to rest.”

  I was exhausted but couldn’t sleep. I wondered if my cousin Joana was also on a train somewhere. Maybe she was near Papa. Papa said I could help him, but how could I help him if we were really going to Siberia? I dozed off, thinking of Andrius, trying to see his face.

  As I walked by the piece, my feet stopped. The face. It was enchanting, like nothing I had ever seen. It was a charcoal portrait of a young man. The corners of his lips turned up, yet despite his smile, the pain on his face made my eyes well with tears. The subtleties within his hair blended so softly, yet created strong variation. I stepped closer to inspect. Flawless. How did he achieve such sheer shade without so much as a pause or a fingerprint? Who was the artist, and who was the young man? I looked at the signature. Munch.

  “Young lady, follow the group, please. That’s part of a different exhibit,” said our guide.

  Some of the st
udents had complained earlier. How could they complain about a field trip to the art museum? I had been looking forward to it for months.

  The guide’s shoes clacked down the tile floor. My body moved forward, but my head remained fixed on the drawing, fixed on the face. I rubbed my fingers together. A light touch, yes, but with confidence. I couldn’t wait to try it.

  I sat at the desk in my bedroom. I felt the charcoal vibrate slightly as I pushed it across the page. The sound it made against the paper gave me chills. I bit my bottom lip. I ran my middle finger along the edge, softening the harsh line. Not quite, but almost.

  I pushed the tip of my finger through the dirt on the floor, drawing his name. Munch. I would recognize his art anywhere. And Papa would recognize mine. That’s what he meant. He could find me if I left a trail of drawings.

  14

  WHEN I WOKE, the car was dark. I moved to the front and hung my head over the side for air. My hair swung away from my neck. A rush of air swirled around my face, and I breathed deeply. Gravel crunched. I snapped my head up, expecting to see a guard. No one was there. The gravel shifted again. I dropped my head back down, looking under the train. A dark figure huddled near the wheel. I squinted, trying to focus in the low light. A bloody hand lifted toward me, shaking. I pulled back before realizing.

  Andrius.

  I turned toward Mother. Her eyes were closed, her arms wrapped around Jonas. I looked out on the train platform. The NKVD marched two cars down, their backs to me. The little girl with the dolly sat on her knees near the door. I put my finger to my lips. She nodded. I lowered myself down off the car, trying not to make a sound. My chest thumped, remembering the guard pointing the gun at me.

  I stepped closer and stopped. A truck drove by somewhere outside, its lights momentarily sweeping under the car. Andrius stared off with a blue, battered face. He had swollen pillows for eyes. His shirt was covered in blood, his lips sliced. I knelt down beside him.

  “Can you walk?”

  “A little,” he said.

  I peeked out to see the guards. They stood in a group smoking, four cars down. I tapped lightly near the bathroom hole. The grouchy woman’s face appeared. Her eyes widened.

  “I have Andrius. We need to get him back on the train.”

  She stared at me.

  “Did you hear me?” I whispered. “You have to pull him up. Move!”

  Her face disappeared from the hole. I heard scuffling inside the car and glanced down to the guards. I slung Andrius’s bloody arm over my shoulder and grabbed him by the waist. We rose and inched toward the door. The gray-haired man hung his head over, signaling for us to wait. Andrius sagged on my shoulder, making my knees bend. I didn’t know how long I could hold him up.

  “NOW!” said the gray-haired man. I thrust Andrius toward the man who, together with the others, pulled him up.

  I peeked out at the guards. Just as I moved, they turned and began walking toward me. Desperate, I looked around. I grabbed on to the undercarriage of the train and lifted my legs up, suspended under the car. The sound of the boots came closer and emerged near the wheel. I closed my eyes. They were speaking in Russian. A matchstick hissed, and a glow appeared on the guard’s boot. They chatted in low voices. My arms began to shake, trying to hold on. Hurry.

  I hung there. My hands began to sweat. I was losing my grip. Leave. A deep burning washed through the fibers of my muscles. Their conversation continued. Please. I bit my lip. Move. A dog barked. The guards walked toward the sound.

  Mother and the gray-haired man pulled me up. I slumped against the open door, gasping for air. The little girl with the dolly put her finger to her lips and nodded.

  I stared at Andrius. Dried blood caked his teeth and the corners of his lips. His jaw was swollen. I hated them, the NKVD and the Soviets. I planted a seed of hatred in my heart. I swore it would grow to be a massive tree whose roots would strangle them all.

  “How could they do this?” I asked aloud. I looked around the train car. No one spoke. How could we stand up for ourselves if everyone cowered in fear and refused to speak?

  I had to speak. I’d write everything down, draw it all. I would help Papa find us.

  Andrius shifted his legs. I looked down at him.

  “Thanks,” he whispered.

  15

  I WOKE WITH A START next to Jonas and Andrius. The door to our car had been closed and locked. People began to panic.

  The engines let out a hiss of steam.

  “Please don’t move unless you absolutely have to,” ordered Miss Grybas. “Make sure the bathroom area stays clear.”

  “Mrs. Book Lady? Will you tell us a story?” asked the girl with the dolly.

  “Mama,” whimpered a little voice, “I’m scared. Turn on the light.”

  “Did anyone bring a lantern?” someone asked.

  “Sure, and I have a four-course meal in my pocket, too,” said the bald man.

  “Mr. Stalas,” said Mother, “please, we’re all doing the best we can.”

  “Girl,” he commanded. “Look out that little slot and tell us what you see.”

  I moved toward the front of the car and hoisted myself up.

  “The sun is beginning to rise,” I said.

  “Spare us the poetry,” snapped the bald man. “What’s happening out there?”

  The train hissed again, then clanked.

  “NKVD officers are walking by the train with rifles,” I said. “There are some men in dark suits looking at the train cars.”

  We felt a jolt and the train began to move.

  “There’s luggage everywhere,” I said. “And lots of food on the platform.” People groaned. The station looked eerie, desolate, frozen with only remnants of the chaos that had taken place. There were single shoes strewn about, a cane, a woman’s purse lying open, and an orphaned teddy bear.

  “We’re moving out of the station,” I reported. I craned my neck to look ahead. “There are people,” I said. “There’s a priest. He’s praying. A man is holding a large crucifix.”

  The priest looked up, flung oil, and made the sign of the cross as our train rolled away.

  He was issuing last rites.

  16

  AS WE ROLLED, I reported every detail from the window. The Nemunas River, the big churches, buildings, the streets, even the trees we passed. People sobbed. Lithuania had never looked more beautiful. Flowers burst with color against the June landscape. We moved along, our cars marked “thieves and prostitutes.”

  After two hours the train began to slow.

  “We’re coming into a station,” I said.

  “What does the sign say?” asked the bald man.

  I waited for the train to move closer. “Vilnius. We’re in ... Vilnius,” I said quietly.

  Vilnius, the capital of Lithuania. We had studied the history in school. Six hundred years ago, the Grand Duke Gediminas had a dream. He saw an iron wolf standing high upon a hill. He consulted a priest about the dream who told him that the iron wolf symbolized a large and formidable city, a city of opportunity.

  “Lina, may I speak to you, please?”

  The remainder of my classmates filed out of the room. I approached the teacher’s desk.

  “Lina,” she said, clasping her hands on the desk, “it seems you prefer socializing to studying.” She opened a folder in front of her. My stomach leapt into my throat. Inside were notes I had written to girls in class, along with accompanying sketches. On top of the pile sat a drawing of a Greek nude and a portrait of my handsome history teacher. “I found these in the trash. I’ve spoken to your parents.”

  My hands became clammy. “I was trying to copy the figure from a library book—”

  She raised her hand to stop me. “In addition to being quite social, however, you appear to be a gifted artist. Your portraits are”—she paused, rotating the drawing—“captivating. They show a depth of emotion well beyond your years.”

  “Thank you,” I breathed.

  “I believe your ta
lent is above what we could develop here.

  There is a summer program, however, in Vilnius.”

  “In Vilnius?” I asked. Vilnius was a few hours away.

  “Yes, in Vilnius. Next year, when you’re sixteen, you’d be allowed to enter. If accepted, you’d study with some of the most talented artists in northern Europe. Would that interest you?”

  I tried to swallow my excitement long enough to speak. “Yes, Mrs. Pranas, it would.”

  “Then I’d like to recommend you. You’ll fill out an application and submit some samples of your drawings,” she said, handing the folder with the notes and sketches to me. “We’ ll send them off to Vilnius as soon as possible.”

  “Mrs. Pranas, thank you!” I said.

  She smiled and leaned back in her chair. “It’s my pleasure, Lina. You have talent. You have a successful future ahead of you.”

  Someone discovered a loose board behind some luggage on the back wall. Jonas crawled back and wiggled it aside.

  “What do you see?”

  “There’s a man in the trees,” said Jonas.

  “Partisans,” said the bald man. “They’re trying to help us. Get his attention.”

  Jonas stuck his hand out of the opening in the board, trying to wave.

  “He’s coming,” said Jonas. “Shh!”

  “They’re unhooking the cars with the men,” a man’s voice said. “They’re splitting the train in two.” He ran back into the woods.

  Intermittent shots rang out in the distance.

  “Where are they taking the men?” I asked.

  “Maybe the men are going to Siberia,” said Mrs. Rimas. “And we’re going somewhere else.”

  I preferred the thought of Siberia, if that’s where Papa would be.

  Metal clanged and screeched. They were dividing the train. There was another sound.

  “Listen,” I said. “The men.” It grew louder. Louder. They were singing, singing at the top of their lungs. Andrius joined, and then my brother and the gray-haired man. And finally, the bald man joined in, singing our national anthem. Lithuania, land of heroes ...

  I wept.