Underground

by Antanas Sileika

  Some little movement was happening in the animal kingdom: rats ran above the earth and moles dug a series of tunnels, their underground paths now visible on the earth as humps on the grass, and the magpies and ravens called their harsh warnings in the air. In one place, his eye attracted by a slight reflection, Lukas came upon a tiny spider spinning an optimistic web for insects that were barely awake yet.

  By moving from copse to copse, by following overgrown fencelines where the bushes were high, as he ranged a little farther each day Lukas began to understand better where Lakstingala had hidden him, especially when he came upon the farmstead of the American farmer, the traitor who had attempted to drug the partisan Anupras. Lukas watched this place from a distance, and when he moved cautiously forward it became clear that the house was abandoned. No animals moved about the yard and the barn door hung open. The windows at the back of the house were broken and inside he could see smashed bottles and loose papers scattered about.

  Nearby was the place where he and his brother had first started their underground lives, and like a man returning to childhood haunts he found the places he remembered much diminished by time. This wreck of a house was the place where he had sat with Flint and the drunken forger to plan his trip to meet Elena.

  Twice during his rambling, Lukas caught sight of Rimantas in the distance. The poet had not been shown Lukas’s bunker, but he must have divined it was not far from the place where he was typing the newspaper in his own tiny burrow. Just as soon as the earth dried out a little, Lukas and Lakstingala would need to decamp and dig new bunkers somewhere else. Old bunkers attracted bad luck— sooner or later the Cheka dogs sniffed them out no matter how much lamp oil was sprinkled around.

  Upon his cautious return from one such walk, Lukas saw movement near his bunker, and he hung back in the trees to see who was there. From a distance one of the men looked like Lakstingala, but he was not alone. There were some people whom Lukas could trust, and Lakstingala was one of them, but it was good to be cautious just in case Lakstingala himself was being duped. Lukas drew closer with his assault rifle at the ready, but when he was within thirty yards he recognized the unmistakably turned-out ears of the second man and he went to them.

  “I was afraid I wouldn’t find you alive,” said Lukas.

  “I told you once before, they can’t kill me. They’ve tried again and again. Besides, what kind of a host would I be if I weren’t around to welcome you after I invited you? So you made it into the country all right?”

  Lozorius’s colour was very poor. He was like a frog coming out of hibernation, pale, almost translucent. But for all his bad colour, by virtue of being alive, Lozorius was still on a winning streak.

  They went inside the bunker and closed the lid behind them. The upper bunk was hopelessly wet, but they could lay their jackets and arms on the lower one and sit around the small table with their feet in a shallow puddle of water.

  “Lozorius was almost impossible to get here,” said Lakstingala. “When I finally found him, he grilled me up and down about you. Then he didn’t want to come here, and he wouldn’t let me bring you to his own bunker.”

  “What’s this all about?”

  “I transmit from my bunker. I run the radio antenna up at night and I send out messages. I also receive. As far as I know I’m the only free radio sending information out of this country, and if the Cheka gets me, the last bit of light will stop escaping from here. No one comes to my bunker.”

  There was a flash of the spirit that Lukas remembered, the confidence that made Lozorius so attractive.

  “Don’t you give yourself away if you keep transmitting from the same place?” asked Lukas.

  “Not if I’m very brief and infrequent. Did you bring a radio?”

  “Not me personally. The others I came with might still have theirs, but I don’t know what happened to them.”

  “I do. At least one of them is working for the Cheka, but I don’t know if he was always with them or if he was forced into this only after you landed.”

  “How can you know that?”

  “Because he’s sending information to Stockholm that contradicts mine,” said Lozorius. “He’s trying to undermine my credibility.”

  “The Cheka know about you?”

  “Of course they do. They’re looking for me so hard I’m afraid to breathe. I’m the last free transmitter in this country—they need to close me down. And here is the irony: I know your compatriot is compromised, and so is Stockholm, for all the good it does me. The villains know I’m here and I know about the villains, but those who might still be honest back in Stockholm can’t tell us apart.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying there is a hole in security somewhere. I had a farmer up in Palanga freelancing for me personally. The forest was full of Cheka troops before you landed, so you were expected. They set a trap for you, but you still managed to slip out. I’m amazed you got away.”

  “I was lucky,” said Lukas.

  “I hope that’s true.” Lukas looked at him, not quite understanding what he meant at first. “Don’t look so shocked, my friend. You can’t trust anyone anymore, unless it’s someone you’ve known for a long time, and even then you can’t be sure. But Lakstingala is not only lucky, he has a good nose. I knew he’d sniff you out if you were a smiter. I’ve known for a year that there were leaks on the other side.”

  “What kind of leaks?”

  “The Reds have penetrated either the British or the Swedish secret services. I don’t know which one and I don’t know who betrayed us. It might be Zoly himself, but I don’t think so. He’s too much the diplomat and he doesn’t like to risk himself, so he probably wouldn’t take the chance of playing a double game.”

  “Just a moment. If you knew your communications were compromised, why did you ask for me in particular? You were calling me into a trap.”

  “Because I knew if anyone could get in, it was you.”

  “You’re saying you lured me back in?”

  “In a way, yes.”

  “And maybe you lied about Elena just to get me in?”

  The bunker was so small that they were pressed in close to one another in a huddle, the candle shedding the only light. Lakstingala and Lozorius were both smoking. Lukas would have liked to smoke too, but the bunker felt airless enough as it was.

  “No, that part’s true. Elena is alive and I knew you’d want to know it. A miracle, eh? I had to tell you, but I did compromise her a little by naming her. If all our communications are being read by the traitors in Stockholm, the Reds know she’s alive too.”

  “You used her code name?”

  “Our code names haven’t been secret for years. They know us all by our real names. There are files on each of us in Vilnius. There are investigators assigned to each of us and there’s money on our heads. Either you or I would bring enough to make a man rich. Even Elena has a price on her head.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In Merkine. She’s living with false documents.”

  “How is it possible? Flint saw her die in an explosion.”

  “We’ve all seen people die. Sometimes they die and sometimes they don’t. She was wounded and taken to a hospital. When she was almost well, she was sprung out with a few other women.”

  “How can you know this?”

  “I know this and I know a hundred other loose ends of information, but none of them is any good to me. Yours is the only thread that will take us anywhere.”

  “I can’t understand all this. Why did you give away her secret through your transmission? And why did you call on me?”

  “Because I knew if I told you she was alive, you would come. And I knew that you were the only one who had a chance of survival even if a trap was set for you.”

  “But why did you need me in particular?”

  “Because I need someone like you to help me get out of this country.”

  “You gave an oath,” said Lakstingala. He had been smo
king and listening to them in silence although he was very close to them, his face no more than an arm’s length away. His eyes had gone cold.

  “What good are our oaths now? The movement is broken. I’ve seen that. The only ones left are the lucky ones like us. The whole structure has crumbled and what hasn’t vanished is shot through with betrayal. Most of the farms have been collectivized—we have no base of support anymore. I was ready to die for my cause when there was hope that someone from our side might win, even if it wasn’t me, but I don’t see hope anymore. The best we can do is get back out and take what news we have with us. I’d give anything to be sitting in a restaurant in Stockholm right now.”

  “What are the spy agencies going to say about that?” asked Lukas.

  “To hell with them. They were just using us anyway. The British or Swedes have been penetrated, and for all we know, the Americans too. I’m terrified of being taken alive. I know too much. I don’t think I could withstand the torture.”

  “Then you should shoot yourself,” said Lakstingala.

  Lozorius looked away from Lakstingala and would not look back again. “Do you have anything to drink?” he asked.

  Lukas did. He had been saving some cassis Lakstingala had brought. He opened the bottle and poured each of them four fingers.

  Lozorius drank half the liqueur and then rested his glass on the table. “I don’t think I want to die anymore. That’s the problem.”

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t have the courage to do it yourself,” said Lakstingala.

  “Don’t be so harsh,” said Lukas.

  “You think he’d be the first one? We’ve had partisans that were bad to begin with or went bad later, and others became cowards like this one. We had field courts when there was still an organization, and I took part in a couple of executions.”

  “I’ve been in dangerous spots before,” said Lozorius, “but something has broken in me. You can’t blame me for that.”

  “I don’t blame a horse for breaking its leg. And the cure is the same,” said Lakstingala.

  “Stop it,” said Lukas, and Lakstingala closed his mouth and hunkered down. “Lakstingala, come outside with me. Lozorius, you stay here.”

  They walked out a distance to the nearest copse.

  “The man makes me furious,” said Lakstingala. “He knew what the dangers were when he came back here. Now he’s lured you in for no good reason and he’s put all of us at risk.”

  “There’s still the matter of my wife, though.”

  Lakstingala nodded. “That’s true, but you’ll do her no good. Leave her alone. If she’s living with false papers, she’s built some kind of structure for herself, but it will be very fragile. If you go looking for her, you could destroy all that.”

  “But I haven’t come here to ruin her life—I’ve come here to save her and get her out again. She should be dead. For all I know she was dead, but she’s risen from it somehow. You don’t look indifferently at that kind of miracle. I’ll get her out somehow.”

  “What you say will be hard enough for two. Do you want to risk it with Lozorius?”

  “I don’t know. I wouldn’t want to leave him behind. He has a bad look to him.”

  “I’ll execute him. He’s a traitor, in a way, for endangering you.”

  “Don’t be so hard. We all have to find a way to survive, even you.”

  “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Why not? You worry about me.”

  “Honestly, you have to stop talking like that. If sentimentality is what you lived off in the West, I’m glad I’m not going there.”

  Lukas smiled but hid it from him. “Would you come with me if I went looking for Elena in Merkine?”

  “I’d lead you to the edge of town. In the meantime, let’s take this one back where he came from—or rather, let me do it.”

  “Go easy. When I knew him before, he wasn’t like this.”

  When they stepped back into the bunker, they found that Lozorius had finished the blackcurrant liqueur in each of their glasses. “I’m sorry,” he said, “but I thought you might shoot me when you returned.” He looked at them sheepishly.

  It seemed for a moment as if the furious Lakstingala might do just that, but he got over it. Lukas and Lakstingala both went part of the way back with Lozorius, but Lukas left them to return to his bunker. He invited Lozorius to visit whenever he felt the pressure grow too great. The man needed bucking up.

  Upon his return to his bunker, Lukas saw the three glasses still on the table. He put his finger into the bottom of one and tasted the tip of it.

  He heard a noise outside. He reached for his assault rifle and put a hand grenade in his pocket as well.

  “It’s just me,” a familiar voice called.

  “Rimantas, what are you doing here?”

  “You’re supposed to call me Poe. I’m sorry, but I just wrote a new poem and I knew you’d want to hear it.”

  Lukas should have been angry, but he could never stay that way with Rimantas. The man was too outrageously amusing for his breaches of security to be taken seriously.

  TWENTY - FIVE

  LAKSTINGALA AND LUKAS surveyed the town of Merkine from the same position where they had stood when they first attacked the town, five years earlier. The woods were behind them and a hundred metres of field before them, and beyond that the backs of the wooden houses on the edge of town. Then, there had been half a dozen men in their unit and dozens more in other positions. Of these men, only Lukas and Lakstingala were still alive. It was hard to look at the town without a sense of bitterness for all that had happened since they had been there, for the futility of all the deaths that had left the sleepy town unchanged.

  Merkine had two and a half thousand inhabitants by 1950, not so few that a stranger would be remarked upon but not so many that Lukas would go unnoticed. He needed to wait until evening in order to enter the town.

  “I’ll stay here for a while after you go in,” said Lakstingala. “If you’re in trouble, try to make it this way and I can cover you from the forest if you need to run across the bare field.”

  “The earth is still wet. If I have to run across the bare field, I’ll be a dead man. Once I disappear from your view into the town, go back and make yourself safe. And if I don’t come back, don’t go looking for me.”

  “All right.”

  Lukas studied the house on the other side of the field. He had once shot a sniper who was inside that window.

  “If anything happens to me,” he said, “do what you can for Elena.”

  “All right.”

  Lukas looked at Lakstingala, but the partisan would not meet his eyes. “Not that I expect to outlive you, but did you want to tell me anything about your wife in case something happens to you?” asked Lukas.

  “I think I’d rather you didn’t know anything about her at all.”

  “There’s a chance we could all make it out together. I could take Lozorius and Elena, and you could take your wife. Five of us might be able to do it.”

  “It’s not just my wife. We have a daughter, and I wouldn’t want to leave her behind. Besides, there are still a few partisans around, and I’m the oldest one among them. They make jokes about me all the time, and it would be bad for morale if I suddenly disappeared. I think I’m not going anywhere, unless it’s northeast, and I’ll put that off as long as I can.”

  It was hard to separate this time, and they lingered by the edge of the forest.

  “There’s one more thing. I wouldn’t mind getting word out to the West whether I make it or not,” said Lukas. “I’ve written a letter. Do you think you could try to get it out if anything happens to me?”

  “I thought Lozorius said the British and the Swedes were infiltrated.”

  “That may be so, but it’s not them I’m worried about. There are people who helped me out there—I had a whole other life . . .”

  Lakstingala held up his hand. “I don’t want to know. Do you have the letter?”

&
nbsp; “Yes.”

  “Hand it over.”

  Lakstingala did not even look at the address. Lukas glanced up at the evening sky. It was still a little too early to go into the town, but he couldn’t wait.

  “Do you think this country will ever be free?” Lukas asked.

  “Maybe. I don’t know. One thing is sure: we won’t live to see it.” He said it so readily that he must have said it before and it must have been what the other partisans believed.

  “One more thing,” said Lukas.

  “Are you never going to leave?”

  “About Lozorius.”

  “What about him?”

  “If something happens to me, he’ll lose his last hope for getting out of the country.”

  “My heart is bleeding.”

  “Why are you so hard on him?”

  “He’s too dramatic for me. He played the hero—a kind of Robin Hood. The pose was too good not to be false.”

  “Didn’t you once call me Robin Hood as well?”

  “You’re different. I watched you grow up with the partisans. I tell you, when we went out on that first mission, you were pitiful. But later, what you did with Elena at that engagement party, that was astonishing.”

  “I’m not so sure I’m proud of that anymore. We killed so many, and what good did it do us?”

  “It stung the bastards a bit. But as for your regret, that’s what makes you different from Lozorius. Don’t worry about him. If something happens to you, I’ll change his diaper for him. Anyway, listen, I’m sick of this ‘end of days’ talk. I have another bottle of liquor waiting for us on the table back at the bunker—homebrew, but not too bad. Go find Elena now. See how things are. Then, when you come back, we’ll drink and talk it all through.”

  There was nothing more to say. They embraced. Lukas had an assault rifle under his long coat, a revolver in one pocket and a hand grenade in the other. It was still too bright, but he had to leave now. He picked his way carefully across the wet field to the edge of town, stood beside a house and waved to Lakstingala, who waved back and then stepped into the forest and disappeared.