“I’ve never sawed a tree into pieces,” Yuri said.
“You’ll learn.”
“What happened to the crew that was supposed to work this train?” Vanya asked.
“I bartered. Real cigarettes. Genuine tobacco.”
“That’s all?”
“All you need to know.” They started walking. Rats scurried. Gravel crunched. Vanya felt he was closer to a graveyard than a train yard. “Five days on this train,” Dima continued. “If we’re lucky. Here we are.”
They stood at the front of an engine that was already hot. A coal car was hitched behind, and a water wagon behind that. Trailing it all was a flatcar with pickaxes, railroad ties, and tools Vanya didn’t recognize. They all looked heavy and coated in rust.
“Welcome aboard,” a man said. He popped out from the first car. “I’m Stanislavovich. Head engineer.” His booming voice was pitched too high for his squat frame, and his lips were crooked. A mottled scar, a healed burn, left one side of his mouth higher than the other. “Pile those crates inside the engine room. They’re our food, your seats. When you’re done, we’re off.”
Up close, the compartment where they’d all sit was smaller than it looked from the outside. There was one proper seat perched next to the only window. Goggles hung from a hook. All around were a series of levers and valves. In the middle sat a coal chute thick with soot. Exhaust fumes sputtered into the space where they’d sit, which explained the half-built walls—a ventilation system. Dima started loading the supplies. Yuri and Vanya helped, careful to make seating alcoves for each of them. “Why only vodka?” Yuri asked over the roar of the engine.
“Bribes,” Dima explained. “Food would go bad from the heat. We’ll trade the vodka for food at coal depots.”
“And the weapons?” Vanya pointed to two old-fashioned swords.
“The villagers out there, they’re hungry. We could be a target, and that’s all Stanislavovich could muster. It’ll be enough.”
Dima looked as if he had something else to say, but then the train jolted and he slipped—pitching backward toward the roaring coal fire.
Stanislavovich yelled, “Watch out!” Yuri spun to face Stanislavovich. He didn’t see Dima fall, but Vanya did. Vanya lunged, shoving Dima to the side. The two men fell, breathless, against a stack of vodka. Vanya’s hip throbbed. Dima moaned.
“You could have fallen with me,” Dima said to Vanya, once he’d caught his breath.
Vanya stood, dusted himself off, and said nothing. Stanislavovich pulled the steam whistle, and the wheels rolled forward.
IV
Later that night, after they’d digested the telegram and made their plans, Babushka gave Arkady two bottles of vodka. He finished them, of course. Drunk. He passed out near dawn just as he always did. Still, they didn’t want to risk walking past him. Instead, when Miri, Baba, and Sasha heard him snoring, they sneaked into the kitchen and eased down into the cellar, closing the hatch behind them. Next to Miri’s desk, hidden by a carpet, lay the opening to a tunnel Sasha had dug into the Yurkovs’ basement. It was just wide enough. Miri shimmied through, moved a barrel of potatoes Sasha used to hide the opening, and pulled herself into a dark cellar like theirs should have been, filled with preserved fruits and vegetables, and a proper stairwell leading to a door. Soon, Baba made her way through. Miri helped and Sasha scrambled behind her.
Then Miri eased up the stairs and into the Yurkovs’ kitchen. They were already gone, across the street at their bakery. The house was dark and deserted. Still, she crept slowly toward a window on the far side of the room. The house was on a corner, and that end faced an alley Arkady couldn’t see, even if he’d been awake. She slid the latch, lifted the frame without making a noise, and slipped through. Baba and Sasha followed. Outside, Miri hurried Baba into a wheelbarrow and covered her with a tarp. Then she pulled a scarf over her head like a woman from Slobodka. Sasha donned a yarmulke and picked up the handles on the wheelbarrow, and they started down the alley. Miri didn’t dare turn to see if they were being followed, but she strained to hear something, anything, behind them. Beyond kitchen boys sweeping and rats scurrying, there was nothing. It wasn’t until they were four turns away that she dared to look back. When she saw it was clear, they helped Baba out of the wheelbarrow and hurried to the train station.
It didn’t take long for Sasha to secure their tickets and documents. As he’d predicted, using the greatcoat to impersonate Grekov worked beautifully. It helped that through a client, the week before, Baba had found him a proper uniform. He didn’t have the right medals and medallions, but so long as he kept the greatcoat on, he looked right around the edges and no one would notice otherwise.
With the tickets, they made their way to the uncovered platform where they’d wait for Baba’s train to Saint Petersburg. So far, they had been lucky, but that didn’t mean their chances of making it onto any train were assured. The czar’s forces could commandeer seats. Not even a captain could stand up to orders for an entire unit.
And so they waited, terrified. How long until one of the guards realized there was no one at home on Vilnius Street? Until they realized Miri hadn’t left for the hospital? It was only a matter of hours before Kir’s men came here looking for them. Miri kept expecting to see Arkady storming through the squat station, but no one came. Instead all she saw were faceless soldiers and countless layers of coal ash coating the stones. Underneath the soot, there were gleaming windows and golden cornices, but Kovno hadn’t cleaned the facade in years and so the station was stained, tangled with a web of tracks and wires making it feel closer to death than it was to the lively European hub it used to be.
Miri held Babushka’s hand so hard her grandmother had to ask her to loosen her grip. Sasha smoked cigarette after cigarette. Around, on all sides, were throngs of soldiers biting their nails, waiting for the same train.
The rails rumbled. A whistle blared and a train heaved into the station in a haze of pollen, exhaust, and steam. Miri held on tighter to Babushka. “Aunt Klara’s,” Miri said, fighting off tears.
“Don’t come to the apartment. Send a message through the butcher when you arrive. He’s a friend. Tell me where to find you, and I’ll come.”
Miri nodded and wiped her eyes. Every ounce of bravery she’d felt back in the cellar when they laid down their plans was gone. She couldn’t remember a day in her life without either her parents or her grandmother, had never traveled without Vanya. “The word ‘Jew’ is not stamped on your forehead,” Babushka whispered. She pulled her granddaughter so close there wasn’t space between them.
The soldiers nearby started moving forward to board. Babushka tried to step toward the train but Miri wouldn’t let go. “Mirele, it’s time,” Babushka said. She kissed her and slid her hands up to Miri’s arms, loosening her granddaughter’s grip. The train whistled, louder this time, sending pigeons scattering. “Go. The path ahead is never clear until it’s the past,” Baba said. Then she followed Sasha, who used his elbows to make way for her.
Miri thought about boarding the train. About going to Klara’s. For a moment she pictured herself sitting with her aunt and Baba, the three of them waiting in silence on Klara’s green sofa, in front of her dark drapes. But immediately after that came an image of her and Baba, stuck with Vanya at a closed border. Vanya being arrested, tortured. No, she had to go after her brother, bring him back as soon as she could. With Yuri. Through the train’s window she saw her grandmother take her seat. Baba kissed her fingers and held them to the glass. The train’s wheels turned.
Babushka was gone.
V
Miri couldn’t move until the train’s exhaust clouds faded to gray. She told herself there was an invisible thread connecting her to her grandmother, that the thread was stretching, not breaking. Finally, she turned to Sasha. He stood there with his good arm out to her, and even as she knew she shouldn’t, she dropped her head on his chest and sobbed. He smelled like Vanya’s shaving cream and Babushka’s lavender. She
expected him to urge her to hurry. He would have been right to do so—it was dangerous for him to show his face around so many soldiers, to wear Grekov’s coat, and as much as she knew they should run to their own train, she couldn’t. Not yet. Sasha gave her all the time she needed. And he didn’t flinch at her being so close.
Another train pulled up to the platform. Not theirs. What if Vanya and Yuri were both already dead? “We can only try, child,” her grandmother would say.
“We’ll go day by day,” Sasha whispered. Miri reached into her pocket for one of Babushka’s embroidered handkerchiefs. She ran her fingernail over the tight, neat stitches. “When I left my family, I felt the same,” Sasha continued.
“When did you leave?”
“Five years ago.” He opened his mouth to say more but something caught his eye. He wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled. “We need to go.”
“What is it?”
“Someone recognized the coat. I heard him say Grekov.”
They walked back toward the station, the only way out, moving as fast as they could, dodging soldiers and marble columns. Under the massive, girded ceiling it was dark. Sparse light flecked with dust streamed through high windows. “Grekov! Captain Grekov!” a man called behind them. They walked faster but the man was gaining on them. There was no question he’d catch them. Miri’s heart pounded so fast she didn’t hear anything around her, only the blood in her ears. The soldiers. The supplies were a blur.
“Faster,” she said. But they couldn’t. With the crowd, they couldn’t get away. How was that man gaining on them? Sasha pulled Miri behind a pile of burlap grain sacks likely destined for the front. They smelled like sawdust. He was bent over, out of breath like her. “Miriam, run,” Sasha said. The scar across his cheek blazed red.
“Who was it? Who recognized you?”
“I don’t know, but anyone who stops me is dangerous. Go.”
“Grekov!” the same voice yelled. “Halt, I say!”
Sasha shoved Miri toward the door. She tripped and when she caught her balance, she saw him stepping out from behind the stacks of grain to meet their pursuer, a short, square-shaped soldier with rows and rows of medals pinned to his chest. His decorations jingled with every step. He had a mustache and pursed lips that made him look like a rodent.
“Grekov! The fool who challenged Radkievich,” the man called. Sasha cupped his chin with his hand, a habit Miri had learned meant he was nervous. “Where are your Jewish dogs?” the officer laughed, a cackle that ricocheted off the marble. Sasha replied. Miri couldn’t hear him but she saw his shoulders sag. Soldiers zigzagged around them ferrying crates toward the train. “Your coat should read Durak. Fool!”
Miri took a deep breath and stood as tall as she could. Stepped forward. She knew that the more ridiculous the lie, the more likely it is to be believed. She threaded her arm through Sasha’s, felt him trembling. “Thank you for making my cousin slow down. I’d been begging him to let me rest,” she said, tilting a hip to the side, trying to be as charming as she could.
The officer’s dark eyes scurried from Miri to Sasha and back again. A grin broke over his face, and his thick eyebrows sprouted so far forward they looked like moving fur. “You devil,” he said to Sasha. “I’m sure if Radkievich knew you had such a beautiful cousin, he’d never have sent you to the Jewish dogs. He’d have arranged a dinner.” Sasha should have laughed but he was frozen, staring at Miri. At least the crowd of soldiers surrounding them meant they weren’t standing in excruciating silence, but it was nearly as bad.
“She’s been crying, your cousin?” the officer asked. “A broken heart?”
“What else makes a woman cry?” Miri asked. Did she sound convincing?
His nose twitched. “I see height runs in the family.” He tried to come closer, but a dozen dirt-smeared soldiers marched at them. She and Sasha were forced to step back, to make room. The officer also moved, in the opposite direction. Between them the men pushed a platform on wheels. It was a gun mount, meant for a cannon. The metal squealed as it turned. Miri yanked Sasha. He understood without her saying a word.
They turned and sprinted through the throngs of men as fast as they could, toward the exit. The officer yelled after them, but he was still blocked by the cannon. Miri’s dress caught on a crate and ripped. She didn’t slow down. Fear had her moving faster than she’d ever moved. Any one of the soldiers they passed could have grabbed them, but they didn’t. And as scared as she was, she knew what to do: keep running.
She and Sasha burst through the arched exit, into sparkling sunshine. Out of breath, Miri tried to think even as she hurried down the stairs. Which way? She knew a dozen routes back to her neighborhood but she couldn’t remember where to start. Besides, she no longer had a home to run to. “Through the park.” She pointed ahead. There were crowds. Some soldiers with women on their arms. They could blend in.
Along the gravel path among the trees, Miri tried to look casual, tried to slow her pace, and Sasha followed. She kept her eyes down and saw only boots. Some with holes on the sides, in the toes. Others polished and gleaming. Starlings twittered. “Slower,” she mumbled, trying to make it look as if she and Sasha were no different from the couples around them. She kept her hand tucked into the crook of his elbow, keenly aware that he cradled his bad arm.
“Can you get us to Karmėlava without a train?” Sasha asked under his breath.
“The town east of here?”
“Yes. Can we walk there?”
“It will take a day, maybe more.”
“Good. There’s a coal depot in Karmėlava. We can board a train there. One transfer, in Daugavpils. Then Kiev.” He sounded like Babushka planning an escape. But how did he know the trains so well?
“This way,” Miri said, and pulled Sasha across a street. The cobblestones were slick with pollen. “Do you think they followed us this far?” Miri asked.
“I don’t know. Can we duck into an alley?”
“Soon.” Miri continued to keep her gaze away from the men in uniform who walked past. Only a few weeks earlier there had been half as many soldiers in the streets. How quickly the czar reinforced his forts. If only they could get to America. Sixty paces, she estimated, to the first turn. Please, she thought. Please let us make it. Sasha’s rucksack banged against his thigh. At the apothecary they turned. They passed a store thick with the smell of cologne, where a woman in elegant silks stood in the window, fingering ribbons hanging on rolls from the ceiling. Then they came to a roundabout anchored by a bronze statue of the czar. A pigeon sat on his outstretched finger. Miri felt dozens of eyes following them as they walked, but knew the paranoia was in her mind. The people of Kovno, even the soldiers, were too scared to look up. They slipped into an alley. In the shadows, Miri turned around to see if there were any soldiers in their wake. When she saw they were alone, she gasped great mouthfuls of air. She didn’t even realize she’d been holding her breath. She was covered in sweat. A wagon rolled past the edge of the alley. The tram clacked. Every noise set her further on edge. “You can take off that coat now,” she said.
“No.” Sasha was behind her, pacing. Five steps and he turned, retraced where he’d been. “No soldier would stop an officer. We still need it.”
“But it’s summer. You’re drawing attention.”
“Doesn’t matter. This coat, it’s what got your grandmother onto her train. What will get us onto ours.” He reached up and took off his visor, wiped sweat from his forehead.
“Listen to me,” Miri said. “At the station, when that officer stopped us, you pushed me away. Never do that again.”
“Why not? I was protecting you.”
“If we travel together, we stand together.”
“I wasn’t sure what you’d do.”
“And I knew what to expect from you? At the river, you broke a man’s jaw. If you’d tried the same at the station, we both would’ve been shot. And wasn’t I the one who got us out of that mess?” Her voice was too loud. Someon
e above opened a window. They walked another block in silence. Finally, Sasha looked at her.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry. We have to trust each other.”
VI
The trail to Karmėlava started in Slobodka. To get there, Miri kept herself and Sasha hidden in the alleys behind the great houses, where it smelled like soap and fresh strawberries. They wound down from cobblestones to dirt, where perfume gave way to grease and then to sewage as they crossed over to the other side of the Neris, to the slums. Here the houses were low, spattered in mud and backed up along the edge of the forest. Black coats and white shirts were pinned on laundry lines strung across alleys, or over chicken coops. Listless men and women sat on chairs outside their doors and watched them hurry past.
At a dusty square, they stopped at a well to drink. The water was green and tasted like moss. Miri spit it out, her instinct being to wait and drink cleaner water at home. Too late, she remembered she’d never live on Vilnius Street again. They’d left dresses and coats on hooks, pots in the sink. Miri didn’t know if it was easier or harder to leave everything behind like that. How long until someone broke a window and crept inside? It didn’t matter. She preferred to remember the house the way they’d left it. Otherwise, Miri had to think about the truth—that they were all on the run. That Baba was older. She could fall ill and not make it through the winter. Or that Miri, Vanya, and Yuri could be caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, leaving Baba with Klara to wait. And wait.
Sasha lowered the bucket and offered her more. This time she drank. While she did, a woman with wide hips and a crooked nose came out from her house and walked past. Strings from her skirts hung limp at her ankles. For all Miri knew, the woman could have been Miri’s age or twenty years older. “That could have been me,” she said.
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