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 talent 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.