I missed Papa. He would know who we could ask and who we should stay away from.

We dug and dug until the water arrived. Commander Komorov was on the truck. He walked around the holes, inspecting them. I eyed the bucket of water. My hair stuck to my face. I wanted to submerge my head and drink. Komorov barked a command. Kretzsky shifted his feet. Komorov repeated the command.

Mother's face was suddenly the color of chalk. "He says ... we must get in the first hole," she said, clenching her dress.

"For what?" I asked.

Komorov yelled and pulled a pistol from his belt. He pointed it at Mother. She jumped down into the first hole. The pistol moved to my head. I jumped in. He continued until all four of us were in the hole. He laughed and gave another instruction.

"We must put our hands on our heads," said Mother.

"No, dear God," said Mrs. Rimas, shaking.

Komorov walked around the hole, looking at us, pointing the pistol. He told us to lie down. We lay next to each other. Mother grasped my hand. I stared up. The sky was blue behind the silhouette of his large, square frame. He circled the hole again.

"I love you, Lina," whispered Mother.

"Our Father, who art in heaven," began Mrs. Rimas.

BANG!.

He shot into the hole. Dirt crumbled down from above our heads. Mrs. Rimas screamed. Komorov told us to shut up. He circled around and around, muttering that we were disgusting pigs. Suddenly, he began kicking dirt from the large pile into the hole. He laughed and kicked faster and faster. The soil landed on my feet, then on my dress, then on my chest. He kicked furiously, covering us in dirt, still pointing the gun at our faces. If I sat up, I'd be shot. If I didn't sit up, I'd be buried alive. I closed my eyes. A heavy load of dirt sat on my body. Then finally, dirt fell onto my face.

BANG!.

More dirt crumbled above our heads. Komorov laughed wildly, kicking dirt onto our faces. Dirt covered my nose. I opened my mouth to breathe and choked on the soil.

I heard Komorov cackling and then hacking. He laughed and coughed, trying to regain composure, as if he had outdone himself. Kretzsky said something.

BANG!.

Then it was quiet. We lay there, buried in our own efforts. I heard a muffled rumble of the truck driving away. I couldn't open my eyes. I felt Mother squeezing my hand. She was still alive. I squeezed back. Then I heard Kretzsky's voice above us. Mother sat up and frantically began wiping dirt from my face. She pulled me up. I hugged her, not wanting to let go. Mrs. Rimas dug the grouchy woman out. She wheezed and coughed up dirt.

"It's okay, darling," said Mother, rocking me into her. "He's just trying to scare us. He wants us to sign those documents."

I couldn't cry. I couldn't even speak.

"Davai," said Kretzsky softly. He reached out his hand.

I looked up at his outstretched arm. I hesitated. He reached down farther. I grabbed his forearm. He grasped mine. I dug my toe into the dirt and let him pull me out. I stood at the side of the hole, face-to-face with Kretzsky. We stared at each other.

"Get me out of here!" yelled the grouchy woman. I looked away, where the truck had driven off. Kretzsky sent us back to digging. No one spoke for the rest of the day.

38.

"WHAT'S WRONG?" asked Jonas when we arrived back at the shack.

"Nothing, dear," said Mother.

Jonas looked from Mother to me, searching our faces for answers.

"We're just tired." Mother smiled.

"Just tired," I told Jonas.

Jonas motioned us over to his pallet of straw. Inside his small cap were three large potatoes. He put his finger to his lips so our gasps wouldn't be audible. He didn't want Ulyushka to take the potatoes for rent.

"Where did you get them?" I whispered.

"Darling, thank you!" said Mother. "And I think we have just enough rainwater left. We'll make a nice potato soup."

Mother grabbed the coat out of her suitcase. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To take food to Mr. Stalas," she said.

I checked my suitcase, thinking of the dead man knifed up against the kolkhoz office. My drawings were undisturbed. The lining on the bottom of my suitcase was held down by snaps. I tore each drawing and page of writing from my tablet, slid it under the lining, and snapped it back in place. I would hide my messages to Papa until I found a way to send something.

I helped Jonas set the water to boil. Then it occurred to me. Miss Grybas wasn't able to give us beets today. Mother didn't take a potato. So what was she feeding the bald man?

I walked through the huts and quickly ducked out of sight. Mother was talking to Andrius in front of the bald man's shack. She was no longer holding her coat. I couldn't hear their conversation. Andrius looked concerned. He discreetly handed a bundle to Mother. She reached out and patted his shoulder. Andrius turned to leave. I ducked behind the shack. Once Mother passed, I peeked out and began to follow him.

Andrius walked down the row of barracks. I stayed well behind, just close enough to see where he was going. He made his way to the edge of the camp, then continued on to a large log building with windows. He stopped and looked around. I ducked behind the edge of a shack. It looked like Andrius entered the building from the rear. I crept closer and hid behind a bush.

I squinted to peer in the window. A group of NKVD sat around a table. I looked to the back of the building. No, Andrius couldn't have gone inside an NKVD building. I was just about to follow him farther. Then I saw her. Mrs. Arvydas appeared in the window carrying a tray of glasses. Her hair was clean and styled. Her clothes were pressed. She was wearing makeup. She smiled and distributed the drinks to the NKVD.

Andrius and his mother were working with the Soviets.

39.

I SHOULD HAVE BEEN grateful for the potato soup that night. But all I could think about was Andrius. How could he do it? How could he work with them? Did he live in that building? I thought about lying in that hole while Andrius lay in a bed, a Soviet bed. I kicked at my itchy straw, staring at the rusted ceiling.

"Mother, do you think they'll let us sleep tonight? Or will they insist we go to the office to sign the papers?" asked Jonas.

"I don't know," said Mother. She turned her head to me. "Andrius gave me that nice bread we had with our soup. It's very courageous of him to take risks like that for us."

"Oh, he's courageous, isn't he?"

"What do you mean by that?" said Jonas. "He is courageous. He gets us food nearly every day."

"He sure looks like he's eating well, doesn't he? I think he's actually gained weight," I said.

"And be glad of that," said Mother. "Be glad that not everyone is desperate for food like we are."

"Yes, I'm very glad the NKVD aren't hungry. If they were hungry, how would they have the strength to bury us alive?" I said.

"What?" said Jonas.

Ulyushka yelled at us to be quiet.

"Hush, Lina. Let's say our prayers and give thanks for that wonderful meal. Let's pray that your father is just as well."

We slept through the night. The next morning, Officer Kretzsky told Mother that we were to join the other women in the beet fields. I was thrilled. We bent and thrashed amongst the long green rows of sugar beets, using hoes without handles. Miss Grybas lectured us on the pace of our work. She told us that on the first day, someone leaned on the handle a moment to wipe their brow. The Soviets made them saw the handles off. I realized how difficult it was for Miss Grybas to steal beets for us. Armed guards stood watch. Although they seemed more interested in smoking and telling jokes, slipping a beet into my underwear unnoticed was no easy task. It poked out like an extra limb.

That evening, I refused to take food to Mr. Stalas. I told Mother I felt too sick to walk. I couldn't stand to see Andrius. He was a traitor. He was plump on Soviet food, eating from the hand that strangled us each and every day.

"I'll take Mr. Stalas his food," said Jonas after a few days.

"Lina, go with him," said Mother. "I don't want him to go alone." I walked with Jonas to the bald man's shack. Andrius was waiting outside.

"Hi," he said. I ignored him, left Jonas outside, and walked in to give Mr. Stalas his beets. He was standing up.

"There you are. Where have you been?" he said, leaning up against the wall. I noticed Mother's coat tucked into his bed of straw.

"Disappointed I'm not dead?" I said, handing him the beets.

"That's a sour mood," he said.

"Are you the only one who's allowed to be angry? I'm sick of this. I'm tired of the NKVD hounding us."

"Bah. They don't care if we sign," said the bald man. "Do you really think they need our permission, our signatures, to do what they're doing to us? Stalin needs to break our will. Don't you understand? He knows if we sign some stupid papers, we'll give up. He'll break us."

"How do you know?" I asked.

He waved me away. "It doesn't look good on you-anger," he said. "Now get out."

I walked out of the shack. "Let's go, Jonas."

"Wait," whispered Jonas, leaning in to me. "He brought us salami."

I folded my arms across my chest.

"I guess she's allergic to kindness," said Andrius.

"That's not what I'm allergic to. Where did you get your salami?" I said.

Andrius stared at me. "Jonas, can you leave us for a minute?" he said.

"No, he can't leave us. My mother doesn't want him to be alone. That's the only reason I came," I said.

"I'm fine," said Jonas. He turned and walked away.

"So, is that what you're eating these days?" I asked. "Soviet salami?"

"When I can get it," he said. He took out a cigarette and lit it. Andrius looked stronger, his arms muscular. He drew in a breath and blew a plume of smoke over our heads.

"And cigarettes, too," I commented. "Are you sleeping in a nice bed in that Soviet building?"

"You have no idea," he said.

"I don't? Well, you don't look tired or hungry. You weren't dragged to the kolkhoz office in the middle of the night and condemned to twenty-five years. So, are you reporting all of our conversations to them?"

"You think I'm spying?"

"Komorov asked Mother to spy and report to him. She said no."

"You don't know what you're talking about," said Andrius, the crimson in his face rising.

"I don't?"

"No, you have no idea," he said.

"I don't see your mother working in the dirt-"

"No," said Andrius, leaning in, an inch from my face. "You know why?" A vein in his temple bulged. I felt his breath on my forehead.

"Yes, because-"

"Because they threatened to kill me unless she slept with them. And if they get tired of her, they still might kill me. So how would you feel, Lina, if your mother felt she had to prostitute herself to save your life?"

My jaw dropped.

The words flew out of his mouth. "How do you think my father would feel if he knew? How does my mother feel, lying with the men who murdered her husband? No, your mother might not translate for them, but what do you think she'd do if they held a knife to your brother's neck?"

"Andrius, I-"

"No, you have no idea. You have no idea how much I hate myself for putting my mother through this, how every day I think of ending my life so she can be free. But instead, my mother and I are using our misfortune to keep others alive. But you wouldn't understand that, would you? You're too selfish and self-centered. Poor you, digging all day long. You're just a spoiled kid." He turned and walked away.

40.