I stopped and looked up. "Munch," I told him.

"Munch, hmm." He nodded. "Don't know Munch."

The red stripe above his brim needed more detail. I didn't want to spend the time. I just shaded it all in quickly. I carefully tore the sheet from the pad. I handed the paper to the commander.

He dropped the file on the desk and grabbed the portrait. He walked around the office, admiring himself.

I stared at the file.

It was just sitting there, lying on the desk. There had to be something about Papa in that file, something that could help me get a drawing to him.

The commander gave Kretzsky an order. Bread. He told Kretzsky to give me bread. I was supposed to get more than bread.

The commander left the room. I began to protest.

Kretzsky pointed to the front door. "Davai!" he yelled, waving for me to leave. I saw Jonas waiting outside.

"But-" I started.

Kretzsky shouted something and exited behind the desk.

Jonas opened the door and peeked in. "He told us to go to the kitchen door. I heard him. We can get our bread there," he whispered.

"But we're supposed to get potatoes," I argued. The commander was a liar. I should have drawn the snakes. I turned to pick up my drawing pad. I saw the file on the desk.

"C'mon, Lina, I'm hungry," said Jonas.

"Okay," I said, pretending to gather my paper. I grabbed the file and shoved it in my coat.

"Yes, let's go," I said, rushing through the door. Jonas had no idea what I had done.

55.

WE WALKED TO the NKVD barracks. I felt my heartbeat thump in my ears. I tried to calm myself, act normal. I looked over my shoulder. I saw Kretzsky exit the rear door of the kolkhoz office. He walked in the shadows to the barracks, his long wool coat swaying around his feet. We waited in back near the kitchen, as instructed.

"He may not come," I said, eager to run back to the shack.

"He has to come," said Jonas. "They owe us food for your drawing."

Kretzsky appeared at the back door. A loaf of bread sailed into the dirt. Couldn't he hand the bread to us? Would that be so difficult for him? I hated Kretzsky.

"C'mon, Jonas. Let's go," I said. Suddenly, potatoes rocketed at us. I heard laughter from inside the kitchen.

"Do you have to throw them?" I said, moving toward the dark doorway. The door closed.

"Look, there are several!" said Jonas, running to pick them up.

The door opened. A tin can smacked against my forehead. I heard clapping and felt a warm dripping above my eyebrow. Cans and garbage rained down around us. The NKVD amused themselves by pelting helpless children with garbage.

"They're drunk. Hurry, let's go! Before they start shooting," I said, not wanting to drop the file.

"Wait, some of it is food!" said Jonas, frantically collecting things off the ground. A sack flew out and hit Jonas in the shoulder, knocking him over. A cheer erupted from behind the door.

"Jonas!" I ran to him. Something wet hit me in the face.

Kretzsky appeared at the door and said something.

"Hurry," said Jonas. "He says we're stealing food and he's going to report us."

We scurried around, like hens in a yard, craning our necks for anything that touched the ground. I reached up to clear the smelly slop from my eyes. Rotten potato peels. I put my head down and ate them.

"Fasheest sveenya!" yelled Kretzsky. He slammed the door.

I gathered things in my skirt, holding my arm against my coat and the file. I took all I could carry, even empty cans for residue. The left side of my forehead throbbed. I reached up and felt a big, wet goose egg.

Andrius emerged from the side of the building. He looked around. "I see you got something for your drawing," he said.

I ignored him and quickly began snatching the potatoes with my free hand. I stuffed them into my pockets and skirt, desperate to get each one.

Andrius moved to lift the sack I was straddling. He put his hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry," he said gently. "We'll get it all."

I looked up at him.

"You're bleeding."

"It's nothing. I'm fine," I said, pulling potato rot from my hair.

Jonas scooped up the bread. Andrius picked up the big sack.

"What's in that?" asked Jonas.

"Flour," said Andrius. "I'll carry it back for you."

"Did you hurt your arm?" asked Andrius, watching me clutch my coat.

I shook my head.

We trudged through the snow in silence.

56.

"HURRY, JONAS," I said as soon as we were a safe distance from the NKVD building. "Mother will be worried. Run ahead and let her know we're okay."

Jonas ran toward our shack. I slowed my pace. "They have a file on us," I said, watching my brother shrink in the distance.

"They have files on everyone," said Andrius. He tossed the sack of flour up, readjusting it on his shoulder.

"Maybe you could help me with something," I said.

Andrius shook his head, almost laughing. "I can't steal a file, Lina. That's a lot different from wood or a can of tomatoes. It's one thing to get in the kitchen, but-"

"I don't need you to take the file," I said, stopping short of our shack.

"What?" Andrius stopped.

"I don't need you to steal the file." I looked around and opened my coat slightly. "I already have it," I whispered. "It was on the commander's desk. I need you to put it back once I've read it."

Shock flooded Andrius's face. His head snapped from side to side, to see if we were alone. He pulled me behind a shack. "What's wrong with you! Do you want to get yourself killed?" he whispered.

"The bald man said it's all in our files, where we were sent, perhaps what happened to the rest of our family. It's all right here." I crouched down, letting go of the potatoes and other items I had been carrying. I reached into my coat.

"Lina, you can't do this. Give me the file. I'm taking it back."

Footsteps approached. Andrius stood in front of me. Someone passed.

He dropped the sack and reached for the file. I moved away from him and opened it. My hands trembled. There were photos of our family, and papers attached to the folder. My heart sank. It was all in Russian. I turned to Andrius. He grabbed the file from my hand.

"Please," I begged. "Tell me what it says."

"Are you really that selfish? Or are you just stupid? They'll kill you and your family," he said.

"No." I grabbed his arm. "Please, Andrius. It might help me find my father. You heard him on the train. I can help him find us. I can send him my drawings. I just need to know where he is. I ... I know you can understand."

He stared at me and then opened the file. "I don't read Russian that well." His eyes quickly scanned the papers.

"What does it say?"

"Students at the Academy," he said, looking over his shoulder. "This word is 'artist.' That's you. Your father," he said, putting his finger under a word.

"Yes, what?" I said.

"Location."

I huddled near Andrius. "What does it say?"

"Krasnoyarsk. Prison."

"Papa's in Krasnoyarsk?" I remembered drawing Krasnoyarsk on the map for the NKVD.

"I think this word means 'offense' or 'charge,'" he said, pointing to some writing. "It says your father is-"

"Is what?"

"I don't know this word," whispered Andrius. He snapped the file shut and stuffed it in his coat.

"What else does it say?"

"That's all it says."

"Can you find out what the word is? The one about Papa?"

"What if I get caught with this?" said Andrius, suddenly full of anger.

What if he did get caught? What would they do to him? He turned to walk away. I grabbed him. "Thank you," I said. "Thank you so much."

He nodded, pulling away from me.

57.

MOTHER WAS DELIGHTED with the food. We decided to eat most of it immediately, just in case the NKVD tried to take it back. The canned sardines were delicious, well worth the tender gash on my head. Their oil felt silky against my tongue.

Mother gave Ulyushka a potato. She invited her to share our meal. She knew Ulyushka was less likely to report that we had food if she ate some herself. I hated that Mother shared with Ulyushka. She had tried to throw Jonas out into the snow when he was sick. She didn't think twice about stealing from us. She never shared her food. She ate egg after egg, right in front of us. Yet Mother insisted on sharing with her.

I worried about Andrius, hoping he was able to return the file unnoticed. And what was the word that he had pointed to, the one he thought was "offense" or "charge"? I refused to believe that Papa had done something wrong. I turned it over in my head. Mrs. Raskunas worked at the university with Papa. She wasn't deported. I saw her peeking out of her window the night we were taken away. So not everyone from the university was deported. Why Papa? I wanted to tell Mother that Papa was sent to Krasnoyarsk, but I couldn't. She'd be too worried about him being in prison, and she'd be angry that I had stolen the file. She would also worry about Andrius having it. I worried about Andrius.

That night, I tore more drawings from my tablet and hid them with the others under my suitcase lining. I had two pages left. My pencil hovered around the edge of the paper. I looked up. Mother and Jonas spoke quietly. I rolled the pencil between my fingers. I drew a collar. A snake began to draw itself, coiling upward. I quickly scratched it out.

The next afternoon I saw Andrius on my way back from work. I scanned his face for news of the file. He nodded. My shoulders relaxed. He had returned it. But had he found the meaning of the word? I smiled at him. He shook his head, annoyed, but kind of smiled, too.

I found a thin, flat piece of birch and brought it back to our hut. At night, I decorated the edges with Lithuanian embroidery patterns. I drew a picture of our house in Kaunas on it, along with other symbols of Lithuania. On the bottom I wrote, "Deliver to Krasnoyarsk Prison. With love from Miss Altai." I included my scribble signature, along with the date.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" asked the grouchy woman when I approached her.

"Just give it to a Lithuanian you see in the village," I said. "Tell them to pass it on. It has to get to Krasnoyarsk."

The grouchy woman looked at my drawings of the Lithuanian coat of arms, Trakai Castle, our patron saint, Casimir, and the stork, the national bird of Lithuania.

"Here," I said, extending a tattered piece of clothing bunched in my hand. "Maybe one of your girls can use this underskirt. I know it's not much, but-"

"Keep your slip," said the grouchy woman, still looking at my drawings. "I'll pass it along."