ALINA
1946
I’m no partisan. Quite the opposite – I’m afraid of a lot of things. I avoid looking directly into a dog’s eyes, never mind standing around gawking at fights or drunks brawling. I try to be as distant as I can from things. I wander around on the edge of forests and only go home as it’s getting dark.
I can’t open the shutters, I can’t even light a candle. And that’s because our house is no longer our house.
Nowadays the only place to be safe is in the woods, to wander around there, to talk with the crows and the sparrows, to commune with the tomtits and the clouds. That’s why I’m drawn to go deeper into the woods – to try and endure these toxic times, to get away as far as possible from the occupation, the third in four years. First it was the Russkies, then the Germans, and now the Russians again. I even have a hideout – a place in the swamps. The Russian extermination battalions1Translator’s note. These were paramilitary units under NKVD control. don’t come by here, just the odd deer or an old elk on its last legs. I’ve tamed a fox, and that’s my life. I bring it food – it doesn’t look well, perhaps it’s sick. It’s not in the least afraid of me. It’s a poor sorry creature – like everyone else. Dreaming of escaping anything that demeans us both. Once this war is over. And there’s not the least sign of that. The days are being counted not in hours and not by the sunsets or sunrises. They’re counted by the number of corpses. There were nine the day before yesterday. In the Ūla River colored red. They were shot while crossing the river. Their bodies were then desecrated and piled one on top of the other.2Translator’s note. The bodies of killed Lithuanian partisans were publicly displayed in a square or main street as a warning to others but also to watch if there was any reaction from the public to catch any likely sympathizers. They were instantly recognizable but stripped naked. They had been surrounded, none managed to escape.
Grigoriy Vasilych, a newly appointed major, was in charge of the operation. They call the killings search or clean-up operations. I found out where they’re staying and who feeds them. One of them has Marė as a lover on the other side of the road. I’ll have to get hold of some snake oil or something similar. I’ve got everything planned out already, and I’ll meet up with Marė. Only not now, but later. We must make off with the bodies and bury them like human beings, covertly bringing a cart in which to put the bodies after dark.
It’s midnight, the guard is drunk and has gone off to Rutkauskas’s place to warm up.
We quickly get hold of the bodies by their legs and their heads, one after the other, and put them in the cart. This time only two, Bear and Sorrow3Translator’s note. The Lithuanian anti-Soviet partisans used noms de guerre. – more wouldn’t fit. We take them to the cemetery and hurry to put them into the earth, just below the surface. There’s no time to dig any deeper.
We go back to get the others, but there’s already a commotion! The paramilitaries and the police are there – we can’t get to the bodies. We pretend just to be looking and they immediately ask, “What, don’t you know who they are, you bitches?”
“No, no, we’ve never seen them before.”
We find a partisan’s jacket behind a spruce tree. I recognize it as Kęstutis’s. And two pairs of shoes. We construct a make-shift raft and put everything on it. We light a candle – a Thunder Candle4Translator’s Note. A Thunder Candle is a long, thick beeswax candle blessed at Catholic churches on Candlemas Day, representing the Light of Christ and associated with Our Lady of the Thunder Candle. According to tradition, it was lit during thunderstorms to ward off lightning and could also be put in the hands of a dying person or lit at a funeral.. And then we let the raft drift away, the shoes disappearing into the distance, towards the eternal, unoccupied sea.
Linden
1948
As the partisans were attacking Merkinė,5Translator’s note. Merkinė is a small town in the region of Dzūkija in southeast Lithuania. Lithuanian partisans were particularly active there after the second Soviet occupation from 1944 on. Anti-Soviet partisan activity in Lithuania continued into the 1950s. we were having our Russian literature lesson. Vilis and I knew the attack was going to take place today, we just didn’t know when exactly.
And here I am sitting in the second row, Vilis in the last one. We exchange glances, we’re pretending to be studying. But what kind of studying could that be, especially on a day like today.
Vincas the newcomer is standing in front of the class reciting Mayakovsky, yesterday’s homework.
Lenin
Lenin
Lenin,
Lenin
Lenin
Lenin –
He lived and lives on.
He lived and lives on.
We wept tears of sorrow,
We carried his body to the mausoleum –
Only a small part of Lenin lay in the grave.6Translator’s note. From the poem “Vladimir Ilyich Lenin” by Vladimir Mayakovsky.
Blah blah blah, blah blah blah… It’s enough to drive you crazy.
Someone at the back of the classroom farts – probably on purpose. Everyone starts laughing. Ivanauskas pays no attention to the farting. He’s staring out the window, looking at the snowflakes.
Vilis being Vilis, makes fun of Vincas’s Suvalkian accent.7Translator’s note. The Suvalkian dialect is spoken in the region of Suvalkija in southwest Lithuania. The class bursts into laughter again. Ivan wakes up from his snowflake reverie, thanks Vincas, and says children like this are the future of Soviet Lithuania.
Ivanauskas tells Vilis to go to the blackboard and recite the poem – but he doesn’t know it. Not a word comes out of his mouth, and everyone starts laughing again. The teacher, with an impassive look on his face, gives Vilis a grade of two.
Then the first shot can be heard outside. The class falls silent. We all run to the window with Vilis rushing up and pushing us aside. I follow him and also push past to get closer to the window. In the yard we can see a Russian limping along with a trail of blood behind him. The partisans are coming from all sides, with the sound of shots ringing out.
Vilis points someone out and whispers, “Look, it’s the Nameless One!”
Yes! The Nameless One is running along the street in front, followed by a group of our people, perhaps ten of them. The Nameless One gets down on one knee, fires a volley from his Czech automatic gun, then falls on to the snow by the side of the road. I can hear the bullets shattering the walls of the school building – it seems the Russkies are retaliating.
When the firing dies down, the Nameless One and the other partisans jump up and run to the shot Russky and grab his weapon. They run down the street towards the district offices, where thick clouds of smoke can be seen, mixing with the snowflakes and covering the whole street.
We look on as if spellbound: the Russkies are getting their butts kicked!
Ivanauskas runs up and tries to push us away from the windows: “Back to your seats, all of you, get away from the windows!”
I obey, but Vilis stays glued to the window, watching, all excited.
The teacher gets really angry, “I warned you… Kubilius, I’m going to get the head master.”
Ivan turns to go towards the door, but at that very moment, as if on purpose, shots can be heard again. This time hitting the school’s windows. The teacher drops to the floor and scrambles under the table. Vincas pushes Vilis to the floor, saying, “Get down, are you stupid or what?!”
“What are you doing to me?!” The boys start throwing punches at one another.
Lynx, the Nameless One’s right-hand man, a terrible womanizer and a real dandy, runs into the classroom. Even now, with a peacock feather stuck in his cowboy hat!
“Stand up, get in line, quiet!” he shouts. “Are you all alive?”
Vilis stands up and salutes him.
“What are you all doing here? Merkinė is free!” Lynx announces and points his pistol at Lenin’s portrait hanging above the blackboard. “Well, who’s going smash Lenin’s face in?”
Vilis gestures with his eyes towards Ivanauskas hiding under the table. The partisan goes over to Ivan, bends down, and says, “Perhaps you, sir? Hurry up, there’s a lot of work waiting for us today.”
The teacher crawls out from under the table, climbs up on a chair, and on tiptoe reaches up for Lenin. While he’s taking the portrait off the nail, blood begins to gush from his nose! Lenin clatters to the floor and shatters into pieces!
At first, we wonder if Lynx has accidentally shot Ivan in the head. But no, out of fear Ivan has snot mixed with blood coming out of his nose.
At that very moment, the Nameless One bursts into the classroom and shouts at Lynx, “Stop this nonsense! Let’s go, we’re pulling back – the Russians are coming.”
He pretends not to know me and Linden. Only on the way out, he says, “Take care of yourselves, keep studying. Soon you’ll be needed to rebuild a free Lithuania.”
MAJOR GRIGORIY TITOV
1991
Now I am at peace – I lie amongst the moss and the flowers. In Antakalnis Cemetery,8The cemetery is in the Antakalnis district of Vilnius. See the entry in Wikipedia at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Antakalnis_Cemetery. where at night the wind rustles the artificial flowers. I’m not at all angry. It’s strange that nothing is left. Neither the beliefs nor the convictions that were my steel rails – straight and strong. Leading to a bright tomorrow.
Where did all this come from? From my childhood. My mother would recite poems about Lenin even while she was brushing my hair and also did that before I went to bed. My father too, even before they took him away because of his love for German music, used to repeat, “Be a man, a Soviet man. Be a wall between us and them. Because they are leeches on the healthy body of our Motherland.”
I knew my calling from childhood: “To serve the Motherland! To fight our enemies! And to protect the future from darkness!” And if necessary to sweep them all away. To sweep away the bandits9Translator’s note. The Soviets called the Lithuanian partisans bandits. as well as their families – everyone who supported or helped them. Not a trace of the bourgeois nationalists would remain here.
We deported whole families, and when necessary, tore children away from their mothers and sent them to boarding schools or to families of decent communists. To be adopted and re-educated to become human beings. How else could one change these fascists? We deported them and wrote our reports. We did everything and anything that had to be done.
They also didn’t take pity on us, not one bit. How many times did I nearly die from being shot or poisoned? Something was put in my soup. My comrades flew me to Vilnius in a helicopter– barely in time. The doctors pumped through my every orifice and flushed out my insides. I could have died at any moment, anywhere. Secretly, I even yearned for that. If I were to die, let it not be like a dog or tied to a bed. Not in a care home, but with my head held high, like a soldier. With a weapon in my hands, with a flag and a song.
When everything finally came crashing down, when it all fell apart at the seams, some funny old guy with glasses, whose surname sounded like a swear word, started to speak on TV and announced a demonstration. My heart leapt – here it was, the opportunity! I was old, but I still had a voice, and I could raise a flag. A real revolution always begins with the first corpse, with the first hero, who falls but with his will unbroken. And that hero can be me!
We’re driving, we’re marching, we’re shouting – our Yedinstvo!10Translator’s note. Yedinstvo (Unity) was a pro-Soviet organization in Lithuania, active from 1988 to 1991, against Lithuanian independence. It was supported by the Soviet military and the KGB. My arms may be old, but they’re strong from my days at the front. And our women are as hard as rock.
Gathered at the Supreme Council, we were given a task – to break down the doors and drive out those fascists. They promised us that if even one of us were to fall, the tanks would come immediately. There were snipers on the roofs, and the Pskov special forces were ready too. All it needed was a spark.
And I yearned to be that spark.
The gates began to give way; it seemed victory was near – one of our men pushed his way in. Then another and after him a third. It’s true that with me being the closest, I heard the third one’s voice as the door was shutting: “Guys, don’t hit me…”
What a coward! We had agreed not to take even a single step back!
We tore the door open again, but instead of shots being fired, water was poured on us. Water as cold as ice from fire hoses.
I stumbled home after midnight, soaked through and with a cold.
One of my lungs was already weak, with a piece of shrapnel, right by my spine, there from the war. It started singing its own song. I felt things would turn out badly – I had a fever, chills, and shortness of breath.
I was shaking like a dog. I poured myself a glass of vodka – it had no effect. I had another glass – I felt even worse.
I lay down and covered myself with all the blankets I had, but the shaking only got stronger.
I began to gasp for air, but the strange thing was that I started to feel better. My lung stopped wheezing, and my mother came in. She was the same as always – smelling of farm soap and bread. She put her hand on my brow, and I began to feel better. It was as if there had never been any battles, no NKVD, no Dzukian forests, no Hungary, and no Vilnius. Only my childhood. There was a small apple in my mother’s hand. She said, “Taste it, Grishenka.11Translator’s note. A diminutive form of Grigoriy. Take a bite, my child, get stronger.”
I died before dawn. They found me several days later – the neighbors noticed the smell and called the authorities. They carried me out quickly, not showing me to anyone. My coffin was closed during the funeral.
And here I am now. At peace. Under a birch tree.
If anyone were to ask if I’d choose to live the same life, I’d say I don’t know. Perhaps not. Perhaps I would’ve chosen less, but more. Perhaps I would’ve loved more, learned to bake an apple pie. One like my mother’s – even Olenka couldn’t, even though she tried.
EUGENIJA
2018
My name is Eugenija, I’m fifty-two years old. Today, like every day, I’m going to the intensive care unit to visit my husband. Sometimes my daughter Algė goes instead of me, but not often. She doesn’t have any great desire to visit her father. That’s how they’ve been since her childhood, distant from one another. Even though their names are the same.
I make dumplings at home, but I have a feeling that again he probably won’t eat them. Again, I’ll have to eat them myself. It’s the third day he hasn’t wanted to eat anything.
He can hardly walk, but despite that, he won’t let anyone help him to go to the toilet. I’ve tried to go with him, but he simply won’t let me. He even gets angry. He went on his own, leaving his walking sticks outside the door, and then I hear a crash. I run in and see my Algis lying in his faeces. He’s hit his head.
I sit him down, clean him up, and take him back to his bed.
“D’you remember our journey to Lourdes?” I ask him.
He nods and closes his eyes.
I stroke his hair, slowly, gently. As if he wasn’t my husband but a naughty child too exhausted to fall asleep.
“D’you remember how we got lost? Past Lyon. We went into the mountains, taking a shortcut, traveling along the winding roads. We were looking for a small hotel.”
My Algis smiles, but his eyes are still closed.
“But there was no hotel, as bad luck would have it. Not even a motel. D’you remember how you were driving?”
He shakes his head.
“With one hand on the wheel.” I start giggling for no reason. “And where was your other hand, hey? What are you going to say now, you good-for-nothing?”
My husband’s face flushes a little, but only for a second, and soon pales again, his face adorned with light blue circles around his eyes.
“When I couldn’t stand it any longer, you stopped the car, d’you remember? In your hurry you even ruined my jeans! No, not my jeans, I’m talking nonsense – my zipper. We made love in the dark, right by the car. Someone drove up to us, stopped, shone a light on us, but quickly drove off. You began laughing, remember? You couldn’t stop, you had a laughing fit. And you got me laughing as well.”
He’s no longer smiling. I take his hand and put it on my chest.
Algis looks around, twisting his head on the pillow with difficulty to see if anyone’s listening.
“We’ve got a room to ourselves, don’t worry. Rest easy.”
I go on whispering, “This is how it happened the first time round, with us laughing like lunatics. I’ll never forget it.”
He turns his head and presses his cheek against my wrist.
“You got our sleeping bags and said, ‘This’ll be our hotel. On the grass.’ You didn’t say ‘hotel,’ you used another word. A vulgar one. I liked you when you were like that. And when we got up in the morning, we saw a huge vineyard. Like in a film. Two eagles were gliding in the sky. D’you remember who woke us up? Yes, the gray-bearded old man. We stayed on with him there, we made love while the old man kept bringing us wine. It seems to me we were there for three days, don’t you remember that?”
He shrugs his shoulders.
“That young boy, he was probably the old man’s grandson. A stand-in for the Little Prince. And there were sheep. Are you tired? I can keep quiet – if you want me to be, just nod.”
My Algis nods. A nurse comes into the bay. She hooks up the IV, fingers the tube, and goes out without saying a word. You couldn’t even hear her steps – it’s as if she glided through the air.
“Are you in pain?” I ask and start to stroke his temples. Gently, with my fingertips, barely touching his long-unwashed grey hair. He shakes his head.
“I can stop massaging you if you don’t like it, just tell me. Show me… In Lourdes, remember, you told me to go and bathe in the miraculous spring. In St. Bernadette’s cave, in that grotto… I don’t know if it really was miraculous, but it was very cold. Perhaps it was a little miraculous. Don’t smile, I’m serious. There is one thing you don’t know. A nun there told me to take all my clothes off, wrapped a towel around me, and showed me where to kneel – in the bath. They’re made of stone, brr… Marble. She told me to pray in my own language – three Our Fathers and three Holy Marys. She then took me by my armpits, lifted me a little, and then lowered me into the water up to my neck. It was ice cold! I wanted to scream but nothing came out of my mouth – just croaks like a frog. It took my voice away. The nun said, ‘Make a wish. God is listening to you now.’ And I blurted out that I wanted a child even though I wasn’t ready for it. It was simply the first thought that came to mind, seriously. But the doctors had said, you remember, that nothing would happen. After the operation we needn’t take any precautions! They were wrong. I wondered if it was a miracle or not. What do you think? Because our dear Algė was probably already in my belly. Can you hear me? Are you still listening to me?”
I put my head on his chest and listen – his heart seems to be beating. I glance at the monitor – the green snake is moving and wriggling.
“D’you want to sleep?”
I can hear a knocking at the door – it’s Algė. Speak of the devil.
“How’s dad?” she asks.
“The same… he can hear everything, and he smiles,” I reply and turn back to look at him. “We were just talking about you.”
Algė sits down on the side of her father’s bed and takes his hand.
“I’ll stay on, you can go, get some rest,” she says to me.
“I’m fine, I might just run to the toilet.”
“Take your time, you don’t have to run. Get some coffee from the machine.”
I get up and tiptoe to the door.
When I get back, he’s already asleep. The only sound to be heard is that of the monotonous drip, drip sound of the IV – it’s impossible to make out if it’s in the ward or somewhere else. Perhaps it’s the rain.
“You can go, there’s nothing for you to do here at night,” I say to Algė. “Go home.”
“And what about you?”
“I can sleep here if I need to. I’m used to it.”
The doctor had got me a foldaway bed, and it’s in the nurses’ room folded up. I go and get it, put it up, and lie down when I get sleepy.
Algė kisses dad on his forehead and tiptoes out.
After she closes the door, there’s a deafening silence for a couple of minutes until there’s an annoying beeping sound. I turn to the monitor – the green cursor is no longer moving. There’s only a red light flashing.
They’d told me we still had a couple of days left…
I sit down and begin to grieve even though we had long prepared for this. We had even agreed that I shouldn’t cry. He would go first and prepare a place for us. We had agreed that we wouldn’t bury him separately, but both of us together. Later, after both our ashes had been put into the same urn.
“Go, don’t be afraid.” I take his hand and kiss it.
VILIS
2019
We’re walking along the beach, Saulė and I. The wind is blowing in from the sea. She’s carrying a bucket, I’m not carrying anything. I’m just watching where I step. I’m no longer steady on my left leg. We’re collecting stones. We discuss each one.
“This is a dinosaur skull, but half of it has been bitten off,” she says.
“Who bit it off?”
“Fangy Wingy.”
“And who’s that?”
“Someone who flies around. And has very sharp teeth.”
“And why did it bite off the dinosaur’s head?”
“Because the dinosaur was bad. And you can do that to bad creatures.”
“Who told you that?”
“I saw it in a film.”
I nod. Saulė throws the dinosaur into her bucket. She throws it in and forgets about it.
“What are we going to do with all the stones?” she asks.
“We’ll throw them out on our way home. We’ll mark the way.”
“Why?”
“So we can find our way back tomorrow.”
“Won’t the birds eat the stones up?”
“No, they won’t. Nobody eats stones.”
“On the way back?”
“Yes.”
“But why do we need to know the way back?”
“Because there isn’t any other way to get there,” I say. “We always come back here.”
“Where?”
“To see if I’ve gone off course. Before I forget everything. I’m afraid to lose my memory. My memory is already somewhere far away. The winged creature has eaten it. A lot has changed. Sometimes you don’t know if what you remember actually happened or if you made it up. A picture that you’ve made more beautiful or perhaps the opposite – uglier.”
“Have you ever shot anyone?” Saulė asks.
“Where did you get that idea from?”
“Mum said you fought. In a forest.”
“That’s not the question you should be asking. It would be better for you ask if I met the person I’d be very happy with.”
“Did you?”
“I did. You. And not just you. I met a lot of people like that. Your granny Marija was also one of them.”
“Were you sad?”
“When I thought too much about things, I was. I then tried not to think.”
“And now?”
“Now I can think.”
Saulė and I find the longest sticks we can and draw zigzags in the sand. Loops, mazes. I draw them and she walks along them. After that we switch. Now I limp along the paths she’s drawn. She laughs. Until we get too tired. She picks up her bucket with the dinosaur’s head still in it. She climbs up onto the dune.
“Draw a pig!” she shouts. “A big one.”
I draw one. Three circles, one inside the other – the nostrils, the head, and the body. Dots for the eyes and triangles for the ears. Hooves. A curly tail.
“Well, how’s that?”
“You always draw the same one.”
“I don’t know how else to do it. Come here, you can help me”
“How am I going to help you?”
“Pigs like pearls. We can decorate it with some of your stones.”
She looks at me seriously.
“That’s a hog and not a pig. Hogs don’t wear pearls.”
“Where did you get that from?”
“From wherever,” says Saulė, jumping down from the dune. She runs up and draws a moustache and a beard on the pig.
We both look at it. The sea is roaring. The hog is looking at us.
