Antanas Sileika - Underground

“Lukas, is that you?” he asked, and by his voice Lukas recognized him.

“Ignacas?”

“That’s right.”

The fat young man with whom Lukas had shared a room in Kaunas had melted away.

“I thought you’d be in Siberia by now,” said Lukas.

“I would have been, except Lozorius came for me.”

Between spoonfuls of soup from the bowl that he refilled twice, Ignacas told them about how he had been in a holding cell at the train station in Pravieniskes when Lozorius led a band of partisans who shot the guards dead and blew out a whole wall to lead twenty men into the night. Lozorius had come for Ignacas in particular, and brought him to this partisan band when there was nowhere else for him to go. His own parents were already in prison. But Ignacas’s joy at freedom was short-lived.

“Look at me,” said Ignacas. “I’m a shadow of my former self.”

“You were an elephant when Lozorius brought you to us,” said Lakstingala, “and now you’re a deer. You’re healthier like this.”

“But I’m cold all the time. I can’t get used to my new shape, the lack of insulation. No matter how much I wrap myself up, I’m still freezing. I wasn’t made for life in the woods.”

“It’s warmer here than in Siberia,” said Lakstingala.

“Oh, I’m grateful all right. Don’t get me wrong. The Americans had better hurry up and save us, though. I don’t know how I’ll make it through the winter.”

Lukas and Vincentas swore their oaths later that day, promising to obey all orders scrupulously, not to desert, and to fight until the Reds had been chased out of the country. The entire band was brought together for the ceremony. One hundred and fifty men and two women stood to attention, saluted them, and then sang the national anthem as if they were living in a free state.

That night, the various squads prepared for their missions. Two were going out to assassinate a Red activist in the village of Nedzinge, where the priest kept a hidey-hole under the altar, and six others to raid a government dairy for butter and cheese. Three squads of four went out to patrol as country rangers, looking for Red thieves who descended on the farms by night to steal food or other goods.

Some of the rest sat around the bonfire, which had been set in a deep pit in the earth so the flames would not be visible from a distance. Here twenty men sat in a circle, talking and telling stories. Some of the men wrote poetry or songs in their free time, and they performed these pieces and then listened to the criticism of the others, who suggested changes in the lyrics or the rhymes.

Vincentas fell asleep almost immediately with his arms crossed on his chest. Lukas sat and watched the others, humming along when he heard a tune he knew. He sensed that he was among people primarily of the country, like the people who lived around the farm where he grew up rather than those he had met in the city. Country people felt certain obligations that city people did not. They kept up good humour and joked with one another. They were generous, giving away the last of their cigarettes freely, but expecting the same in return. They drank a great deal and they could pray for hours at a time, feeling the hand of God close by. Flint forbade drinking altogether, to the disgruntlement of some, and his common prayers were very short, to the disgruntlement of others. The men were fatalistic, having placed their lives in the hands of God, and sometimes met bad ends because they refused to evade trouble but faced it straight on.

Lukas wondered how he would fit in with these men. Never having been shot at, he was afraid he might be a coward. He also worried on behalf of Vincentas, sleeping at his side.

The bonfire was made of pine logs, which burned intensely but for a very short time. Small explosions shot burning embers out among those at the fireside, occasionally landing on a shoe or a coat hem to leave singe marks before they were extinguished. But mostly the sparks flew up into the night sky in swirling eddies that quickly burned out and fell to earth as specks of soot.

On the other side of the fire, Lukas watched as Ungurys came along with his sister and the two sat down to look into the flames and sing along with the others. Sometimes they talked to one another. He could see that the sister was asking questions, but Ungurys’s replies were short. After a while they stopped this talking and began to sing with the others. Lukas went over to them.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Ungurys shrugged, but his sister patted the place beside her and Lukas sat down. It was very warm by the fire and she lifted off her Russian hat, shook out her curls and ran her fingers through her hair.

“Do you have a cigarette?” she asked.

“Tobacco and papers. You smoke?”

“I never used to, but lately I need a cigarette sometimes.”

Lukas was unaccustomed to women who smoked. They tended to be of two types, either tough market women or upper-class ladies. She didn’t seem to be either of these.

“I’m the best roller of cigarettes in the whole camp,” said Ungurys. “Pass over the tobacco and papers and I’ll have three masterpieces ready in a minute.”

“I don’t know your name,” said Lukas.

“Elena.”

“So you’re in the partisans too?”

“I’m semi-legal.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m a courier for the partisans, but I have a job in the Ministry of Trade Associations in Marijampole. I’m not from there. If they knew my brother was in the partisans, they’d fire me at the very least, maybe even arrest me, so I have to be ready to go into the forest full-time if there’s too much pressure.”

“You should work somewhere else.”

“I get bits of information where I work. I can be useful.”

“Yes, but it’s risky.”

“Every place is risky. My sister lives in Marijampole, and the job is easy. I can get away like this for a few days to visit my brother. Sometimes I carry underground newspapers back to Marijampole.”

“Behold,” said Ungurys. He held out three cigarettes on his palm, each perfectly uniform, looking as if they had come from a factory.

“Where did you learn a skill like that?”

“All it takes is time. When you’re in a tent or a bunker for days at a stretch, you can perfect silly little skills like this.”

Each took a cigarette and Ungurys lit them, beginning with his sister’s. The tobacco burned at the back of Lukas’s throat. He did not really smoke much, and when the tobacco scratched his throat like this he wondered why he ever bothered.

“Why did you join the partisans?” Lukas asked Ungurys.

“They tried to put me in the army to fight the Germans, but as far as I’m concerned, the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

Lukas looked at Elena. “How do you find life in Marijampole?”

“It wears on me. I feel unanchored with our parents gone. I was going to be a teacher, like my father, but I can’t get into teachers’ college anymore because they’ll be more careful about checking my background. All I have left is my little brother here and my sister. Sometimes I wish I could do something to strike back at them.”

Her brother laughed.

“Don’t think I couldn’t do it. I’m fierce, you know.”

“I know, I know,” Ungurys said. “When I was little, she’d beat up all the bullies who tried to hit me or our sister. Half the boys in my class were terrified of her.”

This description of Elena was hard to credit. Her curly hair made her face look soft. There was humour at the corners of her lips and a little of it in her eyes too. Whatever fierceness she had was well hidden. Lukas’s skepticism must have shown.

“I’d do anything to defend my family, and anything to avenge it.”