be alone. The boy’s father?”
“He works in Germany. He’s not coming.”
“Well, a relative, then. Or a friend.”
She just nodded, as if she were still someone who possessed such things. She did not want to admit to him just how alone she was. It felt shameful, like some embarrassing disease.
Her headache was so strong now that it hovered like a black ring at the edge of her field of vision; her nausea swelled once more. She ought to eat something, or at least drink a little, like the old man had told her to: It’s important to drink enough when it is this hot. She bought a small square carton of orange juice at tourist price from a man selling candy and postcards and amber jewelry at a bright green cart. The juice was lukewarm and didn’t taste particularly nice, and the citric acid burned her sore throat.
They’ll find him, she whispered to herself. They will find him, and he will be all right.
There was no conviction in the words. Normally, she didn’t see herself as a person with a very lively imagination. She was much better at recalling facts and figures than at picturing places she had never been, or people she had never seen. She didn’t read a lot of novels, and saw only the films that were shown on TV.
But right now she could imagine Mikas. Mikas in a car, hidden under a rug. Mikas wriggling and crying while strangers held him down. Mikas calling for his mother, and getting no answer.
What had they done to him? And why had they taken him?
Her legs shook. She sat down on the wide stone steps leading to the river. A couple of years ago, the city had put up benches here, but they quickly became a magnet for addicts and homeless people, and now the seats had been removed, so that only the galvanized steel supports bristled from the concrete like stubble. Below, the Neris moved sluggishly in its concrete bed, brown and shrunken and tame compared to its winter wildness.
HER FIRST SUMMER with Darius, the river had been their secret place. If you followed the bank far enough away from the bridge, the paved pathway gave way to a muddy trail through the jungle of reeds. Insects buzzed and whirred, gnats and tiny black flies, but there were no people, no prying eyes or wagging tongues, and that was a rarity in Tauragė. They could even bathe. Together.
She didn’t know anyone else like him. The other boys were idiots—giggling and drawing crude pictures of penises on school books. Milda’s older brother had once pinched Sigita’s left nipple and tried to kiss her; he was basically just as mean as Milda, only in a slightly different way.
Darius was completely different. He seemed utterly relaxed and at ease with himself, and so much more mature than any of the others. He told her he had been named after the hero pilot Steponas Darius, just like Tauragė. That was rather fitting, she thought. She could easily imagine Darius doing great things one day.
When he wanted to take off her blouse, she stiffened, at first. He stopped what he was doing, and slid both hands down to her waist.
“You are so tiny,” he said. “My hands go almost all the way around you.”
A deep shudder went through her that had nothing to do with cold. His hands moved up inside her blouse and brushed her breasts very lightly, very gently. She raised her face to the sun. Don’t do that, said Granny Julija’s voice in her head, you will go blind. But she let the sunlight blind her for a few more moments before she closed her eyes. Her hands spasmed into fists, clutching two handfuls of shirt from his back, and his tongue touched hers, then her lips, then the inside of her mouth. He had given up on the blouse and concentrated his efforts on her skirt and knickers. She stumbled and was thrown off balance, and he did nothing to hold her, but let himself fall with her instead, so that they hit mud and sunwarmed river water with a wet thud. His weight came down on top of her so hard that she was too winded to move or speak, which
“He works in Germany. He’s not coming.”
“Well, a relative, then. Or a friend.”
She just nodded, as if she were still someone who possessed such things. She did not want to admit to him just how alone she was. It felt shameful, like some embarrassing disease.
Her headache was so strong now that it hovered like a black ring at the edge of her field of vision; her nausea swelled once more. She ought to eat something, or at least drink a little, like the old man had told her to: It’s important to drink enough when it is this hot. She bought a small square carton of orange juice at tourist price from a man selling candy and postcards and amber jewelry at a bright green cart. The juice was lukewarm and didn’t taste particularly nice, and the citric acid burned her sore throat.
They’ll find him, she whispered to herself. They will find him, and he will be all right.
There was no conviction in the words. Normally, she didn’t see herself as a person with a very lively imagination. She was much better at recalling facts and figures than at picturing places she had never been, or people she had never seen. She didn’t read a lot of novels, and saw only the films that were shown on TV.
But right now she could imagine Mikas. Mikas in a car, hidden under a rug. Mikas wriggling and crying while strangers held him down. Mikas calling for his mother, and getting no answer.
What had they done to him? And why had they taken him?
Her legs shook. She sat down on the wide stone steps leading to the river. A couple of years ago, the city had put up benches here, but they quickly became a magnet for addicts and homeless people, and now the seats had been removed, so that only the galvanized steel supports bristled from the concrete like stubble. Below, the Neris moved sluggishly in its concrete bed, brown and shrunken and tame compared to its winter wildness.
HER FIRST SUMMER with Darius, the river had been their secret place. If you followed the bank far enough away from the bridge, the paved pathway gave way to a muddy trail through the jungle of reeds. Insects buzzed and whirred, gnats and tiny black flies, but there were no people, no prying eyes or wagging tongues, and that was a rarity in Tauragė. They could even bathe. Together.
She didn’t know anyone else like him. The other boys were idiots—giggling and drawing crude pictures of penises on school books. Milda’s older brother had once pinched Sigita’s left nipple and tried to kiss her; he was basically just as mean as Milda, only in a slightly different way.
Darius was completely different. He seemed utterly relaxed and at ease with himself, and so much more mature than any of the others. He told her he had been named after the hero pilot Steponas Darius, just like Tauragė. That was rather fitting, she thought. She could easily imagine Darius doing great things one day.
When he wanted to take off her blouse, she stiffened, at first. He stopped what he was doing, and slid both hands down to her waist.
“You are so tiny,” he said. “My hands go almost all the way around you.”
A deep shudder went through her that had nothing to do with cold. His hands moved up inside her blouse and brushed her breasts very lightly, very gently. She raised her face to the sun. Don’t do that, said Granny Julija’s voice in her head, you will go blind. But she let the sunlight blind her for a few more moments before she closed her eyes. Her hands spasmed into fists, clutching two handfuls of shirt from his back, and his tongue touched hers, then her lips, then the inside of her mouth. He had given up on the blouse and concentrated his efforts on her skirt and knickers. She stumbled and was thrown off balance, and he did nothing to hold her, but let himself fall with her instead, so that they hit mud and sunwarmed river water with a wet thud. His weight came down on top of her so hard that she was too winded to move or speak, which
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