Underground by Antanas Sileika Page A

through two separate swarmings of Chekists.
    The parliament gathered in a forest meadow with a few trees inside the clearing, and in the shade of one of these Lukas was running off the last of the newspapers and laying them out in the sun to dry. He worked with the radio on a stump beside him, listening to the BBC, much of which he could now understand after a winter and spring of study with the American farmer. Nearby on the grass sat Ignacas in a jacket with a ripped collar and only one button. He had a switch in his hand and was idly whipping it back and forth in the air to keep off the flies. The BBC announcer said something in a voice slightly more inflected than the usual monotone.
    â€œWhat did he say now?” asked Ignacas.
    â€œNothing much.”
    â€œBut what nothing in particular?”
    â€œThey were announcing the scores of the British football games.”
    Ignacas sighed, partially in resignation and partially in envy. There were no football games in this part of Europe, not even high school against high school. The football coach might have been deported to Siberia, a child’s parents might have fled to the West, and countless others had simply disappeared. Ignacas wished he could disappear as well.
    He was hopelessly inept and never sent out on missions. He was not a good writer, dithering over his sentences too much to be of any use on the partisan newspaper. Worst of all, he was perpetually hungry and had been reprimanded once for stealing food from the stores. One more such incident and he might get court-martialled, which could lead to only two possible results: a further reprimand or execution by firing squad. And yet he considered himself a patriot.
    Lukas pitied Ignacas and helped him when he could, but the man had become mournful unless he was eating, and Lukas could listen to only so much misery without having it weigh him down.
    Ignacas looked about them to make sure no one was within earshot. “There are a few more days to go until the amnesty runs out,” he said.
    The Reds had declared an amnesty after the war ended in Germany, and many partisans had taken up the offer. Some of the bands forbade it, but Flint let his men make their own decisions. The only rules were that they leave behind any good weapons they might have and take poor ones, and that they not betray their old comrades. The first part was easy, but not the second. How was one to placate a new master without betraying a former one? Lukas asked him this very question.
    â€œHere’s my plan,” said Ignacas. “I’ll wait until this parliament is over and then I’ll slip away. When I turn myself in, I’ll do it in some village, where it will take a while for them to work their way up to the proper authorities. Then I’ll bring them here as a sign of my sincerity. But all of you will be gone, you see? I’ll have betrayed nothing.”
    â€œThe Reds aren’t stupid. Do you think they’ll believe that?”
    â€œI’m a good liar.”
    â€œEven under torture?”
    â€œThey wouldn’t torture me, would they?”
    â€œThey do sometimes.”
    â€œBut not ones who give themselves up. I don’t think they do. But even if they did rough me up a little, by the time I told them anything, all of you would have moved on.”
    â€œExcept yourself.”
    â€œWhat’s that supposed to mean?”
    â€œYou know they never keep their promises. You know your father owned too much land. You’re an enemy to them by category—anything you say won’t change that.”
    â€œI can’t think like that. I need to believe in something, and I need to believe they’re at least partially sincere. They’re building a new world, but they’re still fighting a war with people like us. They’ll become gentler over time.”
    â€œYou’re sounding more and more Red with every sentence. Maybe you do belong with