Underground by Antanas Sileika

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.
    â€œDo 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.
    â€œDo you have a cigarette?” she asked.
    â€œTobacco and papers. You smoke?”
    â€œI 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.
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œI don’t know your name,” said Lukas.
    â€œElena.”
    â€œSo you’re in the partisans too?”
    â€œI’m semi-legal.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?”
    â€œI’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.”
    â€œYou should work somewhere else.”
    â€œI get bits of information where I work. I can be useful.”
    â€œYes, but it’s risky.”
    â€œEvery 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.”
    â€œBehold,” said Ungurys. He held out three cigarettes on his palm, each perfectly uniform, looking as if they had come from a factory.
    â€œWhere did you learn a skill like that?”
    â€œAll 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