THE FACES OF THE CROSS

Surrounded by these sentinels, I enjoyed a great lunch in the Varena country house with Eugenija and family, notwithstanding my stupid question about the toilet.   However, lunch finished on a somber note.

She had had a son named Gintautas (Lithuanian for William) who was close to me in age and interests.  He had been a student of history, like me, but in his case attending Vilnius University.  After our family feast, we walked down the middle of Main Street – there was no traffic – in the sunshine to visit him at the cemetery.  She took me to his grave and observed a silent, respectful moment.  In Lithuania, tombstones were very modern affairs, with an image of the deceased etched respectfully onto the stone.  I stared at his image for a long time and I was sorry that I had come too late to meet him.

Nobody seemed interested in explaining to Olga or myself how exactly he passed.  I still don’t know exactly what happened to him.

I explained to them that my Dad had opined that his Father Michael had passed away in 1972 due to cigarette smoking.  There certainly were a lot of smokers throughout the USSR.

After we walked back, it was time to go meet Eugenija’s Father, my Grandfather’s brother.  She joined us in the Intourist car and we resumed our drive heading south on Departmental Route 5003 towards the border with Belarus.  The forests soon became as thick as I had ever seen them, like something out of a foreboding Hansel and Gretel story, but surrounded by the kryžius.  Boris heavy on the gas, and of course the contraband Al Green tape crooning through the sound system.  Eugenija and I continued our discussion in the backseat with the intermediation of Olga.

In fact, Boris’ foot was so heavy, he missed the turnoff for Route 5011 to Kašėtos.  When he stopped the car and backed up, I couldn’t figure out exactly what he was going to turn into. It was all thick forest.  Then, I saw it, a little dirt track; Route 5011!!!   Boris aimed the front of the Volga toward the deep woods and let loose on the accelerator.

Sometimes on a trip anywhere, I can feel that I am reaching the furthest or deepest limit of my travel.  Meaning that I am most extended away from home, say like 3 flights to a remote area, then a two hour car ride into the wilderness – like this trip in this post to Kašėtos.  I can reach these outer limits if I hike into Tuckerman’s Ravine, or into Hanakapi’ai Falls, or even take the metro to Taganskaya Station in Moscow (which marks the farthest east I’ve ever been).

Just like the Black Lodge or the White Lodge of the dark woods in the TV series Twin Peaks, the trees were closing in on me.  My world was being left behind.  The crosses were definitely swirling on this road less traveled.