In the Shadow of Wolves: A Times Book of the Year, 2019

By Alvydas Šlepikas

A Times Book of the Year, 2019

THE SECOND WORLD WAR IS OVER. BUT THE WORLD IS FAR FROM SAFE.

As victorious Russian troops sweep across East Prussia, a group of desperate children face a new battle. Confronted by critical food shortages and the onset of a bitterly cold winter, these 'wolf children' secretly cross the border into Lithuania in search of work or food to take back to their starving families. In a world still reeling from the devastation of war, the children must risk everything to survive.

In the Shadow of Wolves is a story of resilience, devastation and, ultimately, hope. Based on meticulous research, Alvydas Šlepikas's stunningly powerful debut novel has won over readers and critics across the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Oneworld Publications
• Release date: Jun 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781786074690

Alvydas Šlepikas

Alvydas Šlepikas is one of the most multitalented contemporary Lithuanian writers – he is a poet, prose writer, playwright, screenwriter, actor and director. He has edited the Spring Poetry Festival anthologies and published two poetry collections. He has also edited the Lithuanian cultural weekly Literatūra ir menas, and currently oversees the fiction section of this journal. In the Shadow of Wolves, which was named Book of the Year in Lithuania in 2012, is his first novel.

Book preview

EVERYTHING RISES UP from the past as if through fog. People and events are enveloped in the snow carried on the wind and the mist that hovers in the silence. All is distant but not forgotten. Some details are clear, others are already lost, as in a faded photograph. Time and forgetfulness have covered everything in snow and sand, in blood and murky water.

People appear as if emerging through a mist, a snowstorm, a winter fog; they grow dark, casting a shadow on the trampled, blood-soaked earth, and then are gone. Individual episodes surface for one brief flash of memory, or as a few marks on the dotted line of history, scattered in no particular order:

here are the Russian words on a poster seen on reaching the other side of the Nemunas river*: ‘Soldier of the Red Army! Before you lies the lair of the fascist beast’;

here are the Russian soldiers laden with their plunder – clocks, curtains, silver dishes;

here is a woman’s headless body nailed to a wall;

here is a crowd of starving people tearing apart the fallen corpse of a water carrier’s nag;

here is a mother with her children walking straight into the Nemunas rumbling with ice floes, disappearing into the river without a word, without a single thought in her head, as if drowning oneself were a simple, everyday act;

here are corpses brought up by the river, blackened and swollen, without first names, without surnames;

here are graves dug up;

here are the ruins of bombed churches;

here are Russian pamphlets handed out to Soviet soldiers, urging them: ‘Kill all the Germans, their children too. There are no innocent Germans. Take their possessions, take their women. That is your right, those are the spoils of war’;

here are mothers bartering, selling some of their children to Lithuanian farmers for potatoes, flour and food, so that their other children can survive;

here are soldiers, drunk and laughing, shooting birds for fun, and then shooting people just as merrily and mindlessly, without thinking – the fire of war has hardened them, like clay in blast furnaces;

here are women digging trenches, dying from hunger and fatigue;

here are children setting off shells left behind by the war;

here are wolves that have grown accustomed to eating human flesh;

here is a dog with a blackened human hand in its teeth;

here are the eyes of the starving, here is famine, famine and famine;

here are corpses – death and corpses;

here are the new arrivals, colonists, destroying everything that has survived – churches, castles, cemeteries, drainage systems, animal pens;

here are the empty and desolate fields, in which even the wind loses its way, not finding a single familiar path among the ruins and barren wastes;

here is postwar Prussia, trampled underfoot, raped, stood against a wall and shot.

FRAGMENTS OF THE past flickered and vanished, emerging from the darkness as if they were a shadow-play, like a black-and-white film.

It was the winter of 1946.

A cold and terrible postwar winter, a time of desolation. A bridge suspended between heaven and earth across the Nemunas. The wind carried a dusting of snow along the river as if it were a highway. In places there was ice, off-white like marble. It was cold, at least minus 20 degrees Celsius.

There were metal struts criss-crossing each other like an opaque net. The wind whistled through them. The bridge howled the songs of storms.

A soldier’s own strange song drifted along on the wind from the east.

Through the metal struts you could see dark figures moving on the other side of the river.

Pasted on the bridge there were posters, signs and newspapers proclaiming victory, encouraging the soldiers to show no mercy, to kill, and warning that access was allowed only with a permit from the military authorities.

The edge of one of the posters was ragged and fluttered in the wind. The song of longing grew louder.

On the bridge were two guards: a singing Asian and a Russian. The Russian was trying to light a roll-up but the wind kept putting out his match, and this made him angry. The narrow-eyed soldier’s singing irritated him too.

The black dots across the river were drawing closer – they were German children trying to cross the frozen Nemunas. There were about seven of them.

The Russian couldn’t stand it any longer.

‘For fuck’s sake shut your mouth, you idiot.’

The Asian smiled. He was quiet for a while, and then said, under his breath: ‘Idiot, idiot, you’re the idiot.’

The wind was whistling, the motherland was far away, the roll-up fell apart, the match broke in the soldier’s calloused hands.

The Asian laughed: ‘Hey, Ivan…’

‘My name’s not Ivan, it’s Yevgeny. They call me Zhenya.’

‘Look, Ivan, the little Germans are running.’

The German children were running across the ice like partridges. A couple of the smaller children lagged behind a little.

The Russian soldier shouted: ‘Stop! Go back! Stop! That’s an order! Stop, you fascist pigs!’

But the bridge was high up, the wind masked the guard’s voice and they ran on. They could see a person on the bridge waving his arms about, but they couldn’t understand the soldier’s language.

‘Hey, Ivan.’

‘My name’s not Ivan, you idiot.’

‘They’re telling you to suck their dicks, Ivan…’

‘I’m going to kill you.’

‘Calm down, you fool.’

The Russian took a grenade, pulled the pin out and threw it at the group of children. Both soldiers crouched down to avoid the shrapnel, and the blast reverberated like a thunderclap in the icy air.

The smoke cleared.

One of the children had fallen through the ice and was struggling to climb out. It was cold and an icy mist rose from the water. The other children were running back, running away from death.

The noise died down, and for a moment there was complete silence. Then a strange sound like the wail of a dying beast cut through the silence, high-pitched and endless. Another child was badly injured. He lay writhing, his feet kicking out at the ice; the scream was coming from him. As he twisted and turned, blood seeped out from under him, painting an ever-larger area of snow and ice: a stain of colour in a black world.

A six-year-old boy, scared to death, stood between the one who was injured and the one who was trying to get out of the hole in the ice. It was as if he’d turned to stone. He had no control over his legs; the screeching pierced his body. His eyes were filled with horror.

It was little Hansel – we’ll get to know him later.

The Asian raised his rifle, took aim and fired. The screaming stopped; the injured child was no longer moving. Hansel woke from his stupor and started to run, shouting something. He wasn’t running towards the shore but along the frozen river. A couple of shots followed, but Hansel ran on.

Having missed him, the Asian soldier shook his head.

The other child was still trying to get out of the hole in the ice, using every ounce of his strength.

The Russian soldier spat and looked down at the little child below him in the river. They were hardly struggling any more.

The child’s head went under. One hand was still holding on to the ice, until finally it too disappeared.

The Russian soldier at last managed to light his roll-up.

The wind was whistling.

Again a sad, wild song was heard.

NIGHT WAS DRAWING in. It came so quickly in winter. To Eva it seemed that for the last few months it had always been night. The never-ending winter, the never-ending snowstorms, frosts, twilight, cold, wind, the never-ending hunger. The cold passed through her clothes to her very heart, to her bones and her brain. Eva began to feel dizzy from hunger again; it had been a long time since she had last eaten. Whenever she managed to find a morsel of something she gave it to the children. The world was turning on its axis and for a moment darkness covered her eyes, but her friend Martha, who never gave in, grabbed her by the elbow. ‘Hold on,’ she said, ‘hold on, Eva, remember the children.’ Eva didn’t need reminding; the children were the only thing she thought about – Monika, Renate, pampered Helmut, who was so gentle but weak, sickly, so different from her Heinz. Where is he now, my Heinz, my little boy? He set off for Lithuania by train almost a week ago. Is he alive, is he healthy, what is he eating, does he have anywhere to rest his head?

People stood motionless, hunched up against the wind and the cold, pressing close to one another like sheep – dark silhouettes in the gloom of the approaching night, in the grip of the dying day. Eva leant against Martha. It was good that there was someone next to her who was stronger and tougher. Martha always knew the way out of any situation. Eva didn’t think she’d ever seen her friend cry. Even now, when all the days were but one big, black day of loss, one big hole in the ground dug for a grave. No, Martha had never cried. She believed in life. Even now she was a pillar, a shelter for Eva, who was afraid of everything and easily frightened. Oh, Martha, Martha, how good to have you by my side, how good it is that you are by my side, only I can’t tell you that, it’s impossible to say the words. If there were no more Martha the world would be without compass – though now it was more a formless mass than a world.

Finally two soldiers showed up: two youths, probably only eighteen, but stern, serious. They were dragging along a huge pot with scraps of food in it, mostly potato peels, the potato peels the crowd had been so desperately waiting for. The people – the elderly, women and children, Eva and Martha among them – instantly came to life. Their eyes seemed to catch fire and everyone moved forward; they were all starving, tired of waiting, freezing, their faces drawn, their bodies swathed in rags. Everyone gathered round, but they knew they had to wait for the command, for permission. The young soldiers shouted something, but Eva didn’t speak Russian; all she knew was ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, and now she’d also learnt to say ‘bread’ and ‘potatoes’. But the young soldiers didn’t say ‘bread’ and they didn’t say ‘thank you’. They were shouting: ‘What are you doing, you spawn of the devil? What are you doing, you fascists? Get back or you’ll get a beating! Don’t climb over each other!’ No one was climbing over anyone, all they were doing was hesitantly moving closer; everyone was ready to snatch their portion, which would be as large as they could manage to grab. Eva and the others approached the young soldiers, the pot full of leftover scraps and potato peels. For a moment the space around her seemed to distort, people’s hands and faces lost their contours, everything expanded and then shrank again, everything slowed down. The soldiers emptied the pot straight out onto the ground, right there by the army canteen at the end of the yard. Once there had been a tavern here, now it was a canteen. They were throwing out a lot today; they weren’t always so lucky, especially in the evenings.

The young soldier shouted: ‘Here you are, help yourselves, you fascists!’ The only thing he said in German was ‘here you are’, everything else was in Russian, but to the starving, hungry and deathly cold people, whatever he might or might not have said wasn’t important. They rushed towards the potato peels and the other scraps, grabbed them and stuffed them into little linen sacks and bags. An old woman began to yell: ‘That’s mine, that’s mine! I want to live too!’ She fell, someone tripped over her and stepped on her hand, making her yell again. Eva went to pieces; she stopped for a moment, perhaps half a second, suddenly seeing herself as a worm wriggling around in the leftovers, but the image was immediately dispelled by Martha’s voice, saying: Remember the children. Or perhaps it wasn’t Martha at all, perhaps it was her own voice reminding her of the children, her inner maternal voice. Like a predator she grabbed, tore, pulled and stuffed the frozen potato peels into her little linen sack. She was probably crying too. Or perhaps it was only a few tears from the cold and the wind.

‘Pigs is what they are, they’re not even human,’ said the soldier in Russian, tapping a woman’s cigarette holder against the corner of the building to get rid of the bits of tobacco in it.

A snowstorm was raging.

The strong wind whipped the falling snow into people’s eyes. Eva and Martha were hurrying, but it was hard to walk; the silhouettes of their bodies, bent forward, began to disappear into the falling night. Finally they reached the former dairy, then the wool-carding workshop, its corner destroyed by an artillery shell. The building had been opened up like the flank of a slaughtered animal, but inside there was only bottomless darkness. These buildings, so devoid of life, petrified her; she was always seeing shadows persecuting her and Martha. She was sweating, though the cold was going right through her. In this snowstorm the little town where she was born now seemed alien – horrible and malignant.

A shot echoed somewhere. Then another. The women quickened their pace. The sound of a Russian accordion came in waves through the howling of the storm and the swirling snow. Even though it was a foreign sound, it had a calming effect because it was so unexpected, as if from another world. It even appeared to Eva that she herself, her consciousness, was playing this music, this simple, wild music in a major key. Eva held on tightly to the potato peels she’d grabbed by the soldiers’ canteen. At home the children were waiting, hungry, her children who were dearer to her than life itself. Eva would have liked to howl

Reviews for In the Shadow of Wolves

[piperup · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Based on true events I had never heard of or learned about, this book opened my eyes to the strength of survival that women and children had during WWII. I'd love to see this book made into a movie. Although some reviewers have complained the writing is too sparse, I found it in line with the frame of mind of the characters and the bleak setting.

[meaqhan · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

** I received a copy of In the Shadow of Wolves as a courtesy of the publisher. This has not affected my rating or review of the novel. **This book was quite sad, not in the way of tear-jerking moments or death and terror, but in the knowledge that the situation for these people, inspired by the stories of actual wolf-children, were trapped in a hopeless and desperate situation, deserving of attention, yet forgotten by history.The story itself was not too long, but conveyed its message well. Renate was a compelling lead to the story, since a story this violent and dark is difficult to portray well through the eyes of a child.Overall, this book was enjoyable, and I found it to be an easy read despite the devastating nature of its contents. I would definitely recommend this for anybody interested in historical fiction, or the story of the poor wolf-children.

[hemlokgang · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is a gut-wrenching piece of historical fiction. As WWII ended, German families were thrown from their homes by Russians. Many of the families were subjected to brutality and starvation. Apparently, many children made their way over the border into Lithuania to find food for themselves and their families. These children were called the "wolf children" because they lived in the forests and came out to beg or steal food. However, Šlepikas makes it clear that the war had turned many, many people into wolfish predators. The reader follows the experiences of two particular families, specifically the children. Their fight to survive is epic. Although deeply painful to read, I learned of the "wolf children" and was once again reminded of the primal drive to survive in this well-written book.

[thathikermeg · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

** I received a copy of In the Shadow of Wolves as a courtesy of the publisher. This has not affected my rating or review of the novel. **This book was quite sad, not in the way of tear-jerking moments or death and terror, but in the knowledge that the situation for these people, inspired by the stories of actual wolf-children, were trapped in a hopeless and desperate situation, deserving of attention, yet forgotten by history.The story itself was not too long, but conveyed its message well. Renate was a compelling lead to the story, since a story this violent and dark is difficult to portray well through the eyes of a child.Overall, this book was enjoyable, and I found it to be an easy read despite the devastating nature of its contents. I would definitely recommend this for anybody interested in historical fiction, or the story of the poor wolf-children.

[labfs39 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Wolfskinder, or wolf-children, were German children, mainly from East Prussia, who went to Lithuania after the Second World War looking for food and often a home. Newly occupied by the Soviet army, eastern Germany was a grim place after the war. Many were forced from their homes and lived on the streets, and that first winter of occupation the weather was particularly harsh. Food shortages became famine, as supplies were sent east by the trainload. Women were often the sole breadwinners, but with no work, they and their children became scavengers and prey for Soviet soldiers. Some families resorted to trying to sell children to Lithuanian farmers at markets, in exchange for food that might save their other children. Older children began migrating east into Lithuanian looking for food to bring home to their families. Some were taken in by strangers and stayed.The author originally intended to make a documentary about the wolf-children, but lacked funding. Over a decade later, the idea became this novel, the author's first. It won book of the year when it was first published in Lithuania in 2011 and became the most widely read novel in Lithuania in 2012. Although the author was able to interview one woman who had been a wolf-child and learned a great deal about another through her son, most of the people and their stories seem to be largely forgotten.The novel begins with Eva and Martha, two friends who are trying to bring home scavenged potato peels to their children. Chased by Soviet soldiers, they make it to their homes, only to be accosted later. Eva and her children are living in a shed on the property they formerly owned. A tiny stove keeps them from freezing, but starvation is eminent. The arrival of Heinz, a son who made it to Lithuania and back, means enough food to survive a little longer. As things deteriorate, more children decide to attempt the journey to Lithuania for food. Their story, and particularly that of Renate, one of Eva's children, is the core of the novel.The tone is bleak, and the story grim; yet the language is poetic at times and the backdrop cinematographic. It is hard to discern how the translation has effected the novel, but a more vigorous editing might have tightened the plot line and smoothed the sometimes rough transitions. Overall, the story was gripping and could easily become a movie script. I would read more by this author and would love to see his documentary made.

[nbmars · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

In the Shadow of Wolves begins in the winter of 1946. It tells the story of the “wolf children” - orphans fleeing from the Russian Army in East Prussia at the end of World War II. They traveled in rag-tag bands to Lithuania in search of food and shelter. Many hid in the forests or the streets.The author begins by verbally panning across the landscape, describing bleak chiaroscuro images: “here is a dog with a blackened human hand in its teeth; here are the eyes of the starving, here is famine, famine and famine; here are corpses - death and corpses;” and so on. He then focuses in on one family, inspired by testimony the author heard from the son of one of the wolf children, who is called Renate in the book.The harshness of life endured by common people in the aftermath of the war will be unfamiliar to many, who know mainly about the political movements of the time and perhaps some of the battles that were fought. This book brings the war down to eye-level with insight into the devastating impact on the quotidian. Though the events described by the book are horrific, the tone is poetic and the structure is quite cinematic. It is not an uplifting story, but it is an important one. As the author noted in his Epilogue, the man who was the daughter of Renate “wanted this subject not to be forgotten, wanted the misfortunes those people had suffered to be remembered.” Alvydas Šlepikas used his familiarity with drama and film technique to make sure, through this book, the experiences of the wolf children would be memorialized.

[jreynolds1959 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

What a sad part of history that you had women and children from Germany who were left all alone and starving. The women and the children were taking treks into Lithuania to scavenge for food for themselves and their families. They travel through absolute wilderness to find any way of acquiring food. They live in abandoned sheds, barns, etc because their homes were taken by others. While the history of this is terrible, I found this novel to be so disjointed in the telling of that story. We keep being introduced to characters that don't get blended and we are at a loss sometimes to remember who is who. This really could have flowed better, with more substance given to the characters and their connections.

[grumpydan · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

Although this is a depressing story of children that were orphaned or abandoned in East Prussia once the Russians took over after WWII, I found it fascinating that these stories of the wolf children were not known until after collapse of the USSR. As horrifying as these tales are, this book was not only disjointed but not really cohesive. I don’t think it was the translation, but more like the author tried to put together a story by using what he learned through telephone interviews with one of the survivors. It is rough to hear of what these people went through and how they survived or tried to. I really wanted to like this one, but jumping from one character to another without knowing what happened left me unfulfilled.

[beamis12 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The second world war has almost ended. Russian troops advance into East Prussia, forcing the women and children from their homes. The town is peopled by only women and children, old men, able body men off to fight. Eve and her husband's sister, with their children are forced out of their home, made to live in a shed, the only thing they were allowed to take a small metal stove. They dont know whether their men are even alive. The Russians are cruel, shooting people at will, forcing themselves on the women. Children are not exempt. They are freezing and starving. Young boys take on the roles of providers, sneaking perilously into Lithuania in an effort to find food. They are called wolf children. The young forced to see things no child should ever have to see, growing up much too soon.A very difficult book to read. There is no shortage of cruelty, brutality. Nothing harder for a mother to watch her children starve, say I'm hungry and have nothing to feed them. Watching them put themselves in dangerous situations just for a piece of bread. Yet, there are kindnesses found, given in unexpected places. Beauty noticed when beauty is not what surrounds you.One such incident provokes the following thoughts by a child who thinks they found a measure of safety."The days passed by quickly and sweetly. Like a drink sweetened with honey, or sap from a tree which comes up from the very depths of the earth and flows along the branches until it rises towards the sun, making buds burst, blossoms bloom, scents soak the air. In those buds, in their power, you can feel the fruit, its sourness and coolness, lightly refreshing the palate."The prose is sometimes blunt, elemental, sometime elegant even beautiful. Yet, the story is a tragic one, this book said to open the dialogue in Lithuania about what went on after the war. The epilogue explains how this author came to write this book, and what it accomplished by being published.ARC from library thing.

[hubblegal-1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Though the Second World War is over, the Russian soldiers are taking over East Prussia. They are forcing the citizens out of their homes. Many of those citizens have nowhere to go. The lucky ones are living in the sheds on the property they formerly owned. There is little to no food and freezing cold. Some of the Russian soldiers are raping the young women and girls. Desperate for food, the mothers are sending their young children through the forest to Lithuania in the hopes that they can beg for food there and bring some back or even find some work in exchange for food. It’s a dangerous trip that these young children are taking, with some faring better than others.The subject matter of this book is a very difficult one to read. It’s a short book but it took me longer than usual to read it because there were times I just couldn’t read any more and had to put it down. I’ve read so many books about wars and the atrocities committed and have never been quite as affected as I was by this book. The main characters are young, innocent children who are asked to do the impossible – travel through dark, cold, dangerous forests and try to find honest, caring people who can help them. As a mother, I can’t imagine the desperation that would be in these women’s minds to make such a decision for their children but it was that or have them starve or freeze to death. There are some scenes in this book that it will be difficult to get out of my mind. The writing deserves 5 stars but the subject matter was too hard even for this lover of dark, tragic books.Recommended but do know that the subject matter is a very rough one.This book was given to me by the publisher in return for an honest review.

[lynnsoprano · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Despite an abrupt ending that makes the book feel incomplete, this is an excellent story that needs to be told. The work is based on the real life "wolf children," German children living in what was East Prussia who, in the immediate aftermath of World War II, made their way to Lithuania to escape the famine and death wreaked by the conquering Soviet army. It is in many ways a brutal and difficult story to read, because the author has so clearly depicted the nightmarish lives these people lived.The writing is beautiful, and the translation is very smooth. It's a relatively short book, quickly read, but slowly absorbed. There are scenes which will stay with me for a long time. I highly recommend.Thanks to Oneworld Publications and LibraryThing for the opportunity to read and review this book.