Cilka's Journey

by Heather Morris

  “How do you all have the energy,” she says, “to delude yourselves?”

  “Hannah,” Olga says sharply, “finding a little hope in the darkness is not a weakness.”

  Hannah shakes her head. “Like a nice fur coat, ha, Cilka?”

  The women look at Cilka. Her face burns and there is bile in her throat. She can’t think of any reply—an explanation or a retort. She coughs and clears her throat.

  “Hannah’s right though,” Josie says, putting down the strip of sheet in her hand. “It’s silly to forget where we are.”

  “I don’t think it is,” Olga says, determinedly unpicking some thread. “I think it helps us to go on.”

  * * *

  It is well over a week before Vadim comes knocking. As he starts his groping and pawing of Josie, she stops him.

  “I have to tell you something.”

  “I don’t want to talk just now.”

  “I’m having your baby,” she blurts out.

  Cilka has turned her head away from Boris to listen to the exchange.

  “What’s wrong?” asks Boris.

  “Nothing, shhh.”

  “What did you say?” Vadim growls.

  “I’m having a baby, your baby.”

  “I thought you were just getting fat.”

  “No.”

  “I don’t want no fuckin’ baby. What the hell do you think you’re doing having a baby?”

  “You did this to me. I didn’t ask for it.”

  “How do I know it’s mine?”

  Josie pushes him away, screaming, “Because you made me your property, remember? No one else is allowed to touch me, remember? Get out of here, get out, get out!”

  Josie’s screams reduce to a whimper.

  Vadim stumbles from the bed, hopping about as he looks for his discarded clothes. The exchange disturbs all the men in the room, who scramble for their trousers and start retreating.

  “I would never speak to you like that,” Boris says to Cilka, pushing a lock of hair back from her eyes. “In fact, I’d be so happy if you had my baby.”

  That’s not going to happen, Boris, she thinks, but she merely tells him it’s time to go. Cilka has never been pregnant. Her period stopped in the other place for a long time, like so many of the women there, and now only comes intermittently. Poor nutrition, shock, she isn’t sure. It is possible there is no coming back from it.

  “All right, I will, but I will be thinking about you.”

  In the dark, the women find their way to Josie’s bed, offering support and hugs. The slightly warped sense of humor the women have developed over the past few years serves them well as they share stories about what the men who have visited them lack, and their capacity to father a child. Josie finds herself laughing, between sobs. Cilka feels affection bloom for these women, with their hollow cheeks and gap-toothed smiles—a feeling that has only ever surfaced in brief moments surrounded by loss. For her sister. For Gita. She tucks the feeling deep inside, where nothing can harm it.

  * * *

  Over the next few weeks, Josie’s moods swing wildly. In the morning she wakes, joins the others for breakfast and roll call upbeat and keen to go to work, where she will be asked by medical and nursing staff how she is feeling. At the end of the day, tired and aching, she barely speaks, stays on her bed and often doesn’t come to dinner. At first she had been excited about the small gowns the women were making for her; now she barely glances at them.

  Cilka and Elena gently speak to Josie, to discover if it is the fear of the approaching birth causing her mood swings. The only clue she gives them relates to Vadim. How will she ever be able to tell her baby about its father? They comfort her as best they can, promising to be in her and her baby’s life always. It is a promise they all know will be difficult to keep. Just words to keep her holding on, to get her through.

  With little more than a month before Josie’s expected birth date, Cilka wakes in the middle of the night, startled by the hut door slamming shut in the wind. She glances at Josie’s bed. It is empty. She has spent many nights looking at her friend sleeping, her face pinched and troubled even in sleep, her growing stomach protruding underneath the blanket.

  Alarmed, she reaches out to pat the bed, to confirm Josie has gone. Her hands rest on something soft and she realizes it is an article of clothing. It is well below freezing outside. She sits up, grasps the coat and several more items of clothing she finds with it.

  Cilka quietly locates her boots and shuffles along the row of beds until she gets to Elena’s. She shakes her awake and tells her to get dressed quickly. Wrapping their faces, heads and hands as best they can, the two women head out of the hut.

  It is bitterly cold. Snow is falling lightly. A chilling wind cuts through their layers of clothing to their blood and bones. The nearby searchlights cast a ghostly shadow around their hurrying forms. They see bare footprints in the snow leading away from their hut. Their feet squelch and squeak as they follow the trail.

  Behind the mess hut, they find Josie. Naked, unconscious, barely breathing, curled up by the perimeter fence. Cilka gasps—no. And then feels the blankness closing over her.

  “What do we do with her? I think she may be dead,” Elena whispers.

  Cilka leans over and wraps Josie in the coat she has brought with her.

  “We have to get her back to the hut and warm her up. Oh, Josie, what have you done?” Cilka cries.

  Cilka lifts her by the shoulders; Elena takes her legs. Together they stumble back the way they came to the safety of their hut.

  They are unable to open and close the door quietly, and soon the rest of the women are awake, demanding to know what is going on. Elena fills them in, and calls them over, for whatever they can do. Cilka seems to have lost her words for a moment. The women go about helping as they can. Two of them begin massaging Josie’s feet, another two her hands. Cilka places her ear on Josie’s stomach, tells them all to be quiet a minute, and listens.

  Thump, thump, strong and loud, bounces back to her.

  “She’s still alive, and the baby is still alive,” Cilka says.

  Elena shakes her head. “Even a minute longer out there … Cilka, it’s so lucky you noticed she was gone.”

  “Come on,” Cilka says, “let’s get her warmed up quickly.”

  She takes a mug of hot water, opens Josie’s mouth and pours a small amount in. Blankets are piled on top of her. Slowly, she begins to moan, low and guttural. Elena gently slaps her face.

  “I saw someone do that once to someone who had fainted,” she explains.

  In the dark they can’t see if Josie has begun to open her eyes. Cilka senses that she is coming to and talks softly to her. Brushing Josie’s face, she feels tears.

  “It’s all right, Josie, we have you.” It is an effort for Cilka to keep her voice gentle. A part of her feels enraged, helpless to the point of dizziness. She has seen too many naked bodies lying in snow. With no choice but to give in. But Josie has a choice. Maybe Cilka hasn’t helped her enough to see that. “Josie, you are going to be all right. We’re not going to let anything happen to you.”

  A chorus of support increases Josie’s crying. “I’m sorry,” comes out, choked with tears. “I’m so sorry. I can’t do this.”

  “Yes, you can,” Cilka says with force. “You can. You must.”

  “You can, Josie,” Elena says, and the other women echo the words, reaching in to touch her.

  Cilka says, “She’s going to be all right now. Take back your blankets and get some sleep. I’m going to spend the night with her.” She will curl up beside her, despite the dizzying rage. She will give her what she needs. She will hold her. She will make her see this is not the end. “Thank you all,” Cilka says. “We have to stick together, we’re all we have.”

  Many of the women hug both Josie and Cilka before going back to their beds, where sleep may or may not come for the rest of the night. Cilka doesn’t respond to their affection, but feels grateful somewhere deep
down.

  Cilka moves Josie over and climbs into her bed. With her arms over Josie’s large belly, their heads resting against each other, Cilka murmurs softly. Josie soon falls asleep. It doesn’t happen for Cilka, who is still awake when the clanging sounds in the dark, signaling it is time to get up.

  After roll call, Cilka tells Antonina that Josie is having some pains and she thinks she should come to the maternity hospital with her in case the baby is coming. Antonina looks like she is just about out of patience with Cilka’s requests, but says nothing, which Cilka interprets to mean she is allowed to take her. She will need to return with some extra tea or bread for the brigadier, or she will suffer the consequences.

  Petre examines Josie. “The baby is fine,” he says. “It has a strong heartbeat, but it is not ready to be born.”

  Josie, who has not yet said a word all morning, but has kept one arm clutched on Cilka’s on the walk to the hospital, tells the doctor she just wants the baby to be born. Petre senses there is more to her story and has her placed in a bed for rest.

  Cilka is grateful. There are no signs of frostbite, because they found her so quickly, but Josie had shivered all night, and now she needs to rest and stay warm. Petre takes Cilka aside and asks her if there is anything else going on with Josie. Cilka looks into the doctor’s kind face and thinks she can risk telling him what happened last night, emphasizing that Josie is not a shirker, that she is in fact unwell.

  * * *

  Josie sleeps the day away. When it is time for her and Cilka to return to their hut Petre tells them that he thinks he needs to keep an eye on Josie as her baby could come at any time. He hands Cilka a note to give to Antonina, stating that Josie is to come to the hospital for observation every day until the baby is born. Cilka tucks the note into her pocket along with the bread she has saved from her meal. Her stomach groans. She has not eaten enough herself today, and the fatigue has made the hunger worse, but she must keep the brigadier content.

  For the next three weeks, Josie sleeps and helps out on the ward. She holds the hands of young women like herself as they labor and give birth. Cilka can see that being on this ward is helping Josie just as it helped her. While remaining fearful of the process she is yet to go through, Josie tells Cilka she thinks she can do it, and is now beginning to look forward to meeting her baby, holding her baby in her arms, and feeling what she has seen on the faces of many of the gaunt, tired, beaten women when they first look at their child. Cilka starts to smile a little again, realizes how the muscles around her neck and shoulders have been bunched up—not from the cold but from holding the worry in her body that Josie would not find a way to make it through. Cilka herself does not know how she has always found a way, does not know where that comes from, within herself. She has never wanted to die, despite the horror.

  Josie goes into labor on the first day of Hanukkah. She endures a long, painful birth, helped and encouraged by Cilka, Petre and Tatiana. Cilka brings the blessings and songs of this time of the year, their comfort and joy, secretly to the front of her mind. It is less painful to remember them in this small, contained environment of new life.

  She gets permission to stay with Josie after the end of her shift. On the stroke of midnight, Josie delivers a tiny, squalling, precious baby girl.

  When mother and baby are clean and the ward is quiet, Cilka asks, “Have you thought of a name for her?”

  “Yes,” Josie says, looking into her friend’s eyes. “I’m going to call her Natia Cilka. Do you mind if her second name is after you?”

  Josie passes the baby to Cilka.

  “Hello, little Natia,” Cilka says. “I am honored that you will share my name.” So many thoughts rush in for Cilka. How dangerous and unexpected the path ahead could be for this tiny new being. “The story of your life begins today, Natia. My hope for you is that you will be able to live your own life, with the help of your mumma and everyone who will love you. There is a better world out there. I’ve seen it. I remember it.”

  Cilka looks up at Josie and realizes the baby has allowed her to express something to her friend that she can’t say directly. She hands the baby back and leans in to kiss them both.

  * * *

  The next morning, Natia is thoroughly examined by Petre, who declares her the healthiest and sweetest newborn he has ever seen, and he has seen a lot of them. Josie glows.

  Later that day, Cilka takes Josie and Natia next door to the nursery and settles them in to what will be their home for the next two years. No mention is made of what will happen at the end of that time. Cilka has now heard from the nurses that the toddlers are sent to orphanages at two, but she doesn’t tell Josie this. She’ll find out soon enough. Two years is a long time in this place, and Cilka is determined to find a way to keep them together.

  That evening, after Cilka fills the other women in on all the details of Josie’s labor and birth, the loss they feel without Josie starts to sink in. Within days, a stranger will be sleeping in her bed. The little gowns so lovingly made by them all are bundled up and given to Cilka to take to her. They also send word that they will continue to make clothes for little Natia, in varying sizes as she grows, and they will run freely with the embroidered lace now they know it is a little girl they are sewing for.

  Without Josie’s presence Cilka allows herself a little thought of Alexandr, the messenger, finding that his face provides comfort. She wonders if she will ever speak to him again, hopes that she might.

  * * *

  Cilka and the others return to their hut the next day and find someone sleeping in Josie’s bed. The newcomer winces as she sits up to face the women’s scrutiny.

  “I am Anastasia Orlovna,” she says, in a strong clear voice.

  Elena walks over to her, looking her up and down. The bruises on the newcomer’s face reflect beatings over a period of time. The older ones are a purplish blue, more recent ones still black. Her right eye is partially closed from swelling.

  “How old are you?” Elena asks.

  “Sixteen.”

  The women crowd around the bed to get a closer look at their new resident, who holds her head high, refusing to hide her injuries, defiance written across her face and the body she struggles to hold herself straight.

  Olga gently pushes her back down onto her bed. “What happened to you?”

  “Do you mean to get me here in the first place, or more recently?”

  “Both,” says Olga.

  “We were caught stealing from the bakery.”

  “We? How many of you?”

  Anastasia forces a small grin. “Six of us. It was good while it lasted.”

  “What was good?” Elena asks.

  “The thrill of taking the bread as soon as it came out of the oven, right under the nose of the pig who made it.”

  “Why were you stealing?” Elena asks. They didn’t normally put political prisoners and thieves together, but the rules in Vorkuta had seemed to become a bit more relaxed on this front. Wherever there is a bed, Cilka supposes.

  “Because, despite us all supposedly getting a fair share in the great Soviet Union, the kids were starving. Why else?”

  “So you and your friends…”

  “Yes, we were a gang of older kids—one or two of us would distract the shopkeeper while the others snuck in and took some food. We got some caviar once, but the children didn’t like it. Neither did I.”

  “Huh!” Hannah exclaims in frustration. “What I wouldn’t give—”

  “And your bruises, how did you get them?” Elena asks.

  “I could say I fell down some stairs.”

  “You could,” Elena retorts. “But you’re acting like we’re your interrogators.”

  “The spies are everywhere,” Anastasia says. “But yes, sorry, I have just come from prison where they tortured me and Mikhail, the only two of us who got caught. The police knew there were more of us and wanted names. I wouldn’t give them.”

  “Hence the bruises,” Elena says.

/>   “Yes,” Anastasia says. “But you can’t talk. You all look like you haven’t seen a piece of bread in a year. And definitely not a vegetable.”

  Elena leans in, deliberately close, Cilka observes, so Anastasia can get the full force of her malnourished, rotten-teeth breath. “Believe it or not, love, we’re the lucky ones.”

  The dinner alarm sounds.

  “Are you able to walk?” Olga asks.

  “Yes, slowly.”

  Olga helps Anastasia to her feet, buttons her coat, pulling the collar up around her neck. Anastasia pulls her hat on. They join the others in their procession to the mess hall.

  Sixteen, Cilka thinks. Another young, defiant woman to be ground down by suffering. But Elena is right. Their horror is marginally better than the next woman’s. This hut, the extra rations and fabric, the fact they have a jug in which to boil water! The hard thing will be helping Anastasia to accept that, especially after her first visit from the men.

  CHAPTER 15

  “She smiled at me!” Cilka joyfully recounts her visit with her namesake to the women in the hut. “She gurgled, looked me in the eyes and smiled.” It tore my heart apart.

  “Is she putting on weight, is she healthy?” Elena wants to know.

  “Yes, and yes. I think she has become a favorite with the nursery staff, but I’ll need to make sure they’re not feeding her another baby’s lunch.”

  Cilka looks around at the women’s thin faces, chapped lips, dark circles under their eyes. Their clavicles protruding. She is glad she can give them some reprieve—something warm to think about and hold inside them during the hard, long days out in the snow.

  “You’d know all about that, Cilka. Taking someone’s lunch,” Hannah says.

  Cilka’s stomach flips.

  “Shut up, Hannah,” Elena says. “Who has given you more of their own lunch than anybody else here?”

  “Well, she can afford to.”