Cilka's Journey

by Heather Morris

  As he pushes the knife under the doctor’s chin, a trickle of blood flows and the man smiles a toothless grin. “Now give me the fucking drugs; the ones I got last time.”

  Cilka is incredulous. She stares from the man to the doctor.

  “All right, all right, but you need to put the knife down,” Yury Petrovich says.

  The man looks from the doctor to Cilka. In a flash, the knife is now at Cilka’s throat.

  “In case you thought of making a run for it,” he chuckles.

  The doctor takes several pill containers from the shelves. With the hand that is not across Cilka’s neck, the man holds open a large pocket sewn in his coat and the doctor stuffs them in there.

  “Keep them coming; I’ve got another pocket on this side.”

  The doctor places more drugs in the other pocket.

  “That’s all, if I gave you any more there wouldn’t be enough for the patients.”

  “I don’t care about the patients! When’s the next delivery coming in?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Wrong answer.” The man presses the knife against Cilka’s throat. She gasps.

  “Don’t hurt her! In two weeks, not for another two weeks.”

  “Well, I’ll see you in two weeks, then.”

  He lets Cilka go, keeping the knife raised. He looks her up and down. “And maybe I’ll see you too; you’re not bad.”

  “You should get out of here before someone comes looking for me,” Cilka says, bravely.

  “Yeah, you’re right.” The big man points the knife at the doctor. “He knows the drill—don’t leave here until you know I will have cleared the building.”

  Cilka and the doctor watch as the big man calmly walks to the door, tucking his knife inside his coat, opens it, pulls it shut quietly behind him.

  Cilka turns on the doctor. “Who is he? We need to get the guards, get someone and stop him.” She wants to say, “How could you just hand over medicine to him?” But how can she ask such a thing when she has taken some here and there to protect herself?

  “Slow down, Cilka.”

  Cilka waits while he takes a moment, appearing to calm himself before he speaks further.

  “He is one of the criminal trusties. He’s a powerful person in the camp, with a lot of very strong friends. They cornered me a few months back when I was leaving one night and threatened to kill me if I didn’t give them regular supplies of medicine.”

  This may be where Hannah is getting them from now. Through the network.

  “Why didn’t you—”

  “Tell someone? Who? Who do you think is running this place? It’s not the guards, Cilka, they’re outnumbered. You should know that. It’s the trusties, and as long as the work is done here, the fighting and killing kept to a minimum, no one is going to challenge them.”

  Cilka feels foolish to have been here so long and not have realized the extent of the trusties’ involvement in running the camp. But she supposes stumbling across such knowledge is partly luck in a place like this—it depends on where you are and what you can overhear, find out. It is better not to be so close to power, to not know too much.

  She is still incredulous about what this means for the patients—that quantity going missing. “I don’t believe that they can just walk in here and demand you hand over whatever they want.”

  “Afraid so,” he sighs, leaning against a bench as the color slowly returns to his face. “They did it to my predecessor, and I’m just the next person for them to threaten and intimidate. And they will kill me, I have no doubt about that.”

  “Then I’ll—”

  “No, you won’t. You won’t say anything, you hear me? Not a word. Or it will be the last thing you say. They know I won’t say anything, and if something happens to that bastard who was just in here, they know it will have been you that talked and they’ll be waiting for you.”

  Cilka won’t say anything, for now, but she does need to think about this.

  “Promise me you won’t say anything—”

  “There you are.” Raisa appears in the doorway. “I was wondering what was taking you so long.” She looks at the pale-faced doctor. “Am I interrupting something?”

  “No, no,” Cilka and the doctor chorus together.

  “I’m sorry, Raisa, I shouldn’t have kept Cilka from her work. She was just helping me out.”

  “You need to get some of the medication to the patients right away, Cilka; they’re asking for it.”

  Cilka looks at the scrunched-up piece of paper in her hand; she had forgotten she was holding it. Straightening it out, she tries to read what she needs. She quickly locates the medications and hurries from the room, leaving Raisa looking at the doctor in disbelief.

  As Cilka is handing medication to a patient Raisa steps up beside her, whispering, “Are you all right? Was he trying something on with you?”

  “What? No, no, nothing like that. I’m fine.”

  “All right, but you will tell me if there is something I should know?”

  “Don’t worry, I will.”

  As Raisa walks away, Cilka calls out, “Raisa, did you see a large, ugly man leaving the ward about five minutes ago?”

  “I see nothing but large, ugly men leaving here all day, every day. Was it someone in particular?”

  “No, not really. Thanks for your concern.”

  At the end of her shift Cilka steps outside and looks to the sky. Clear, blue, the sun shining brightly. The white nights have returned.

  “You,” is spoken gruffly behind her.

  Cilka turns around. Six or seven large men stand behind her. They take one step closer in unison.

  “Have a safe evening,” one of them says.

  “I will,” she defiantly throws back at them.

  “See you tomorrow, same time,” he says.

  From behind the pack the large, ugly brute who’d held a knife to her throat only a few hours earlier steps forward. Out of his pocket he pulls the knife and tosses it from one hand to another.

  Cilka walks away slowly, not looking back.

  CHAPTER 18

  “You promised, Cilka, please make it happen,” Elena pleads one Sunday evening as they stroll around the camp, snatching this opportunity to enjoy the dazzling overhead display of sunlight poking through clouds.

  “I know,” Cilka says. She wants to see Josie so badly, but she hasn’t figured out what to do about the eyes of the trusties on her. Whether they might threaten anyone they see her close to. She has determined by now, though, that they only appear as she finishes work. She has never seen them after she returns to Hut 29. “I’ll go to the nursery tomorrow and get a message to Josie that it’s time you met Natia.”

  Though Olga has been working in the maternity ward, she hasn’t yet crossed paths with Josie—only seen little Natia when delivering a mother and baby over to the nursery. Josie must finish later than her in the administration building.

  “I’m sorry to keep pestering you,” Elena says, “you’ve seemed worried about something for several weeks and, well, me and the others are concerned about you … and perhaps seeing Josie and Natia will help you.”

  Cilka has been going straight to bed after nightly duties, not speaking much to the others, not wanting to endanger anyone. It isn’t just the trusties who are worrying her though. It is also the thought that some of them might already know, as the doctors did, what went on in that other place. And they know that she is Jewish, and that she never speaks about her arrest. The worry has brought images back to the surface. Made her blank and unresponsive.

  “You’ve been talking about me?”

  “We talk about all of us, behind our backs of course.” Elena smiles. “Something has been bothering you. You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, but we might be able to help. You never know.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Elena, but everything is fine.” She tries to keep the sharpness out of her voice. “I promise I will get a message to Josie tomorrow. I wan
t to see them both too.”

  Several of the other women from Hut 29 join them, and Elena excitedly tells them Josie and Natia will be visiting next Sunday. Cilka must correct them. She will get the message to Josie, but she doesn’t know when they will see her. Clearly Josie hasn’t been wandering around on the white-night Sundays, whether by choice—for comfort or to protect herself and her child from Vadim, from strangers—or because she’s under a specific set of rules, Cilka is not sure. But hearing that a visit to Josie and Natia is a possibility is enough for the women, for now.

  Anastasia walks up beside Cilka.

  “Tell me more about Josie. Why is she so special?”

  The sun pokes in and out of the clouds, throwing shadows across Anastasia’s young features.

  “No one has said she was special.”

  “Look at them, look how happy they are just hearing her name.”

  Cilka considers. “We went through a lot together when we first came here. Josie was the youngest of us and I guess we all sort of mothered her. Then she got pregnant. That was hard on her and we all helped her get through her pregnancy. That’s all. You can understand them now wanting to see her again with her baby—for them, part of that baby belongs to us. They have made clothes for her, and some of them have left their own babies behind, so they are desperate to hold little Natia.”

  “I see.” She nods. “I look forward to meeting her.”

  They walk on in silence for a while.

  “The man who visits your bed some nights,” Anastasia says, “do you love him?”

  Cilka is stunned by the question. “What?”

  “Do you love him?”

  “Why would you ask such a question? Do you love the men who abuse you?”

  “That’s different.”

  “In what way?”

  “I hear your guy talking to you. He’s in love with you. I just wondered if you loved him back. I don’t hear you saying the same things to him.”

  Cilka pulls Anastasia close.

  “You will not ask me that again,” she says firmly. “My business is not your business. You’re young and still have a lot to learn about this place and your place here. Do you understand?”

  Anastasia looks shocked. “You don’t have to get angry with me. I just asked a question.”

  “I’m not angry,” Cilka says. Though she knows she is acting as she has in the past. Some indignation rising up, cracking through the blank surface. “I need you to know your boundaries where I’m concerned. I’ll do all I can to help you, but you need to stay out of my business.”

  “I’m sorry, okay? Sorry I said anything.” Anastasia moves away from her. “I just thought if you loved him back that would be really nice.”

  Anastasia’s questions rattle Cilka. She knows Boris feels differently about her than she does him. She has never considered their arrangement to be anything more than her providing him with comfort and her body. A transaction. Love! She is fond of the women in her hut, and Yelena, Raisa and Lyuba. She cares for them, would do anything for them. When she tries to connect these emotions to Boris she definitely can’t. If he disappeared tomorrow would she miss him? No, she answers to herself. If he asked her to do something that could get her into trouble? Same answer. What he provides for her is safety from gang rape. She knows about being the property of powerful men and the protection it can provide, though she has also never had any choice in the matter. No, she cannot think of love.

  “Hey, you, nurse.”

  Cilka looks to her right, to where the voice came from, not sure if it is aimed at her.

  “Enjoying your walk?”

  Cilka freezes. Her hand instinctively pushes Anastasia away, not wanting her to be part of any danger she now feels is imminent. The thug who held a knife to her throat is only a few feet away, surrounded by his shadows, all smirking, some leering at the two girls. The thug pulls his knife from his pocket, waving it at Cilka.

  “I’m going back to the hut,” she fires at Anastasia. “Go and find the others and meet me back there.”

  “But—”

  “Go, Anastasia, don’t ask questions.”

  Slowly, Anastasia walks away, toward the rest of the women. The hut is the jurisdiction of Boris and the trusties who protect “their” women, so Cilka thinks they will be safe there.

  “What do you want?” she asks, hoping to keep their eyes on her so the other women can get away.

  “We just saw you and thought we’d say hello,” he smirks.

  Cilka asks them more questions, hoping not to work them up but trying to stall them. She notices Vadim in the distance, watching.

  “I am no threat to your … operations,” she says. And starts to walk away, the hairs rising on her neck when she turns her back to them. How easy it would be for the thug to lunge with the knife.

  Collapsing on her bed back in the hut, Cilka looks at the bed beside hers, where Anastasia sleeps, the girl who moments ago was placed in danger because of Cilka, the girl who had asked Cilka about love. Still a girl, only sixteen, the age Cilka was when she entered the other place, she realizes. Was that why Cilka had been so upset? Had she been that naïve at Anastasia’s age? Had she believed in possibilities like love? Yes, she had.

  Auschwitz-Birkenau, 1944

  Cilka watches as hundreds of naked women file past her. The snow is several inches thick on the ground and continuing to fall, whirling around in the wind. She pulls her coat collar over her mouth and nose, her hat all but covering her eyes. Women march past her to who knows where, their death the only certainty. She is transfixed and cannot move. It’s as if she must bear witness to the horror—she might survive this hell on earth and be the one who has to tell whoever will listen.

  A handful of SS guards walk on either side of the rows of women. Other prisoners hurry on, turning away. It is too much to fathom, too much pain.

  As the last guard passes Cilka, she sees the commandant from Auschwitz, Anton Taube, walking behind him, his whip smacking against his thigh. He is Schwarzhuber’s senior officer. She recognizes him. He sees her. Before she can turn and run he has grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to walk with him. She doesn’t dare speak or attempt to break free. Taube is the most hated and feared of all the senior officers, even more than Schwarzhuber. Already he has visited her in her room. Already he has let her know he too will come for her whenever it suits.

  Out of the gates of Birkenau they march, into a nearby paddock off to the side of the road that separates Auschwitz from Birkenau.

  The women are made to stand in a single line, pushed and shoved by guards until they stand shoulder to shoulder, shivering, freezing, weeping. Cilka stands beside Taube, looking at the ground in front of her.

  “Walk with me,” Taube says to her.

  They stop in front of the first woman. With the tip of his whip Taube lifts her breast. When he releases the whip, it sags down onto her chest. To the guard walking in front of him he indicates for the woman to be pushed back a step, out of line. Cilka watches as the next two woman, after their breasts also sag, join the first on a back row. The fourth woman stays in line, her breasts having bounced back into place.

  He is choosing whether they will live or die depending on whether or not their breasts are firm.

  Cilka has seen enough. She stumbles along beside Taube, not looking above ground level, refusing to notice whether the next woman has remained in line or taken a step back.

  Turning away, she projectile vomits, splattering the pristine white of the snow with her morning coffee and bread.

  Taube laughs.

  Blindly, Cilka allows herself to be grabbed by the arm by a guard and half dragged back to her block.

  * * *

  “You can take a break,” Raisa tells Cilka the next day. “Put your feet up and have something to eat; there’s plenty left over, many are too sick to eat today.”

  “Will it be okay if I go out for a short while, just to the nursery? I want to see baby Natia and leave a message
for Josie.”

  Raisa considers. “Don’t be too long.”

  * * *

  Cilka has timed her visit deliberately to avoid the trusties. When she arrives, she stands near the door, watching Natia dragging herself along the floor, getting up onto all fours and attempting to crawl before collapsing as if a large hand has pushed her down. Cilka waves to the staff, pointing to Natia. They nod their approval for her to visit.

  Sitting on the floor a few feet away, she encourages the baby to come to her. With a mighty effort the little girl balances on her hands and knees and slowly moves first one hand, then the opposing leg. She squeals with delight at her accomplishment. Cilka encourages her further. Another hand moves forward, she wobbles, a leg moves forward, one—two—three giant shuffles for a little girl who is then swept up into Cilka’s arms, hugged so tightly she squeals and wriggles to be released.

  “Well, there will be no stopping her now. Look what you’ve done, given us another one to chase after,” says the nurse, whom Cilka has learned is called Bella Armenova.

  Cilka is not sure if Bella is seriously annoyed or making fun of her. She starts to apologize.

  “It was going to happen sooner or later. I’m just glad someone who knows her was here to see her crawl for the first time.”

  “It was very special, wasn’t it?”

  “We won’t tell Josie what she did today, and I guarantee when she drops this one off tomorrow she will tell us how she crawled for the first time last night.”

  “That’s a really nice thing to do,” Cilka says. “I was wondering if you could pass on a message to Josie for me?”

  “If I see her, yes, certainly.”

  “Tell her her friends would love to see her and meet this little one, and if possible, can they come out this Sunday after lights out?”

  “Hardly matters that they turn the lights out this time of year, but I know what you mean. Where do you want to meet?”

  Cilka doesn’t want Josie to have to stray too far from comfort and safety. As a pack, with Cilka hidden in the middle, the women from the hut should be okay.