Cilka's Journey (ARC)

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Cilka's Journey (ARC) Page 10

by Heather Morris


  able towards counter-revolutionaries, spies, criminals. With

  Cilka, it can always appear that Yelena is instructing Cilka

  in her work. Raisa and Lyuba too. But Cilka does notice

  they often talk to her quietly, out of earshot of others.

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  She has seen other prisoner nurses and orderlies on the ward, and they are spoken to mostly politely, professionally and directly.

  ‘If something changes, I promise I will have Antonina

  Karpovna bring you to me.’

  ‘Yelena Georgiyevna,’ Cilka says, ‘please, isn’t there any

  way she can stay on?’

  ‘We have to be very careful, Cilka,’ Yelena says, looking

  around. ‘The administrators do not look kindly upon what

  they call “shirkers” – people who want to get out of doing

  their work.’

  Cilka looks at Josie. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Josie huffs. ‘Will everyone please stop saying they are

  sorry that I can now use my hand? This is ridiculous. We

  should be happy. We should be happy.’ Tears roll down

  her face.

  Startled by the tone in Josie’s voice, Lyuba comes over.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  Josie displays her hand to Lyuba.

  ‘I see. It has healed nicely.’

  A small laugh escapes from Josie. ‘Yes, Lyuba, it has

  healed nicely and from now on I am going to be happy

  that I can use both my hands.’

  She stands up, pulls her coat tight around herself and

  turns to face the door. ‘I’m ready to go.’

  As Cilka opens the door for her, a tall man rushes in,

  with a piece of paper in his hand. He clips her shoulder.

  ‘Excuse me,’ he says, looking back at Cilka with an

  apologetic expression as he hurries past. He has dark

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  brown eyes in a pale, elegant face. Cilka is not used to a man being polite to her and doesn’t reply, but she holds

  his eyes for a moment before he turns to the desk, to his

  task. He’s in prisoner clothing. As she and Josie head out

  the door, Cilka looks one more time at the man’s back.

  * * *

  That evening the sight of Josie’s unbandaged right hand

  receives mixed responses from the other women. Pleased.

  Indifferent. Some are glad of an extra person to help with

  the task of moving the coal dug from the mines into the

  trolleys that takes it to waiting trucks and places beyond.

  In darkness. In snow.

  At dinner Josie makes a big deal about holding a piece

  of bread in one hand, her tin mug in the other. She offers

  to fetch the coal and grabs a bucket to head out the door.

  She is stopped by Natalya and told to wait a few days –

  they don’t want her struggling and spilling their precious

  supply of heat.

  When the men invade the hut that night Vadim notices

  the unbandaged hand. He asks Josie about it. Strokes it

  gently. Kisses it. Cilka overhears this display of tenderness.

  These men only treat you with care in order to soften their

  own image, so you might be more open to them. It is still

  a selfish act, a trick.

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  CHAPTER 7

  Cilka drags her feet the next morning walking through

  spotlit darkness to the hospital. She will tell Yelena

  again that she has been very grateful for this opportunity,

  but she should return to working in the mines, or digging,

  or building – anything as difficult as the work her hut-mates are being forced to do.

  She watched Josie walk away from the camp this

  morning, her body nudging Natalya’s. The two of them

  have become close. A pang of jealousy gripped Cilka. The

  small thaw in Josie yesterday as she showed her her

  unbandaged hand had given her hope they might regain

  the closeness they had.

  In truth, the hospital work has been challenging and

  draining, despite her fortune in being indoors. Not only

  does she have to communicate in Russian and the Cyrillic

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  script, and learn to understand the established ethics, relationships and hierarchies, but most of all, she has to

  deal with the unexpected reactions of her body and mind

  to being the sick and dying. She has managed to hide –

  she hopes – what is going on, but Raisa did mention the

  other day that it was amazing how Cilka was not at all

  squeamish. That she could be around blood and bone and

  waste without ever flinching. Raisa, who had been sent

  here after graduating, Cilka found out, said it had taken

  her months to become used to seeing bodies in these

  various states of disease, injury and malnutrition. Cilka

  hated the mixture of horror and fascination on Raisa’s

  face. She shrugged, turned away, said in a monotone:

  ‘I guess some of us are just like that.’

  But the job is distracting her from her troubles too.

  Always a new problem to solve, something new to learn.

  If she did continue working here it would almost feel like

  a life, a way of keeping herself shut off from the memories

  of the past and the horror of her present situation.

  Yelena is occupied when Cilka gets in, and Lyuba and

  Raisa understand her mood and conspire to keep her busy

  and take her mind off Josie. Cilka is grateful for their

  efforts.

  ‘Come with me.’ Lyuba beckons Cilka to follow her to

  where a male doctor is standing at a bedside. She has seen

  him working around the ward and has been briefly intro-

  duced, by first name and patronymic – Yury Petrovich.

  The patient is unconscious, his wounds obvious, the

  bandage around his head soaked with blood. Cilka stands

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  silently behind doctor and nurse, peering round to watch the examination taking place.

  The blanket is pulled up from the bottom of the bed.

  A needle is rammed firmly into the heel of one of his pale,

  lifeless feet; blood spurts out, covering the sheet. There

  is no reflexive movement from the man. The doctor turns

  to Cilka, handing her a clipboard, bypassing Lyuba. Lyuba

  nods encouragingly and stands beside her.

  ‘No movement from foot on needle prick.’

  Cilka writes, after first glancing at a clock at the end of

  the ward to record the exact time of her notation. Lyuba

  whispers to her whenever she pauses, uncertain. Cilka is

  concentrating hard.

  The bleeding foot is covered, the doctor walks to the

  top of the bed and roughly stretches the patient’s right

  eye open, then covers his face.

  ‘Pupils fixed and dilated,’ Cilka writes next.

  ‘Slight pulse, irregular.’ Again, noted.

  Turning to Cilka, Yury Petrovich speaks quietly, ‘Do

  you know how to feel for a pulse in the neck?’

  ‘Yes,’ Cilka replies with confidence.

  ‘Good, good, show me.’

  Cilka pulls the blanket away
from the man’s face,

  mimicking what she has seen. She places two fingers under

  the curve of the jaw, applying pressure. She feels the flutter of a faint pulse.

  ‘Check on him every fifteen minutes, and when you can

  no longer feel anything, declare him dead and let the

  porter know. Make sure you note the time in the record.’

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  ‘Yes, Yury Petrovich, I will.’

  He turns to Lyuba. ‘She’s a quick learner, we may as

  well use her. They don’t give us enough nurses to have

  them checking on patients filling beds by taking too long

  to die. Make sure you sign off on what time she records.’

  He nods at Cilka and Lyuba and then moves off to another

  part of the ward.

  ‘I’ve got to check on a patient,’ Lyuba says. ‘You’ll be

  fine.’ She walks off.

  Cilka looks at the clock, working out exactly when it

  will be fifteen minutes since she noted the words ‘slight

  pulse, irregular’. She is still standing by the bedside when

  Yelena walks up to her and asks her what she is doing.

  When she explains, Yelena smiles reassuringly. ‘You don’t

  have to wait by the bed. You can go and do other things

  – just come back every now and then and don’t worry if

  it’s not exactly fifteen minutes, all right?’

  ‘Oh, thank you . . . I-I thought I had to stay here until

  he died.’

  ‘You’re really not afraid of death, are you?’

  Cilka drops her head, the image of a pile of emaciated

  bodies flashing through her mind. Their desperate, final

  sounds. The smell of it. ‘No, I’ve been around it enough.’

  The words slip out.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Yelena pauses. ‘How old are

  you again?’

  ‘Nineteen.’

  Yelena’s brow furrows. ‘One day, if or when you feel

  up to it, please know you can talk to me about it.’

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  Before Cilka can answer, Yelena walks off.

  On her third visit to the dying patient, a prisoner who

  had an accident while working outside, Cilka writes the

  time and the words ‘ no pulse’. She takes a moment to

  pause and force herself to look at the face of the man she

  has just declared dead. She flicks back through the paper-

  work, searching for his name.

  Bending down as she covers his face, she whispers, ‘Ivan

  Détochkin – alav ha-shalom.’ May peace be upon him.

  She has not uttered these words in a long time.

  Auschwitz-Birkenau, Summer 1943

  ‘What did he say to you? We want to hear every word, and

  did he look at you while he was talking? Tell us, Gita, we need to hear.’

  Cilka sits on the grass at the side of Hut 29 with her

  friends Gita and Dana. Magda is resting inside. It is a Sunday afternoon, summer, with no wind to carry the ashes spewing from the nearby crematoria their way. Cilka, in her position as block leader, has been allowed some freedom of movement, but Lale is the only male prisoner they’ve ever seen inside the women’s camp. That morning he had appeared. The girls knew what to do, to lessen the risk for their friends – encircle Gita and Lale, giving them just enough privacy for a whispered conversation. Cilka had strained to hear and had caught snippets; now she wanted the detail.

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  ‘He was asking me about my family,’ Gita replies.

  ‘And what did you say?’ Cilka asks.

  ‘I didn’t want to talk about them. I think he understood.

  So he told me about his.’

  ‘And? Has he got brothers and sisters?’ Dana asks.

  ‘He has an older brother called Max . . .’

  ‘I love that name. Max,’ Cilka says, putting on a gushy,

  girly voice.

  ‘Sorry, Cilka, Max, is married and has two small boys of

  his own,’ Gita tells her.

  ‘Oh well, never mind. What else did he say?’

  ‘He has a sister. Her name is Goldie and she is a dress-

  maker. I could tell he really loves his mumma and sister.

  That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘That’s very good, Gita. You want to love someone who

  is good to the other women in his life,’ says Dana, mature beyond her years.

  ‘Who said anything about being in love?’ Gita throws

  back at her.

  ‘Gita loves Lale . . .’ Cilka sing-songs to her friends,

  letting the sunlight and their friendship momentarily block out the horror surrounding them.

  ‘Stop it, both of you,’ Gita says, but she is smiling.

  Exhausted by hope, the three young women lie on the

  grass and close their eyes, letting the warmth of the sun transport them away from where they are.

  * * *

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  That afternoon as Cilka is putting on her coat, readying to leave the warmth of the hospital and face the freezing

  temperatures outside, she sees Yelena.

  ‘Yelena Georgiyevna, I need to talk to you—’

  ‘Cilka! I’ve been looking for you. Yes, let’s talk.’

  Before Cilka can say anything, Yelena continues, ‘My

  colleagues are impressed with you. They asked if you had

  any nursing experience.’

  ‘No, I told you . . . I’ve never been a nurse.’

  ‘That’s what I told them. We chatted about you and we

  were wondering whether you would like to train to be a

  nurse.’

  This was all happening so fast.

  ‘I . . . How can I do that? I’m a prisoner here.’

  ‘What better way to learn nursing than by doing it.

  I’ll be your teacher. I’m sure the other nurses will help

  and be grateful for the extra pair of hands. What do you

  say?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . Yelena Georgiyevna. I don’t know if

  I belong here.’

  Yelena puts a hand on Cilka’s shoulder. Cilka tries not

  to flinch at the intimacy of the touch.

  ‘I know I don’t know you very well, Cilka. But you are

  good at this, and we would like your help. Will you think

  about it?’

  Yelena smiles warmly, like a sister. Cilka swallows. She

  can hardly bear it. The guilt she feels is overwhelming.

  She thinks of her hut-mates after they come in, huddling

  by the stove, unwrapping wet fabric from their frozen feet,

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  groaning. But she also thinks of Olga’s face when she hands her the real tea she has just boiled on the stove.

  This is a terrible decision and she doesn’t know why, again,

  she has been singled out.

  ‘Can I ask, Yelena Georgiyevna, why you are here?’

  ‘You mean, what did I do to be assigned this position

  in Vorkuta?’

  Cilka nods slowly.

  ‘Believe it or not, Cilka, I volunteered to be here.’ She

  lowers her voice. ‘My family always believed in a . . .

  greater good.’ She nods to the sky. It is forbidden to talk

  about religion, but Cilka understands what she is getting

  at. ‘My parents devoted their lives to helping others. In

  fact, my fath
er died doing so, fighting a fire. I try to honour them by carrying on their mission.’

  ‘That’s very good of you,’ Cilka says. She feels over-

  whelmed.

  ‘Although,’ Yelena says, her brow creasing, ‘I must admit

  I did believe, broadly, in the project of the Soviet Union

  – the Motherland calling, and all that – but it is quite

  different to be here.’

  Cilka sees her turn to look back at the people lying in

  the beds behind them.

  ‘I’d best stop talking now,’ she says, and pulls her face

  back into a smile.

  ‘Thank you, Yelena Georgiyevna, for telling me. And I

  just hope the women in my hut can find better work too.

  And soon.’

  ‘I understand. I do too,’ Yelena says. ‘See you tomorrow.’

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  Yelena takes her hand off Cilka’s shoulder, goes to leave.

  Cilka remains facing her.

  ‘Is there something else, Cilka?’

  ‘Josie – could Josie do my clerical job?’

  Yelena thinks for a moment or two. ‘Not just yet. Maybe

  if we can use you full time as a nurse, we will bring Josie

  here. But will she be able to learn . . . ?’

  ‘I’ll teach her. She’ll be all right.’ It is a risk, thinks

  Cilka. If Josie can’t pick up the tasks, the language, as

  quickly as Cilka, will she be punished? A punishment

  worse even than going back to outside labour?

  ‘We’ll see,’ Yelena says, and walks away.

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  CHAPTER 8

  Long days and nights of darkness. The temperature

  drops to well below anything Cilka has ever experi-

  enced. She continues working in the hospital, never far

  from her guilt, trying to assuage it by smuggling back food

  for the women in the hut. Bread, vegetables, margarine.

  Real tea. Just enough for them to eat each evening, lest

  there is another raid by Klavdiya Arsenyevna. Antonina

  Karpovna gets a larger portion than Cilka’s hut-mates each

  night.

  Over the next few months, Cilka absorbs all that she is

  shown and told at the hospital like a sponge. She becomes

  so good at giving injections that patients start requesting

  her. They will often wait, desperate, until she is free to

  tend to them. The fact she is minimising pain rather than

  exacerbating it is a wonder for Cilka. She does still try to

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