Cilka's Journey (ARC)

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Cilka's Journey (ARC) Page 25

by Heather Morris


  ‘That was our introduction to Auschwitz. They took my

  small bag of belongings. They took my clothes. They took

  my youth, my identity, and then they took my name and

  gave me a number.’

  ‘How . . . how did you . . . ?’

  ‘Survive?’ Cilka begins shaking. ‘In a place that was

  created for one reason only, to exterminate us? I’m not

  sure I can tell you.’ She holds her arms around herself.

  ‘Cilka, it’s all right. You don’t have to tell me anything

  you don’t want to.’

  ‘Thank you, Yelena Georgiyevna,’ Cilka says, and then

  forces herself to ask something. ‘Do you know why I’m

  here?’

  ‘No. I don’t. I don’t know why anyone is here, and I

  have no need to ask. I’m sorry if that makes me sound

  like a coward.’

  Cilka clears her throat.

  ‘I am here because I slept with the enemy, or that is

  what I was charged with. Sleeping with the enemy.

  Working with the enemy. For me, there was no sleeping.

  He – they – came into my bed and sometimes slept, after

  they . . .’

  ‘Raped you?’

  ‘Is it rape if you don’t fight back, don’t say no?’

  ‘Did you want them to have sex with you?’

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  ‘No, no, of course not.’

  ‘Then it is rape. I take it these men had some kind of

  power or control over you?’

  Cilka laughs. Standing up she walks around the room.

  ‘They were senior officers.’

  ‘Oh. I see. This was in Auschwitz?’

  ‘Yes and no. It was another camp down the road from

  Auschwitz but still part of it. It was called Birkenau.’

  ‘And . . . for three years?’

  ‘Two and a half. Yes . . . And I never said no, never

  fought back.’

  ‘How could you fight a man? I’m sure they were bigger

  than you.’

  ‘That’s an understatement. One of them, I didn’t even

  come up to his chin, and there was, there was . . .’

  ‘Was what?’

  ‘The gas chambers, where everyone went. Went in alive

  and came out the chimney. I-I saw them every day, every

  day that was my future if I didn’t . . .’

  ‘So, you’re telling me you spent two and a half years

  being raped by the men in charge of the camp in which

  you were a prisoner, and for that you are now here?’

  Cilka sits back down on the chair. Leaning forward, she

  stares Yelena in the eyes.

  ‘I gave in.’

  Yelena shakes her head.

  There is more, Cilka thinks. Can she say it? Tell her all

  of it? Telling her this much has already exhausted her.

  Yelena reaches out and takes Cilka’s hands.

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  ‘The first day I saw you I felt there was something about you, a strength, a sense of self-knowledge that I rarely see.

  And now, with the little you’ve told me, I don’t know

  what to say other than that you are very brave. There is

  nothing I can do to get you out of here, but I can look

  out for you as best I can and try to keep you safe. You

  have shown what a fighter you are. My God, how have

  you done it?’

  ‘I just want to live. I need to feel the pain I wake up

  with every morning, knowing I am alive, and my family

  aren’t. This pain is my punishment for surviving and I

  need to feel it, live it.’

  ‘Cilka, I don’t know what to say to you other than keep

  living. Wake up each morning and breathe. You make a

  huge difference here, and if you go with the ambulance

  you will be helping keep patients alive. I truly believe you

  will thrive in this role.’

  ‘All right, I’ll do it. I can be brave because of you.

  You’re the most courageous of us all. I haven’t said that

  before, but that is how I feel about you. So brave, being

  here when you don’t have to be.’

  ‘You don’t have to say that. Yes, I choose to be here. I

  am a physician; I always wanted to help people, and here,

  well, here there are a lot of people who need the help I

  can provide. But we’re not here to talk about me.’

  Cilka smiles at Yelena.

  ‘Well, I really appreciate this, Yelena Georgiyevna, thank

  you.’ Cilka stands, thinking of the solace of her bed, of

  lying facing the wall.

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  Yelena stands, too, and Cilka looks at her, grateful to see no pity on her face. ‘See you tomorrow then, Cilka.’

  ‘See you tomorrow.’

  As she steps outside she glances over towards the

  administration building. And today, he is there. Alexandr.

  Standing under a spotlight in the snow. Raising his cigarette to his lips, closing his eyes. Shifting his shoulders up and

  down for warmth. She holds the bright image in her mind

  as she walks away.

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  CHAPTER 20

  All the next day, Cilka is on edge, distracted. She calls

  a patient by the wrong name, fumbles giving medi-

  cation. Her eyes shift constantly going to the door, waiting

  for a head to pop round and announce that the ambulance

  is going out.

  It doesn’t happen, and she returns to the hut disap-

  pointed. Her melancholic state was meant to improve

  today, now she has released some of the burden and with

  the prospect of something new to focus on. She wants an

  instant fix to a problem she can’t articulate.

  To make matters worse, Hannah has cornered her again,

  saying that her supply has been cut off, and that Cilka

  must procure the drugs for her again. So, it must have

  been the trustie thug who died who was supplying Hannah

  all this time. And despite her conversation with Yelena,

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  when Cilka looks around at the women in the hut, she still doesn’t think she can face that moment when their

  faces change to horror, pity, fear, maybe even hatred.

  * * *

  The following morning, she has to force herself to concen-

  trate, get on with the job at hand. When the call comes,

  ‘Ambulance going out,’ Cilka misses it.

  ‘Cilka, you’re needed,’ Raisa calls out.

  Cilka looks up at Raisa, to the door, and sees the man

  waiting for someone to acknowledge him.

  Grabbing her coat, hat, scarf and gloves, Cilka follows

  him outside into the whirling snow and perpetual darkness

  of the Arctic winter.

  ‘Hurry up people are dying out here while you take

  your time putting your bloody layers on,’ the driver yells,

  revving the engine impatiently.

  The man Cilka followed opens the back door of the

  modified truck, indicating for her to get in. The ambulance

  takes off before the doors are closed, sending her flying.

  The passenger in the front seat leans round, smiling as

  Cilka tries to shove herself
up against the side, bracing

  herself for more violent driving.

  ‘Haven’t seen you before. What’s your name?’

  With her hands planted firmly on the floor, her legs

  spread apart for support, Cilka checks him out. His friendly

  grin reveals a few large crooked teeth. He is wiry and

  olive-skinned, with heavy eyebrows framing bright eyes.

  ‘I’m Cilka. This is my first time out.’

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  ‘Hey, Pavel, it’s her first time,’ the gruff driver says. He is bulkier and broader than Pavel. ‘From what I saw of

  her, it’ll probably be her last as well – look at the size of her.’

  ‘She may prove you wrong there, Kirill Grigorovich,’

  says Pavel. The two men cackle away. Kirill winds down

  his window as he nears the closed front gates, which are

  lit up by the searchlights of the compound. Sticking his

  head out the window, he screams at the sentry as he speeds

  towards him.

  ‘Open the fucking gates, you moron! Can’t you see

  we’re in a hurry?’

  The gates are barely open when the ambulance races

  through, and a torrent of abuse from the sentry follows.

  Crunching the gears, Kirill winds up his window and

  shakes the snow off his hat.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Cilka says loudly, ensuring she is heard

  over the revving engine.

  ‘Find out what she wants,’ Kirill says.

  Pavel leans back over the seat, staring at Cilka.

  ‘Pavel . . . is it? What can you tell me about where we’re

  going? What kind of accident is it?’

  ‘Yes, I’m Pavel Sergeyevich. We’ll find out when we get

  there.’

  ‘But surely you know if there is more than one patient?’

  Kirill cackles away, his big shoulders shaking up and

  down in his coarse pea coat. They are prisoners, she thinks.

  Trusties with a good job, driving back and forth with

  cigarette breaks in between.

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  ‘That you can be sure of, honey, when any part of a mine collapses, there will be more than one casualty.’

  ‘So, you do know what happened. Why couldn’t you

  just say so?’

  ‘Well, well, what do we have here, Pavel? A nurse with

  attitude. Listen, printsessa, you just do what you do when we get to the scene and we’ll transport them.’

  Cilka looks around her in the back of the ambulance.

  Two stretchers are stacked against the side of the truck,

  and two containers slide around the floor. One comes to

  rest against Cilka’s leg.

  Cilka edges the top off the container to examine the

  contents. An assortment of instruments bang against each

  other. Rolls of bandages, bottles of medication. Cilka lifts

  each one, identifying exactly what she has to work with.

  Dragging the other container over she finds the equipment

  for hanging a drip and two bottles of saline solution.

  The road is pockmarked; the ambulance swerves round

  boulders, bounces against snow piled at the side of the

  road, visible in the headlights.

  ‘Time for action, honey, we’re here.’

  The ambulance screeches to a halt, throwing Cilka

  against the front seat.

  Before she can steady herself, the back doors are thrown

  open. Hands reach in and grab the stretchers. A hand is

  held out for her to take and she is helped down. Cilka

  notices the numbers roughly sewn on their jackets.

  She takes a moment to have a quick glance around.

  At first she can see nothing in the dusk and sleet. Then

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  she begins to make out figures: men moving about aimlessly, some screaming orders. Cilka, Pavel and Kirill

  make their way to the opening of the mine, towards the

  ladder-like structure with the wheel on top. A guard

  strides over.

  ‘An upper tunnel is caving in; we’re not sure when it’s

  going to be safe to go down.’ The wheel above them creaks

  to a stop as a lift cage full of soot-blackened men arrives

  at the top. The men spill out.

  ‘There are still injured men down there,’ one of them

  says, holding his hat in his hand.

  ‘We have to go and get them,’ Cilka yells.

  ‘Who’s this?’ the supervisor asks Pavel.

  ‘It’s the nurse they sent with us,’ Pavel answers.

  ‘Not much to her,’ the supervisor responds, looking

  Cilka up and down.

  Cilka rolls her eyes. ‘Let me go in and see if I can help,’

  she says.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me, girl? The tunnel is still collapsing.

  Do you have a desire to die?’

  ‘No.’ Cilka raises her chin.

  She advances towards the now empty elevator cage,

  looking back at the men.

  ‘If you want to go in, go, but I’m not coming with you,’

  the supervisor says.

  ‘I can’t go alone. I don’t know how to operate this or

  where to get off.’

  ‘I’ll come,’ Pavel says, without conviction.

  ‘I’ll take you to the level,’ the miner with the hat in his

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  hand says. His teeth are chattering. Cold, or shock? Cilka wonders.

  Wrapping her scarf over her mouth and nose, She steps

  into the cage. Pavel follows, loading the equipment in too.

  The miner clears his throat, then pushes a lever, and the

  lift jolts into action, lowering slowly into dusty gloom.

  Cilka checks the lamp Pavel handed her as they set off.

  They go down, and down and down. Cilka tries to keep

  her breathing steady.

  The lift stops at a tunnel entrance. Cilka clears her

  throat. She unlatches and pushes aside the lift cage door.

  ‘It’s a bit of a walk,’ the miner says, indicating he will

  stay where he is. ‘Just keep to the left.’

  Cilka and Pavel do as he says.

  ‘We’re here to help you,’ she begins to yell out. Debris

  enters her lungs and she coughs. ‘Call out so we know

  where you are.’

  ‘Here, over here,’ she eventually hears from somewhere

  in front of her. The voice is weak, scared.

  ‘I’m coming, hold on. Keep talking.’

  ‘I’m here! Keep walking.’

  By the light of her lamp, Cilka sees a hand waving at

  her. Scanning the area she sees three other men, not

  moving. She hurries to the man who had been calling out.

  ‘I’m Cilka Klein.’ She kneels and gently lays a hand on

  his shoulder. ‘Are you trapped?’

  ‘My legs, I can’t move them.’

  Cilka examines the man, seeing that his lower legs are

  pinned by a large chunk of rock. She gently pushes him

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  down flat and checks the pulse in his neck as Pavel arrives beside her, opening the container.

  ‘What’s your name?’ Cilka asks the injured man.

  ‘Mikhail Alexandrovich.’

  ‘Your legs are under a boulder, but I think we can move

  it as it
’s not that big. You have a nasty cut on your head,

  which we can wrap up to stop the bleeding. Mikhail

  Alexandrovich, I need to go and see to the other men. Do

  you know how many of you were in here when the collapse

  began?’

  ‘Four of us. The others had gone for a break. We were

  loading the last wagon.’

  ‘I can see three others,’ she says, waving her lamp around.

  ‘I’m not going anywhere,’ he says. ‘Check on the others.

  I was calling their names but none of them answered.’

  Cautiously, Cilka steps over the rubble covering the

  floor of the mine tunnel. On reaching the first man she

  checks for a pulse, finds one. Pulling back an eyelid, she

  holds her lamp above his eyes – one reacts. Running the

  lamp over his body she sees he is not pinned down, just

  unconscious.

  ‘Pavel Sergeyevich, go back and convince that miner to

  come and help us. Take this one first. He’s unconscious

  but you can move him.’

  ‘Be right back,’ she hears as Pavel heads back to the lift.

  Cilka finds a second man. Immediately she can see he

  is trapped under fallen rock. She finds no pulse.

  The third man groans as she holds her lamp above his

  face.

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  ‘My name is Cilka Klein, I’m here to help. Can you tell me where you’re hurt?’

  The man groans again.

  ‘It’s all right. I’m going to have a look and see if I can

  find your injuries.’

  She quickly identifies a badly broken arm, twisted in

  an unnatural position. A large rock is pressed up against

  his side. Gently, Cilka pushes on the man’s chest, from

  side to side, then further down his abdomen. He cries out

  in pain. With difficulty she pulls at his clothing, undoing

  his coat so she can see. Pulling his shirt and undergarments

  from his trousers causes him immense pain. Cilka sees the

  crush injury below his ribcage.

  She hears the crunch of footsteps in the tunnel and

  Pavel is back with the miner, each carrying a stretcher.

  She scrambles over to the unconscious man.

  ‘Load him up and get him out of here,’ she says. ‘And

  then there’s another who can be taken out, but you need

  to go carefully. He’s badly injured and in a lot of pain.

  Get both of them out of here and I will tend to him in

  the ambulance.’

  As they take care of those two men, Cilka goes back to

  the first man she spoke to, the one who is trapped.

  ‘I’m sorry – one of your friends is dead.’

 

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