Pavel says.
‘Only one casualty?’
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‘I think so, but you never know. Sometimes we’ve gone to an accident like this and found that the bloody thing
came down and landed on ten others,’ Pavel answers.
‘Who is rescuing him?’
‘Depends,’ Kirill throws out.
‘Depends on what?’ Cilka asks.
‘Has anybody ever told you, you ask too many bloody
questions?’
‘Plenty of people, probably everyone who’s ever met
me.’
The truck bounces over a boulder and Cilka winces as
her shoulder slams into the window.
‘So you’re not going to shut up then, is that what you’re
saying?’
‘I’m not going to shut up, Kirill Grigorovich, so you
had better get used to it. Do you want to answer my
question? Or should Pavel?’
‘Well—’ Pavel begins to explain.
‘Shut it, I’ll tell Cilka I-Have-To-Know-Everything
Klein. It depends how dangerous the rescue is. If it’s
risky, then the supervisors will make the prisoners do it.
If not, then the guards will want to make themselves
heroes.’
‘Thank you,’ Cilka says. ‘We’ll know as soon as we arrive
how dangerous it is then. I know you don’t like talking
to me, Kirill Grigorovich, but it does help if I have even
just a little information.’
‘Yeah, well, clearly knowing everything didn’t stop you
being sent here.’
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Cilka chortles. ‘I never said I knew everything. I just like to know what I’m getting into.’
When they reach the site, there is nothing they can
do straight away. Senior guards and supervisors appear
from time to time to yell, as prisoners try to untangle
the mess that was once the long arm of the crane, now
wrapped around the driver’s box. There is no glory in
this rescue.
For the next two hours Cilka, Pavel and Kirill stand in
the cold, stamping their feet, smacking their hands,
returning to the ambulance to escape the wind. Several
times Cilka climbs up the mangled metal frame of the
collapsed crane to wriggle part-way into the cabin to check
for signs of life in the driver. Each time she notes his pulse getting weaker, the flow of blood from his head wound
no longer gushing, the bandage she has put around the
wound soaked in blood.
After her last trip, Cilka returns to the ambulance to
tell Kirill to go back to the hospital. On the drive back,
Cilka sees the first bloom of spring flowers pushing their
way through the frost on the ground. The wind whips
them around and still their stalks bounce back, staying
rooted to the frozen earth. Cilka has nearly served one
third of her sentence. It is unbearable to contemplate how
much longer there is to go. Instead, looking at the flowers,
she dreams of the light and warmth that soon will come,
and with them, time to see Josie and Natia again.
* * *
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When she gets back to the ward, Cilka is told Mikhail is awake and has been asking for her.
‘How are you feeling?’ she asks him, smiling, reassuring.
‘Is it gone, my leg? But I can feel it still. The pain is
there.’
‘I’ll get you something for the pain, but yes, Mikhail
Alexandrovich, the doctor had to amputate your right leg,
but she has done a marvellous job repairing your left leg,
and with time it will heal.’
‘And I’ll be able to walk, how? How, Cilka Klein? How
can I live with only one leg?’
‘I’m told they can make you a really good lower leg that
you will learn to walk on.’
‘Really? You believe someone is going to waste money
on making a prisoner a leg?’ He is getting angry; his voice
is raised.
‘I’m not going to lie to you, Mikhail Alexandrovich. I
don’t know if you will be given a different job or whether
they will send you home; you won’t be able to work in
the mines.’
‘Is that supposed to make me feel better? That I might
now be sent back to Moscow to no home, no family, the
one-legged man to beg on the streets?’
‘I don’t know, Mikhail Alexandrovich. Let me get you
something for the pain,’ Cilka repeats.
She turns away, not wanting Mikhail to see how their
conversation has upset her. Yelena has been watching her
and follows her into the dispensary, shutting the door
behind her.
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‘Cilka, are you all right?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘No, you’re not,’ Yelena says gently. ‘But that’s all right.
You know how quickly things can turn bad here, you’ve
seen it before.’
‘Yes, but . . .’
‘Did I make a mistake putting you on the ambulance
run?’
Cilka stops looking at the bottle of medication in her
hand, turning to face Yelena. ‘No, no, not at all. That’s
not it.’
‘Then what is it?’
‘Do you know how long I’m to stay here?’
‘I’m not told information like that.’
‘Fifteen years. Fifteen years. It feels impossibly long.
And then, after that – I don’t even remember what life is
like outside of a place like this.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Tell me I will leave here,’ she says pleadingly to Yelena.
‘That I have the chance to live a life like other young
women.’ That I will have friends that don’t disappear from my life. That I might find that love exists for me, too. That I might have a child of my own. ‘Can you tell me that?’
‘What I can tell you,’ Yelena says calmly, ‘is that I will
do all I can to make that come true.’
Cilka nods gratefully, looking back up at the shelf,
seeking another bottle.
‘Promise me you will talk to me if you feel any worse
than you do now,’ Yelena says.
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‘My father always told me I was the strongest person he ever knew, you know that?’ Cilka says, still not looking
at Yelena.
‘That’s a lot to live up to.’
‘Yes, it is. But I have always wanted to live up to the
expectations of my father, not disappoint him, stay strong
no matter what. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.’ She
shrugs. ‘It’s unlikely.’
‘A curse and a blessing from your father. I was very
young when my father died; I would give anything to have
your memories.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘There’s a patient out there waiting for you. Come on,
I’ll have a look at him while you give him the medication.’
‘What will happen to him now that he only has one
leg?’
‘We’ll
get him stable, then move him to a larger city
hospital where they can rehabilitate him and hopefully get
him a good replacement limb.’
‘And then?’
‘In the eyes of the State he’s still a counter-revolutionary, Cilka,’ Yelena says, looking down. ‘There’s not much I
can do about that.’
Cilka picks up the medication, tries again to press down
the worry, the sadness and the pain.
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CHAPTER 23
The white nights return.
Once again, the women revel in spending Sunday
evenings walking around the camp. Trying to feel, for just
a couple of hours, they have some small amount of
freedom. They know where to walk, where it is safe to go
and where to avoid the roaming gangs of men waiting to
pounce.
The appearance of Josie and Natia makes some of those
evenings the happiest, as Natia shows off her ability to
walk. Her attempts to talk entertain them. They play with
her wispy hair, fight over whom she likes the most.
The women start to escort Josie and Natia to and from
the hut, on the warmest nights, so they can spend time
all together away from prying eyes and let Natia run about.
They take turns putting Natia in their beds, cuddling her
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as though she is their own daughter. They kiss her and touch her tiny hands and try to teach her their names.
Josie lets Natia socialise, giving her a nod and a smile
if she looks over for reassurance. Josie sits with Cilka on
her bed, and Cilka has begun to wrap her arms around
Josie, press her face against her hair. Josie takes Cilka’s
hand and squeezes it. They communicate in this way,
instead of saying what they fear, what they know, is coming.
* * *
The light fades quickly this summer. Several of the women
stop venturing out. On one warm night, possibly the final
gasp of summer, the women escort Josie to the hut with
Natia snuggled into her arms. Anastasia has become
attached to the little girl and reaches for her.
‘Would you look after her for a while, please, Nastya?’
says Josie, using the affectionate diminutive for Anastasia.
‘I’d like to talk to Cilka.’
Cilka gets off her bed, reaches for her coat, and follows
Josie outside.
They don’t go too far; there are many people wandering
around, and the wind has started up. They find protection
beside the hut and huddle against the building.
‘Cilka, what am I going to do?’ So, they are finally
voicing this, Cilka thinks. Beyond the one brief conversa-
tion last summer when Josie had told her one of the other
mothers, who’d had several children, said they were sent
to orphanages when they turned two, they have never
given words to the fear. The mother had been broken,
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Josie said. Completely blank-faced, barely looking at her child.
Cilka looks away. She has no answer.
‘Can you help me, please, Cilka? I can’t let them take
her away. She’s my child.’
Cilka wraps her arms around Josie, letting her sob on
her shoulder.
‘I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try. I’ll talk to Yelena
Georgiyevna, I’ll do what I can, I promise.’
‘Thank you. I know you can help, you’ve always been
able to,’ Josie says, drawing back from the embrace to
look at Cilka in such a hopeful, open way that Cilka feels
ill. Josie still looks so young, a girl. ‘Please don’t let them take my baby away.’
Cilka draws her in again, hugs her for a long time. Please don’t let them take you away.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘You need to take Natia back to
your hut. The wind has picked up and you don’t want
her getting sick.’
* * *
Cilka speaks to Yelena the next day. Yelena is sympathetic
but doesn’t think she has any power over the administra-
tors. Both women know there is little chance that they
can help Josie and Natia stay together after she turns two,
and Josie is forced to return to a general hut without the
warm little body to come home to.
Josie will die, Cilka thinks. She will not survive the
heartbreak. Cilka has to figure something out.
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‘Ambulance going out.’
‘Coming.’
Tossing the file she is holding to Lyuba and grabbing
her coat, Cilka runs from the ward.
Pavel stands holding the passenger door, his big teeth
resting over his bottom lip. Seeing her running towards
them, he climbs into the cabin. Nothing has changed since
their second day together, and so Pavel must sit in the
middle.
‘Something different today, Cilka,’ Kirill offers.
‘Wow, speaking first, Kirill,’ Cilka laughs.
‘No, really,’ Pavel says, ‘this is serious.’
‘Aren’t they all? Since when did we decide one acci-
dent was more serious than another before we even got
there?’
‘It’s not an accident,’ Pavel says. ‘We’re going to the
house of the commandant, Alexei Demyanovich. One of
his children is sick and we have to bring him to the
hospital.’
‘A child! A boy? How old, do we know?’
‘I don’t know if it’s a boy, but it’s one of the comman-
dant’s children.’
For the first time since her arrival in Vorkuta, Cilka
travels on a street outside the compound of the camp and
mine. A road built by prisoners. She looks at the houses
where families live. Women with small children in tow
hurry down the street, carrying bags. They pass several
cars. She has seen a car only a few times, when someone
important visits the camp.
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A guard waves them down, indicating for them to stop.
Piling out, Cilka runs ahead with the guard while Pavel
and Kirill retrieve the containers from the back. The front
door is open, and the guard leads Cilka into the house
and to a bedroom where a girl tosses and screams on a
bed. Her mother sits on the edge of the bed, attempting
to put a wet towel on her forehead, speaking in a soothing,
comforting voice. Cilka recognises her.
‘Excuse me, can I take a look at her?’ Cilka says as she
takes her coat off, dropping it onto the floor.
The commandant’s wife, Maria, turns around as she
stands.
‘Hello, you’re . . . ?’
‘Cilka Klein. Hello again, what has Katya been up to
this time?’
‘Cilka Klein, yes. Please, can you help her, she’s in so
much pain.’
Cilka moves to the side of the bed, bending down to
try to examine the girl who continues to thrash about.
‘What can you tell me?’ she asks her mo
ther.
‘She didn’t eat her dinner last night and complained of
pain in her stomach. My husband gave her something to
settle her—’
‘Do you know what he gave her?’
‘No, I don’t know. She didn’t come for breakfast. I
checked on her and she said the pain was back and wanted
to sleep. I left her but when I returned a short while ago,
she was like this, and won’t say anything. Please, what’s
wrong with her? You have to help her.’
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Maria’s jewellery clatters on her wrist as she gestures emphatically.
‘Let me have a look at her.’
Cilka attempts to restrain Katya’s flailing arms.
‘Katya, this is Cilka, I’m here to help you,’ she says
soothingly. ‘Can you please try to lie still and show me
where it hurts? There’s a good girl. I want to look at your
stomach.’
Cilka glances back at the door where the guard, Pavel
and Kirill all stand watching.
‘You three, get out and shut the door. I’ll call you when
I want you.’
She turns back to Katya and hears the door close.
‘That’s better, now let me see your stomach. You’re
doing well, Katya, you’re a brave girl. I know that, we’ve
met before, when you fell off the roof and broke your
arm.’
Katya settles somewhat, allowing Cilka to lift her night-
dress and look at her stomach. She can see it is distended.
‘Katya, I’m going to gently touch your stomach. Tell me
when I hit the spot that hurts the most.’
Starting up beneath her ribcage Cilka gently pushes
down, quickly moving her hands a few inches at a time.
As she moves down to the lower abdomen, Katya cries
out.
‘What is it, what’s wrong with her?’ Maria fusses. The
room carries the deep, rich smell of her perfume, making
Cilka’s nose twitch.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t be sure, but if we get her into the
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ambulance and to the hospital, the doctors there will be able to diagnose and treat her. I’m going to give her an
injection to help with the pain and then we will transport
her in the ambulance.’
Cilka can feel how her knees sink into this soft, plush
carpet. How nice it would be to lie down in here. To be
cared for by a mother, worried over, in this pillow-laden
bed.
‘I’ve sent someone to tell my husband. He should be
Cilka's Journey (ARC) Page 27