Page 107 of Cilka's Journey
She is startled awake. Several men in uniform storm into the ward, guards hurrying behind them.
“Who’s in charge?” one of them bellows.
Yelena approaches them. “I am.”
“I want to know the name of everyzekin here. Get me the list.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have a list. We’ve been too busy treating them, saving their lives, to ask them their names.”
Yelena receives a fierce slap to her face, sending her sprawling.
“I’ll be back in an hour and I want the name of every single person.”
Cilka crawls over the floor to get to Yelena as the uniforms leave the ward.
“Are you all right? The bastard. How dare he hit you!”
She helps Yelena to her feet.
“Didn’t see that coming,” Yelena says with a brave smile.
“How can I help?”
“Get paper and a pencil and get the names, please, Cilka.”
“But what if they’re unconscious?”
“Then make them up.”
The Vorkuta Uprising is over. Two weeks of a bloodless standoff ends with dozens dead, hundreds injured.
As Cilka obtains the names of the prisoners who are conscious and makes up names for those who aren’t, she is flooded with conflicting emotions. Talking quietly to the men who can answer herquestions, she draws strength from their defiance and attempted resistance. Many of them are proud of the wounds they obtained while fighting for what they see as a just cause—better working and living conditions.
When looking at the severely wounded—many that she knows will probably not survive—she is racked by grief for their failed resistance; grief for the loss of Pavel; grief at the departure of her friends, Josie and Olga. She can only hope they are somewhere safe. Hope that the best efforts of the doctors and nursing staff will save some of these lives that hang in the balance. Hope that one day another uprising will lead to a better outcome and they can all go home.
She gets to the furthest beds and drops down when she sees a familiar face.
“Hannah!”
Hannah looks at Cilka through half-closed eyes.
The doctor nearby looks over. “Bullet wounds, Cilka,” he says, and gives her a sorrowful look.
Hannah croaks, “Help me, Cilka.”
There’s a lot of blood, but Cilka can see the wounds are in Hannah’s arm and chest.
“I’ll be back,” she says, and she runs to the dispensary. She returns with a rubber tourniquet and gauze. She lifts Hannah’s blood-covered arm, causing her to howl, and tightens the tourniquet. Then, with her left hand and the gauze bandages, she applies pressure to the chest wound. She is not sure how long ago Hannah was injured, but she can see why the doctor may have moved on to patients with a better chance of surviving.
Cilka pushes Hannah’s hair back from her forehead. She is covered in cold sweat.
The two women hold each other’s eyes. Despite everything, at this moment Cilka finds herself willing Hannah to live. She knows why she has become brutalized in this place, why she let addictiontake hold. Now, lying before her, Cilka can see only her bravery, her humanity.
“Hannah…”
Hannah draws a pained breath over bloodied teeth. “I couldn’t stand by, Cilka, and let the men have all the fun.”
“You are so strong, Hannah,” Cilka says.
