Page 111 of Cilka's Journey
Cilka is horrified that Elena had to do that to herself to get a message to her.
“Did she say any more? Are the women all right?”
“Yes,” Yelena said. “She said not to worry, they are all fine.”
“Am I really safe? Can they not find me here?” Cilka asks.
“You’re safe, none of those men would dare venture near the staff quarters. In all my years here, I’ve never seen anyone cause any trouble. We have our own protection.”
It starts to sink in for Cilka: even on the white nights, she may not ever be able to see her friends. She is safe. They are safe enough. But again, she is separated from those she has become close to. Is there to be no lasting relationship in Cilka’s life?
Not that they ever knew her completely.
“Can I ask how Petre Davitovich is?” Cilka asks, because at least she can know there is the possibility for others, in here, to have something lasting.
She will not let herself entertain the fantasy of the tall, brown-eyed Alexandr.
“Oh, he’s wonderful, he’s—” Yelena catches herself. “What do you know about Petre Davitovich and me?”
“Just what everyone else here knows, that you two see each other, and we are so happy for you.”
“Everyone knows?”
Cilka laughs. “Of course we do. What else do we have to gossip about in here?”
“Break’s finished. Come on, you, back to work.”
On her ambulance trips throughout that winter, Cilka notices that the number of prisoners working at the mine seems to be dwindling. Fyodor tells her there have been a lot of prisoners released in the past few weeks and not so many new ones coming in. They discuss what this means, and whether they might also be freed—they’ve heard of prisoners being released early. Cilka can barely let in the thought, the hope.
Soon it is spring; the days are lengthening. Cilka notices more flowers than usual. They poke their heads above the snow and ice, waving in the breeze. Cilka’s steady routine, the time passing, and the freshness of spring bring her a level of relative calm, despite the deep ache she still feels for her losses and how much she misses her friends. And her secret longing. The ache is as much a part of her daily life as the harsh elements, hard bread, and the call of “Ambulance going out!”
One day they stop outside a cluster of buildings that include food storage and laundry supplies. They are met and waved into a section Cilka hasn’t been in before but quickly identifies as the sewing room. Long tables with barely room between them for someone to sit in front of the machine.
Cilka looks around and sees a hand waving at her and Kirill and Fyodor.
“Over here.”
Cilka walks over and jumps at a gentle tap on her shoulder. “Hello, stranger,” a beaming Elena says.
“Elena!” The two women hug. Cilka doesn’t give Elena a chance to answer any of her questions, firing one after another. “How is Anastasia? How is Margarethe?”
“Slow down, let me look at you.”
“But—”
“Anastasia is fine, Margarethe is well. Everyone misses you so much but we know you can only be safe away from us. You look well.”
“I miss you all so much. I wish—”
“Cilka, we have a patient here, will you take a look at him?”
Cilka registers Fyodor and Kirill attending to the man lying on the floor, groaning, clutching his chest.
“What’s wrong with him?” she says, walking over but holding on to Elena’s hand, to bring her with her, to spend as much time with her as possible.
“Chest pains,” Fyodor replies.
Cilka crouches down, Elena with her, and introduces herself to the patient and asks some general questions. His answers indicate there is nothing she can do but get him to the hospital as quickly as possible for the doctors to assess.
