Page 35 of Cilka's Journey
“How often do men come into our hut and rape you, Hannah?”
Hannah doesn’t answer. Keeps her brows furrowed, breathing heavily.
“I didn’t hear you,” Cilka says, her voice raised. “One man, several men… how many different men have raped you since we’ve been here?”
“It’s just what happens here.”
“Yes, it’s just what happens here. It’s what happenedthereto me. I was kept hidden away so the officers would not be seen to bepollutingthemselves. Do you know what that is like? For you and your family and friends, your whole race, to be treated like animals for slaughter?”
Hannah looks away, keeps her face blank.
“And did this person who claims to know so much about me say whyshewas here?” Cilka asks.
“Yes, I got that out of her. The Russians said they didn’t like people who told on others without being asked, so sent her here too. It seems like you were all weak in the end, all turning on each other.”
“No one can judge us,” Cilka says through gritted teeth. “You can’t know what it was like. There were only two choices: one was to survive. The other was death.”
Hannah chuckles quietly. Cilka is seeing double with rage. She should be used to this by now—people creating hierarchies of good and bad, deciding where you fit in.
“But that’s not all there is, is it?” Hannah says.
Cilka looks at her.
“Would you really want me to tell the others—Josie, Natalya, Olga, Elena—about your role in the death block?”
Cilka tries not to let her expression falter.
“I thought so,” Hannah says. “I will tell you what I need, soon, and you will give it to me.” She walks away, across the patchy grass and dirt.
Cilka looks up at the women standing around in a circle, sharing a rare moment of leisure. Josie turns and smiles at Cilka. Cilka forces a smile back. She does not want to go back, in her mind, to thatother place; she wants to take each day and get through it the best she can, with her new friends. She does not want Hannah to ruin this for her. Her gut churns.
All too soon, the women wake to frost on the ground. The air is thick and wet in their throats. Cilka has now been here a year. Their scarves are put away, their hats and heavy coats retrieved from under their mattresses where they have spent the past two months.
Hannah does not yet seem to have decided on her “price” for keeping quiet. But she reminds Cilka frequently, with a look or a gesture, of what she knows. Cilka tries, most of the time, to block from her mind her fear of the women finding out.
The transition from autumn to winter is swift. Seasonal rain dampens the ground and the mood. The evening strolls in the camp end and the women struggle to adjust to only having their own company once again.
The rain becomes sleet, the sleet becomes snow. There is constant darkness.
The hut feels small and close with Hannah’s knowledge.
CHAPTER 9
Aday for making plans. A day for thinking ahead. For most people, but not for Cilka.
For the first time today, she writes in a patient’s file:
January 1, 1947.
Patient making good progress, expected discharge tomorrow.
She hears the words spoken by the doctor, transcribes them, forces a smile as she looks at the man lying in the bed in front of her, his eyes full of tears.
“Please, just a little longer. Can I stay a little longer? Two, three more days. I am still weak.”
The doctor looks at the man without compassion. Turning to Cilka—“What do you think, Cilka? Shall we let this malingering piece of shit take up a bed some ailing fellow prisoner should have? Or kick his sorry arse out of here tomorrow?”
Cilka has learned the game some of the doctors like to play, involving her. Making her the person who determines whether or not a patient gets another twenty-four hours in a warm hospital bed with nourishing food. She has also learned which doctorsmight agree to her suggestion that a patient may have a day longer, and which will do the opposite.
