Page 39 of Cilka's Journey
Once the two dead women are carried outside, Cilka watches the truck drive away. She is left with the squeak and scratch of hungry rats. She will go inside in a moment and put on her clean nylons, bought with bread. Ifhecomes to visit, he likes her clean. And she has a favor to ask him, for her friend Gita, concerning the man she loves. Cilka finds “love” a strange word—it bounces around in her mind but doesn’t land. But if Gita is able to feel it, Cilka will do what she can to preserve that. Before going inside, she glances in the direction of the gas chambers and crematoria. When she started here in this hell on earth she had always sent a prayer. But now the words will not come.
In her hut, desperate to drive away the memories, Cilka wills sleep to come.
Thirteen years to go.
CHAPTER 10
Asmall child screams. Patients and staff turn as the door to the ward is flung open, and a woman runs in, holding a little girl. Blood covers the child’s face and dress; her left arm hangs at an impossible angle. Two guards follow, shouting for a doctor.
Cilka watches as Yelena runs to the woman. She is well-dressed, clad in a warm coat and hat; not a prisoner. Her arm around the woman’s shoulders, Yelena ushers her to the end of the ward. As she passes Cilka, she calls to her, “Come with me.”
Cilka falls in behind the procession, the child still screaming. In the treatment room, Yelena gently takes the child. She places her on the bed and the child appears to go limp. Her cries subside to a whimper.
“Help her, help her!” the mother begs.
“What’s her name?” Yelena asks calmly.
“Katya.”
“And what’s your name?”
“I’m Maria Danilovna, her mother.”
“They are the wife and daughter of Commandant Alexei Demyanovich Kukhtikov,” one of the guards offers. “The officers’ hospital is at capacity because of the ward being rebuilt, so we brought her straight here.”
Yelena nods, asks the mother, “What happened?”
“She followed her older brother up onto the roof of our house and fell off.”
Yelena turns to Cilka. “Get some wet cloths and help me wipe the blood away so I can see the extent of the injuries.”
A small pile of towels rests on a chair next to a basin. Cilka drenches two of them. There is no time to wait for the water to warm up, cold will have to do. Handing one to Yelena, she follows her lead in wiping blood from the little girl’s face. The wet, cold towel seems to revive her, and her screams resume.
“Please, help mymalyshka, please,” sobs Maria.
“We are helping,” Yelena says softly. “We need to clean some of the blood away to see where she is hurt. Be careful of her arm, Cilka, it’s broken and will need to be set.”
Cilka glances at the arm hanging over the bed next to her and repositions herself to avoid it. Bending down, she speaks to Katya in a quiet, soothing voice, telling her she is not going to hurt her, she is just cleaning her face. Katya responds, her whimpering now accompanied by shivers that rack her small body.
“Get a blanket, quickly, and cover her. We need to keep her warm.” Cilka grabs a blanket from the end of the bed. Folding it into two she carefully places it over Katya, again murmuring, telling her what she is doing.
“I can see the site of the wound, it’s on my side of her head—it’s quite a gash. Keep cleaning her face, Cilka. I’m going to get some supplies.”
Yelena drapes the end of a towel over the right side of Katya’s head, covering her right eye.
Maria steps in front of Yelena. “You can’t leave her, you’re the doctor. Send her.”
Cilka’s heart races. At some point today she has to get to thedispensary that contains all the medicines and medical materials needed on the ward, though she dreads what she is planning to do.
“She won’t know what to get. I’ll be right back. In the meantime, Katya, and you too, Maria Danilovna, are in good hands with Cilka.”
Yelena leaves the room.
“You might want to hold her hand,” Cilka tells Maria, who nods and takes Katya’s uninjured hand in her own.
Cilka wets a clean towel.
When Yelena returns, Cilka is talking to Katya.
