Page 50 of Cilka's Journey
“It doesn’t matter what I know, I can’t take you back here.” Yelena looks pained.
“Well, where else can I work? I want to help people. And I know I’m not currently strong enough for the mines.”
Yelena looks away, thinking. Cilka waits.
“I have a colleague who works in the maternity ward behind us. I don’t know if they need anyone, Cilka, and I don’t want to get your hopes up…”
A maternity ward, in this place? Of course, there would have to be, Cilka thinks. But what happens to the children afterward? Perhaps it is better to not think of that, for now.
“I’ll go anywhere I can help.”
“I will ask him,” Yelena says. “Have you had any experience delivering babies?”
Cilka flashes back to the night she held Natalya’s premature, stillborn son. How useless she felt.
“Well, I have helped deliver one baby here.”
“Ah yes, I remember. You brought his body to us. I can’t promise anything, but I will ask.”
“Thank you, thank you. I won’t let you down.”
“I can’t keep you here today. You will have to risk going back to the hut. A note may not be enough, but I’ll get a messenger to alert the relevant parties. He can take you back too. Wait here.”
Cilka rests her head against a shelf, feeling light-headed. She needs this job to work out. She thinks about how grateful she is to Yelena for the ways she has always tried to help.
The door opens and Yelena and the messenger enter. She looks up and another wave of dizziness overtakes her. It is the man with the brown eyes. He smiles gently as Yelena relays instructions to him. He looks at Yelena, nods, then reaches out a hand for Cilka’s arm, just above the elbow. He helps to lift her from the chair and opens the door.
Outside the hospital, his grip remains firmly on her upper arm, and he keeps his body at a polite distance as they walk toward thehuts in a light snowfall. Where is he from? Why is he here? Why does she even want to know?
“Your name is Cilka Klein?” he asks.
“Yes,” she says. She looks briefly up at his face. He is looking ahead, snow dusting his face, his eyelashes. His accent is recognizable.
“You are Czech,” she says.
“Yes.” He stops, looks down at her.
“What is your name?” She switches to speaking to him in Czech, to which he gives a delighted laugh, his eyes lighting up.
“Alexandr Petrik.”
Before they start walking again he releases her arm momentarily to light a cigarette. As he closes his eyes to draw in the smoke, Cilka studies his face—his dark eyebrows, his lips, his strong jawline above his scarf. He opens his eyes and she looks quickly away.
He takes her arm again, and she leans in a little closer to his side.
They arrive at the hut, and though Cilka is exhausted and needs to lie down, it feels too soon.
He opens the door for her, and she goes in. He remains outside.
“I will take my messages,” he says. “And I… hope to see you again soon, Cilka Klein.”
Again, words get stuck in Cilka’s mouth. She nods to him, then lets the door close.
The next morning Cilka walks with Josie to the hospital. As Josie enters, Yelena steps outside, taking Cilka by the arm.
“Come with me.”
Heads down, they fight against a blizzard, their progress slow. The snow-blast stings Cilka’s sensitive skin, where it is uncovered. Behind the main hospital building, several smaller ones are barely visible. Yelena heads for one of them and they go inside.
