Page 64 of Cilka's Journey
“Sixteen.”
The women crowd around the bed to get a closer look at their new resident, who holds her head high, refusing to hide her injuries, defiance written across her face and the body she struggles to hold herself straight.
Olga gently pushes her back down onto her bed. “What happened to you?”
“Do you mean to get me here in the first place, or more recently?”
“Both,” says Olga.
“We were caught stealing from the bakery.”
“We? How many of you?”
Anastasia forces a small grin. “Six of us. It was good while it lasted.”
“What was good?” Elena asks.
“The thrill of taking the bread as soon as it came out of the oven, right under the nose of the pig who made it.”
“Why were you stealing?” Elena asks. They didn’t normally put political prisoners and thieves together, but the rules in Vorkutahad seemed to become a bit more relaxed on this front. Wherever there is a bed, Cilka supposes.
“Because, despite us all supposedly getting a fair share in the great Soviet Union, the kids were starving. Why else?”
“So you and your friends…”
“Yes, we were a gang of older kids—one or two of us would distract the shopkeeper while the others snuck in and took some food. We got some caviar once, but the children didn’t like it. Neither did I.”
“Huh!” Hannah exclaims in frustration. “What I wouldn’t give—”
“And your bruises, how did you get them?” Elena asks.
“I could say I fell down some stairs.”
“You could,” Elena retorts. “But you’re acting like we’re your interrogators.”
“The spies are everywhere,” Anastasia says. “But yes, sorry, I have just come from prison where they tortured me and Mikhail, the only two of us who got caught. The police knew there were more of us and wanted names. I wouldn’t give them.”
“Hence the bruises,” Elena says.
“Yes,” Anastasia says. “But you can’t talk. You all look like you haven’t seen a piece of bread in a year. And definitely not a vegetable.”
Elena leans in, deliberately close, Cilka observes, so Anastasia can get the full force of her malnourished, rotten-teeth breath. “Believe it or not, love, we’re the lucky ones.”
The dinner alarm sounds.
“Are you able to walk?” Olga asks.
“Yes, slowly.”
Olga helps Anastasia to her feet, buttons her coat, pulling the collar up around her neck. Anastasia pulls her hat on. They join the others in their procession to the mess hall.
Sixteen, Cilka thinks. Another young, defiant woman to beground down by suffering. But Elena is right. Their horror is marginally better than the next woman’s. This hut, the extra rations and fabric, the fact they have a jug in which to boil water! The hard thing will be helping Anastasia to accept that, especially after her first visit from the men.
CHAPTER 15
“She smiled at me!” Cilka joyfully recounts her visit with her namesake to the women in the hut. “She gurgled, looked me in the eyes and smiled.”It tore my heart apart.
“Is she putting on weight, is she healthy?” Elena wants to know.
