Page 71 of Cilka's Journey
Cilka watches Yelena walk away. She is in awe of her ability as a brilliant doctor and of her willingness to share her knowledge, particularly with someone who has had no formal training.
“It’s amazing that she volunteered to be here,” she says to the others.
“Yes, most of the doctors have been sent here, usually because they have screwed up at whatever hospital they came from or got on the wrong side of someone in their hometown. Or, like us, it’s their first assignment out of medical school. Yelena Georgiyevna genuinely wants to work where she can do the most good,” Raisa says.
“I’ve felt rude to ask, but does she have a family with her?”
“No, she lives with the other female doctors in their quarters, though I did hear a rumor about her being friendly with one of the other doctors. They’ve been seen together in the town at night,” Lyuba whispers.
The town of Vorkuta, outside the camp, has been built entirely by prisoners.
“Really…”Love again,Cilka thinks, even in a place like this. “Do we know who? Which doctor?”
“The doctor in the maternity ward is all I know.”
“Petre—she and Petre Davitovich?”
“You know him?” Raisa says.
“Of course she does,” Lyuba adds. “That’s where she was working. Did you see them together?”
“No. Well, only the once, when she took me to meet him on my first day, but that explains why he was prepared to take meon when I got fired from here. That’s wonderful,” Cilka marvels, “because he is just like her, a really good doctor and a kind man.”
“Is he good-looking?” Lyuba raises her eyebrows.
Cilka thinks for a moment.
He is handsome, with a thick mustache and eyes that smile. “Yes; they are perfect for each other.”
She can’t help thinking, though, that he is not the most handsome man she has seen in her time in Vorkuta. Now she is back in the hospital, she wonders if she will see the messenger, Alexandr, again.
“I think we’d better get back to work,” Raisa says. “I can feel the temperature rising around you two.”
Yes, work is what Cilka needs to do. She will not allow herself to wonder for too long about the impossible.
The prospect of being in the operating room sends Cilka’s brain working overtime. That night she cannot sleep. Thoughts whirl around inside her head as she replays all she has seen and done that day.
The next morning the sky is overcast but Cilka appreciates walking across the grass, with small weedy flowers underfoot, on the way to the hospital. Yelena is waiting for her and together they go through to the area designated for surgery. An assistant is standing by with a gown, gloves and a mask. Cilka reaches out to take the gown.
“You have to wash your hands thoroughly first,” Yelena says, leading her over to a nearby sink. “Are you wearing anything under your shirt?”
“Just my slip.”
“Good, take your shirt off. You can’t have a sleeve getting in the way.”
Cilka hesitates.
“It’s all right, Cilka, there’s only us women here.”
Slowly, Cilka unbuttons her shirt. The assistant takes it from her, handing her a bar of soap and turning a tap on for her. Cilka starts rubbing the soap up her arms. The assistant goes to arrange the room. Yelena stands beside her, lathering up and scrubbing her own hands and arms, past the elbows. Cilka copies her actions.
Focused back on the running water, rinsing the soap from her arms and hands, Cilka is startled when Yelena gently takes hold of her left arm. She turns it toward her, staring at the blurry blue-green numbers running down the inside of her forearm.
Yelena starts to say something, closes her mouth.
Cilka continues to stare at the running water, breathing deeply.
Raising her head, she looks directly at Yelena. “Do you know where I got this?”
