Page 90 of Cilka's Journey
Cilka stops looking at the bottle of medication in her hand, turning to face Yelena. “No, no, not at all. That’s not it.”
“Then what is it?”
“Do you know how long I’m to stay here?”
“I’m not told information like that.”
“Fifteen years. Fifteen years. It feels impossibly long. And then, after that—I don’t even remember what life is like outside of a place like this.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Tell me I will leave here,” she says pleadingly to Yelena. “That I have the chance to live a life like other young women.”That I will have friends that don’t disappear from my life. That I might find that love exists for me, too. That I might have a child of my own. “Can you tell me that?”
“What I can tell you,” Yelena says calmly, “is that I will do all I can to make that come true.”
Cilka nods gratefully, looking back up at the shelf, seeking another bottle.
“Promise me you will talk to me if you feel any worse than you do now,” Yelena says.
“My father always told me I was the strongest person he ever knew, you know that?” Cilka says, still not looking at Yelena.
“That’s a lot to live up to.”
“Yes, it is. But I have always wanted to live up to the expectations of my father, not disappoint him, stay strong no matter what. I don’t even know if he’s still alive.” She shrugs. “It’s unlikely.”
“A curse and a blessing from your father. I was very young when my father died; I would give anything to have your memories.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s a patient out there waiting for you. Come on, I’ll have a look at him while you give him the medication.”
“What will happen to him now that he only has one leg?”
“We’ll get him stable, then move him to a larger city hospital where they can rehabilitate him and hopefully get him a good replacement limb.”
“And then?”
“In the eyes of the State he’s still a counterrevolutionary, Cilka,” Yelena says, looking down. “There’s not much I can do about that.”
Cilka picks up the medication, tries again to press down the worry, the sadness and the pain.
CHAPTER 23
The white nights return.
Once again, the women revel in spending Sunday evenings walking around the camp. Trying to feel, for just a couple of hours, they have some small amount of freedom. They know where to walk, where it is safe to go and where to avoid the roaming gangs of men waiting to pounce.
The appearance of Josie and Natia makes some of those evenings the happiest, as Natia shows off her ability to walk. Her attempts to talk entertain them. They play with her wispy hair, fight over whom she likes the most.
The women start to escort Josie and Natia to and from the hut on the warmest nights, so they can spend time all together away from prying eyes and let Natia run about. They take turns putting Natia in their beds, cuddling her as though she is their own daughter. They kiss her and touch her tiny hands and try to teach her their names.
Josie lets Natia socialize, giving her a nod and a smile if she looks over for reassurance. Josie sits with Cilka on her bed, and Cilka has begun to wrap her arms around Josie, press her face against her hair. Josie takes Cilka’s hand and squeezes it. Theycommunicate in this way, instead of saying what they fear, what they know, is coming.
The light fades quickly this summer. Several of the women stop venturing out. On one warm night, possibly the final gasp of summer, the women escort Josie to the hut with Natia snuggled into her arms. Anastasia has become attached to the little girl and reaches for her.
“Would you look after her for a while, please, Nastya?” says Josie, using the affectionate diminutive for Anastasia. “I’d like to talk to Cilka.”
Cilka gets off her bed, reaches for her coat, and follows Josie outside.
