Page 105 of Cilka's Journey
There is an echo of restlessness throughout the camp. As summer reaches its peak, Cilka overhears talk on the ward of a strike. Men in one area of the camp are refusing to work. That evening she tells the others what she’s heard.
A level of excitement spreads through the hut at this rumor. Elena has heard nothing in the sewing room where she now has a job, thanks to Olga’s lessons. She and Cilka are entreated to find out all they can.
The next day, Cilka asks Raisa what she knows. In a hushed voice, Raisa tells her she has heard other workers have gone on strike.
Out on the ambulance that day, something Cilka still does along with ward duty, though not as often, she sees several dozen men sitting on the ground outside one of the administration buildings.
Kirill slows down to stare at the extraordinary sight of men sitting around during the day. Several guards stand nearby, watching.
“Well, that’s different,” Fyodor—the ambulance officer Cilka is now often paired with—comments.
“Haven’t you heard?” Cilka says. “They’re on strike. They’re refusing to work.”
“Maybe we should join them. I’ll turn the ambulance around,” Kirill says.
“Keep driving, it’s not as if it’s true hard labor you’re doing,” Cilka fires back.
“I love it when you’re feisty, Cilka Klein. I’m surprised you’re not one of the ringleaders running the strike.”
“How little you know me, Kirill.”
“Oh, I think I know you pretty well.”
“Excuse me, there’s three of us here,” Fyodor chimes in.
Back on the ward, the staff gossip is all about the growing strike and how the authorities will handle it. The options available to settle the dispute seem limited and likely to end in an increased workload at the hospital. Nobody knows if there is a specific aim to the unrest, or a new group of prisoners influencing the older ones, men still with the energy to protest the way they are treated.
That evening, Elena shares what she knows. The strikers want better living conditions, she says. The women look around their hut, which they have made into the best home they could. An old jug containing a few flowers sits on a nearby table, embroidered artwork is tacked to walls, and they each have a bed, something they know is a luxury.
“What else?” someone asks.
“They want the barbed wire removed from around the camp and they want us to remove the numbers from our uniforms; they say it is degrading.”
This last demand causes Cilka to rub her right hand over the coat sleeve of her left arm, thinking of the number permanently stamped onto her skin.
“Oh, and we should be allowed to write letters home to our families once a month.”
“Anything else?” Margarethe asks.
“I heard something about demands for political prisoners,” chimes in Anastasia, “but I didn’t take much notice.”
“Why not? It affects us,” Margarethe says.
“We’re not all political prisoners,” Anastasia says.
“We are all victims of an unjust, harsh dictator,” Elena pronounces.
“Elena, don’t say that. Not even here,” Margarethe whispers firmly.
“She can say what she wants,” Hannah says proudly.
“I’m not interested in politics; I’ve never voted or marched or protested,” Anastasia says. “I stole bread so others could eat.”
“Can we all stop talking like this? It can only get us into trouble,” Margarethe says.
Cilka nods. “Let’s not say or do anything to get us into any more trouble than we are in just by being here.”
“That’s your preferred way to do things, isn’t it, Cilka? Just lie down and take it,” says Hannah.
