Page 25 of Cilka's Journey
The woman at the desk reads the pieces of paper handed to her.
“Come with me.” She beckons.
They follow her through the ward into the treatment area. Josie sits on the chair indicated, Cilka behind her.
The dozen or so beds are all occupied, along with several chairs holding those capable of sitting. Groans of pain escape from several of the patients. They seem to be mainly men, but there are a few women. Cilka challenges herself to examine these people, trying to work out where they are injured or what could possibly be wrong with them. For many it is obvious: visible wounds exist, blood seeps through scraps of material masquerading as a bandage or tourniquet. She feels the blankness sliding over her, cold as snow.
“Ah, here you are.” Cilka and Josie see Yelena Georgiyevna approaching. Josie glances up before returning her eyes to the floor in front of her.
“How are you today? How is the pain?”
Josie shrugs.
The doctor looks from Josie to Cilka, who turns away. Yelena gently places her fingers under Josie’s chin, forcing her to look up. The injury on her face looks worse, having been stung by the icy walk to the hospital. The doctor brushes her fingers over the damaged area. Josie winces.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Josie forces her head down, Yelena releasing her hold.
“It’s her fault,” Josie spits. “She made me do it, made me go along with it. She calls herself my friend and she did nothing to help me, just let them…”
“Men visited our hut last night,” Cilka whispers.
“Oh, I see.” Yelena sighs. “Do you have any other injuries, Josie?”
Josie shakes her head.
“And what about you, Cilka?”
“No.”
“Of course she doesn’t, she just let him have her, didn’t fight, didn’t say no.”
The doctor stands. “Stay here. I’m going to try to find a room I can take you both to, I want to examine you further.”
Cilka and Josie wait in silence. Cilka wonders about the doctor. Are people assigned this work in the camps? Or do they choose it? She can’t imagine anyone wanting to be here. Yelena returns and ushers them into a nearby room. The occupant being taken out is arguing that he should be in a room by himself; he is a senior officer, not to be treated like a prisoner.
The bed in the room has the crumpled sheet and blanket of the former occupant, and the smell of an unwashed male, stale alcohol and cigarettes. Yelena has the two girls sit side by side on the bed.
“This is a brutal place…” says the doctor.
“I know,” Cilka whispers. She turns to Josie. “Josie, I’m sorry, I should have warned you, told you what to expect, helped you understand—”
“You just lay there. You… looked at me. Cilka, how could you?”
Cilka is still not able to access any feeling but she notices, distantly, she has started shaking, her knees knocking up and down on the bed. She clutches her hands beneath them.
“I’m sure she didn’t have a choice,” Yelena answers.
“She could have tried; a friend would have tried.” Josie’s voice lowers and trails away.
There are always other things people think she should have done. But it is hardest hearing this from someone she has been trying to let in, become close to. “I just hoped it wouldn’t happen,” Cilka says. “I knew it would, but I didn’t know when, and I just hoped it wouldn’t.”
She is truly sorry, but she also doesn’t know what else she should have done, could have done.
The doctor seems to feel the tension. “For now, I want to examine Josie, change her dressing, then I need to get you set up for work here, Cilka.”
Cilka slides off the bed. “Shall I wait outside?”
