Page 82 of Cilka's Journey
Yelena reaches out and takes Cilka’s hands.
“The first day I saw you I felt there was something about you, a strength, a sense of self-knowledge that I rarely see. And now, with the little you’ve told me, I don’t know what to say other than that you are very brave. There is nothing I can do to get you out of here, but I can look out for you as best I can and try to keep you safe. You have shown what a fighter you are. My God, how have you done it?”
“I just want to live. I need to feel the pain I wake up with every morning, knowing I am alive, and my family aren’t. This pain is my punishment for surviving and I need to feel it, live it.”
“Cilka, I don’t know what to say to you other thankeep living.Wake up each morning and breathe. You make a huge difference here, and if you go with the ambulance you will be helping keep patients alive. I truly believe you will thrive in this role.”
“All right, I’ll do it. I can be brave because of you. You’re the most courageous of us all. I haven’t said that before, but that is how I feel about you. So brave, being here when you don’t have to be.”
“You don’t have to say that. Yes, I choose to be here. I am a physician; I always wanted to help people, and here, well, here there are a lot of people who need the help I can provide. But we’re not here to talk about me.”
Cilka smiles at Yelena.
“Well, I really appreciate this, Yelena Georgiyevna, thank you.”Cilka stands, thinking of the solace of her bed, of lying facing the wall.
Yelena stands, too, and Cilka looks at her, grateful to see no pity on her face. “See you tomorrow then, Cilka.”
“See you tomorrow.”
As she steps outside she glances over toward the administration building. And today, he is there. Alexandr. Standing under a searchlight in the snow. Raising his cigarette to his lips, closing his eyes. Shifting his shoulders up and down for warmth. She holds the bright image in her mind as she walks away.
CHAPTER 20
All the next day, Cilka is on edge, distracted. She calls a patient by the wrong name, fumbles giving medication. Her eyes shift constantly, going to the door, waiting for a head to pop around and announce that the ambulance is going out.
It doesn’t happen, and she returns to the hut disappointed. Her melancholic state was meant to improve today, now she has released some of the burden and with the prospect of something new to focus on. She wants an instant fix to a problem she can’t articulate.
To make matters worse, Hannah has cornered her again, saying that her supply has been cut off, and that Cilka must procure the drugs for her again. So, it must have been the trustie thug who died who was supplying Hannah all this time. And despite her conversation with Yelena, when Cilka looks around at the women in the hut, she still doesn’t think she can face that moment when their faces change to horror, pity, fear, maybe even hatred.
The following morning, she has to force herself to concentrate, get on with the job at hand. When the call comes, “Ambulance going out,” Cilka misses it.
“Cilka, you’re needed,” Raisa calls out.
Cilka looks up at Raisa, to the door, and sees the man waiting for someone to acknowledge him.
Grabbing her coat, hat, scarf and gloves, Cilka follows him outside into the whirling snow and perpetual darkness of the Arctic winter.
“Hurry up. People are dying out here while you take your time putting your bloody layers on,” the driver yells, revving the engine impatiently.
The man Cilka followed opens the back door of the modified truck, indicating for her to get in. The ambulance takes off before the doors are closed, sending her flying. The passenger in the front seat leans around, smiling as Cilka tries to shove herself up against the side, bracing herself for more violent driving.
“Haven’t seen you before. What’s your name?”
With her hands planted firmly on the floor, her legs spread apart for support, Cilka checks him out. His friendly grin reveals a few large crooked teeth. He is wiry and olive-skinned, with heavy eyebrows framing bright eyes.
“I’m Cilka. This is my first time out.”
“Hey, Pavel, it’s her first time,” the gruff driver says. He is bulkier and broader than Pavel. “From what I saw of her, it’ll probably be her last as well—look at the size of her.”
“She may prove you wrong there, Kirill Grigorovich,” says Pavel. The two men cackle away. Kirill winds down his window as he nears the closed front gates, which are lit up by the searchlights of the compound. Sticking his head out the window, he screams at the sentry as he speeds toward him.
“Open the fucking gates, you moron! Can’t you see we’re in a hurry?”
The gates are barely open when the ambulance races through, and a torrent of abuse from the sentry follows.
Crunching the gears, Kirill winds up his window and shakes the snow off his hat.
“Excuse me,” Cilka says loudly, ensuring she is heard over the revving engine.
