Cilka's Journey(18)

And then she sees it is in Cyrillic script. The letters are like tunnels and gates, with surprising added curves and flourishes. It has been a long time since she has read it. Writing in it will be difficult.

“Right then,” she says. “The first entry is always your name. What is your family name, Josie?”

“Kotecka, Jozefína Kotecka.”

Cilka writes the name slowly, as best she can, hoping the doctors will be able to read it.

“Let’s see, I believe this is date of birth?”

“November 25, 1930.”

“And this asks for your place of residence.”

“I don’t have an address anymore. They arrested my father after he missed a day from work. He was a forest worker, and he went looking for my brothers, who had been missing for three days. They arrested my mother next. My grandmother and I were so afraid, all alone together in our house. And then they came and arrested us too.” Josie looks pained. “No one in my family lives there now.”

“I know, Josie.” Cilka puts a hand on Josie’s shoulder. She was the same age when everyone was taken away from her too.

“They put me in prison.” Josie begins to cry. “They beat me, Cilka. They beat me and wanted to know where my brothers were. I told them I don’t know but they refused to believe me.”

Cilka nods to show she is listening. It’s strange how and when the past wants to reveal itself, she thinks. But not for her. There is no way she could find the words.

“Then one day, they loaded me and my grandmother onto a truck and took us to the train station, and that’s when I met you.”

“I’m sorry that I’ve brought it all up, Josie. Let’s…” She looks down at the form.

“No, it’s all right,” Josie says. She looks up at Cilka. “Will you tell me why you’re here? All I know is that you are Slovakian. And that woman on the train said she’d been with you somewhere … Did your family get arrested too?”

Cilka’s gut clenches.

“Perhaps another day.”

“And you knew what to do, when we got here.” Josie’s brow furrows, puzzling.

Cilka ignores her, makes out she is studying the form again.

Cilka and Josie hear someone behind them and turn to see a tall, slim, attractive woman wearing a white lab coat, a stethoscope hung around her neck. Golden yellow braids encircle the back of her head and her blue eyes crinkle at the edges in a smile.

She looks at their faces and immediately addresses them in Polish, a language they can both understand. “What is it I can help you with?” Her accent is unlike any Cilka has heard.

Josie goes to stand up.

“No, sit, stay sitting. I take it you are the patient.”

Josie nods.

“And you are?”

“I’m her friend. I was asked to stay with her.”

“Are you having trouble with the form?”

“We were getting through it,” Cilka says. And then, she can’t help asking, “How did you decide what language to address us in?”

“I’ve been a doctor for a long time in the camps and I’ve learned to make a good guess.” The doctor smiles warmly, and confidently, the first open face Cilka has seen since she arrived here.

“Let me look,” she says, taking the clipboard from Cilka.

“Well done.”

Cilka blushes.

“Why don’t you finish filling it out? I’ll read you the questions.”

“In Russian?”

“Do you know any Russian?”

“I can speak it but writing is a little more difficult.”

“Okay, I think you should continue in Russian in that case, yes. The quicker you learn it the better in here. What other languages do you know?”

“Slovak, Czech, Polish, Hungarian and German.”

The doctor tilts her head. “I’m impressed.” Though she says it quietly. “The next question on the form is: What is the purpose of your visit to the hospital?” She asks it in Russian.

Cilka goes to write something.

The doctor looks over her shoulder.

“Hmm, close. Why don’t you try asking the patient and then writing down what she says?”

Cilka feels panicked. She’s not sure if the doctor is playing a game with her. Why is it that she always stands out, no matter how hard she tries not to? She asks Josie in Russian. Josie looks at her, puzzled.

Cilka tries to write “burned hand” in Cyrillic on the form.

“Not bad,” the doctor says. “Enough of that for now. I can take care of the rest. I had better take a look at the patient.”

Josie holds out her hand. The doctor pulls a nearby chair in front of her and gently starts unbandaging.

“Who wrapped this up for you?”

“Cilka did.”

The doctor turns to Cilka.

“And you’re Cilka?”

“I made her hold it in the snow for a while first, then got some sheeting and wrapped it as best I could.”

“Well done, Cilka. Now let’s have a look at the damage.”

With the bandage removed the doctor turns Josie’s hand over, examining it closely.

“Wiggle your fingers for me.”

Josie makes a painful attempt to wiggle her fingers, the swelling preventing much movement.