Cilka's Journey(35)

“Get a blanket, quickly, and cover her. We need to keep her warm.” Cilka grabs a blanket from the end of the bed. Folding it into two she carefully places it over Katya, again murmuring, telling her what she is doing.

“I can see the site of the wound, it’s on my side of her head—it’s quite a gash. Keep cleaning her face, Cilka. I’m going to get some supplies.”

Yelena drapes the end of a towel over the right side of Katya’s head, covering her right eye.

Maria steps in front of Yelena. “You can’t leave her, you’re the doctor. Send her.”

Cilka’s heart races. At some point today she has to get to the dispensary that contains all the medicines and medical materials needed on the ward, though she dreads what she is planning to do.

“She won’t know what to get. I’ll be right back. In the meantime, Katya, and you too, Maria Danilovna, are in good hands with Cilka.”

Yelena leaves the room.

“You might want to hold her hand,” Cilka tells Maria, who nods and takes Katya’s uninjured hand in her own.

Cilka wets a clean towel.

When Yelena returns, Cilka is talking to Katya.

“Katya, my name is Cilka Klein. Dr. Kaldani and I are going to take care of you. Do you understand?”

A small grunt comes from the little girl.

“Good girl. Now, Katya, can you tell me where you hurt? We know your head hurts and we know your arm hurts, but does it hurt anywhere else?”

“My … my leg,” splutters Katya.

“Good girl. Anywhere else?”

“My head hurts. Mumma, Mumma!”

“I’m here, my malyshka, I’m here. You’re such a brave little girl; you’re going to be okay.”

Yelena places the tray she has brought in on the bedside table. From the bottom of the blanket she lifts it gently to look at Katya’s legs. They are covered in thick stockings, and no injury is visible.

“Cilka, help me take her stockings off so we can examine her legs.”

Whatever pain Katya is feeling in her legs is not significant enough for her to react as Yelena and Cilka each remove a boot and a sock. Yelena examines her legs. The right one is showing signs of early swelling and bruising around the knee. Yelena moves it carefully; Katya doesn’t respond.

“I think it’s not serious. Let’s get back to her head.”

“What about her arm?” Cilka asks.

“We’ll get to that. You’re doing really well, Cilka; thank you for asking her about other injuries. Often children this young don’t respond. You have to find the injuries yourself, so well done. Pardon me, Maria Danilovna, but how old is Katya?”

“She’s nearly four.”

“A lovely age,” Yelena says quietly, as much to herself as Maria.

Yelena removes the towel from Katya’s head. The gaping wound has stopped pulsing blood, but the red raw edges look nasty. She hears Maria gasp.

Yelena pours antiseptic over a wadded bandage and gently places it over the wound. Cilka continues to attempt to wash the blood from Katya’s hair.

“You have beautiful hair, Katya. It goes with your lovely face.”

“Keep talking to her, Cilka. Maria Danilovna, this is what we have to do. I cannot take care of Katya’s injuries while she is awake. I will give her an injection to put her under, examine her more closely, then move her to a more sterile room to stitch her head wound and take care of her arm. It is broken between the elbow and the wrist and will need to be pulled into place properly before it can be plastered. Do you understand?”

“I think so. Are you sure you need to put her to sleep though? What if she doesn’t wake up? I’ve heard about people being put to sleep by doctors and not waking up.”

“She needs to be asleep, Maria Danilovna, you have to trust me.”

“Where are you from? Where did you get your training?” Maria asks Yelena, and Cilka senses the anxiety beneath her bravado.

“I’m from Georgia, and I was trained there.”

“I’m also from Georgia—they have good hospitals there.”

“We must talk some more, but for now, I need to take care of Katya,” Yelena says, and then continues quietly, “Do you want to tell her she is going to have a needle and go to sleep or should I?”

Turning to Cilka, Maria says, “Let her, she seems to be able to calm Katya.”

Although Cilka has heard the exchange, she looks to Yelena to repeat exactly what it is she is to say to Katya. She doesn’t want to get it wrong and frighten the girl. She strokes Katya’s face as she tells her what is going to happen. Katya doesn’t flinch as Yelena injects the anesthetic, and both she and Cilka watch as Katya’s eyes flutter and close.

When Yelena is convinced Katya is deeply asleep, she removes the blanket and starts to cut away her clothes. Layer by layer is discarded on the floor. With only a singlet and underpants remaining, Cilka becomes aware of the two guards in the room.

“Leave,” Cilka says to them firmly.

They don’t need to be told twice.

As the door closes behind them, bellowing can be heard in the ward. “Where is she, where is my malyshka, Katya?”

“My husband,” whispers Maria. Cilka watches as the relief on her face at hearing her husband’s voice is replaced by what looks like fear. Maria backs away from the bed.