Cilka's Journey(45)
When she thinks about it, she’s never before held a newborn, healthy baby.
She doesn’t dare hope that she has broken her curse. That she could have a role in helping new life come into the world, rather than overseeing death.
“And now you clean up and get the bed ready for the next one,” says Tatiana. “Come on, I’ll show you where the buckets and water are. Can’t guarantee clean linen for everyone but we’ll find the least spoiled.”
“Aren’t there cleaners to do this?” Cilka asks. She wouldn’t normally balk at the work but she has mere threads of energy left.
Tatiana laughs. “Yes, you. You are the cleaner. Unless you think the doctor should do it?”
“Of course not,” Cilka says, smiling, wanting to show she is happy to work. She will grit her teeth and be grateful.
Cilka cleans up after Nina and two others who give birth. Tatiana and her colleague Svetlana Romonovna concentrate on the other patients, and then Cilka, to show her dedication, cleans up after them, drawing from a hidden reserve of energy. Each patient is taken away mysteriously with their newborn, for life in “the hut next door.”
* * *
“Who do we have here?”
Two new nurses enter the ward.
Cilka looks up from her mop, leaning on it. “Hello, I’m Cilka Klein. I started work here today.”
“As a cleaner, I see. Just what we need,” one of them replies.
“Well, no, I’m a nurse…” She tries to steady her breathing. “I’m just helping Tatiana Filippovna by cleaning up.”
“Hey, Tatiana, got yourself a slave here.”
“Get lost, you pathetic excuse for a nurse,” Tatiana responds.
Cilka tries to work out if the exchange is in jest or seriousness. The thumb thrust through the middle and index fingers at Tatiana—a rude gesture—answers her question.
“Well, slave, we’ll be on day shift next week; we’ll see how good a cleaner you are.” The two newcomers go to the front of the ward to the desk area. Pulling up chairs they relax, talking and giggling. Cilka doesn’t need to be told they are talking about her, their body language and calls of “Get back to work” are clear enough. This surprising, joyous day seems also to herald a darker future.
Tatiana finds a moment to reassure her. “Look, you are a prisoner. We are not, we are qualified and must work both day and night shifts. I’m sorry, but every second week you will have to work with those cows. Don’t let them boss you around too much, you are here to work as a nurse.”
“Thank you. I shall look forward to every second week.”
“Our shifts are up,” Tatiana says. “Come on, get your coat and go. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Night.”
With mixed emotions, but relieved that her shift is over, Cilka wraps herself in her coat and steps out into the frigid air. In her pocket she feels the note Petre has written advising Antonina of her new position.
* * *
That night, Cilka tells Josie, Olga, Elena and anyone else interested about her day and her new role helping deliver babies. Though Hannah lies on her bed, facing the wall, Cilka can tell she is listening, too. She regales them with exaggerated stories of baby Gita’s birth, and how she flew out from her mother and would have landed on the floor if Cilka hadn’t caught her. She declares herself now an expert on all matters concerning childbirth and tells them about the support she received from the nurses and the one lovely doctor who couldn’t be more caring. She doesn’t mention the two night-shift nurses she will have to spend the next week with.
Questions of where the new mothers went and whether they were allowed to stay with their babies, and for how long, are brushed aside. She doesn’t know that yet. And she’s worried about knowing.
Elena says she has heard that they take the babies away from the mothers and force them back to work.
“I’ll find out soon enough,” Cilka promises.
Cilka had been given the same food as the other nurses, twice as much bread as the usual ration, and she has been able to bring that back to share. She is relieved she can still be useful in this way, or the guilt of landing another inside job would be overwhelming.
Cilka is also grateful that the job will be so busy and all-consuming that she will have no time to think about Alexandr Petrik, the Czech man working as a messenger. Because no good would come of that.
As Cilka lies down, Josie pushes her over, crawling in beside her. She sobs, “I’m sorry about the sheet, Cilka. About you having to go into the hole.”
“Please, Josie, you don’t have to keep saying that. It’s over. Can we get back to being friends?”
“You are my dearest friend,” Josie says.
“Well, dearest, get out of my bed and let me get some sleep.”
Auschwitz-Birkenau, 1942
Cilka stares at a fly on the cold cement wall of her room in Block 25. He has not come for her today.
Women and girls stagger into the block to seek out a place to lay their head for the final time. She sighs, stands up from her bed and opens the door, watching the wraiths pass by her, holding her arms around herself.
A woman, being assisted into the block by two others, turns to Cilka—thick gray-brown locks, dark circles under her eyes, sunken cheeks. It takes Cilka a moment to recognize her.