Cilka's Journey(55)

His eyes are focused on the ground.

“Do you want me to confirm or deny that?” she says, both terrified and exhausted.

“Have you?”

“Been exposed to typhoid? Yes.”


Auschwitz-Birkenau, Winter 1943

Ever since her mother died, Cilka has been spending less time in the main compound, too afraid of seeing the women who are starting to turn, the ones who will soon be sent to their deaths. The ones who will soon be coming to her, the ones she will have to force herself to feel nothing for. But her mother had told her to look after Magda. And she wants to.

But her strong, kind sister is just as vulnerable as the rest.

There is also the fact that the other women, besides her friends, have begun to give Cilka a wide berth. Those that dare spit on the ground when she walks past, call her the worst names they know. Death clings to her. And so do the SS.

One Sunday afternoon she has forced herself out, to check on Magda. Cilka and Gita are sitting beside Gita and Magda’s block, away from the door. She can’t bring herself to go in yet, as Gita has told her that Magda has been lying down all day, that she is worried. Cilka watches as Gita sifts through the new grass, searching for the elusive four-leaf clover. They are currency here: with a clover she can buy extra food or prevent a beating.

Gita is talking quietly about her latest stolen moment with Lale. He had walked beside her as she left the administration building, slowly going back to her block. They hadn’t spoken, just exchanged stolen glances, which said a thousand words.

The quiet is broken by hysterical screaming. It starts inside the block and intensifies as a girl runs outside. Cilka and Gita look up; they both recognize the girl and jump to their feet, running toward her; she is heading to the edge of the women’s camp and into danger.

“Dana, Dana,” they both scream.

Catching up to her, they grab an arm each as Dana collapses, sobbing.

“No, Cilka, no…”

Cilka’s heart sinks.

“What, Dana? What is it?”

“What’s happened?” Gita says.

Dana slowly lifts her red-rimmed eyes to Cilka. They are full of regret. “She was so weak, it was typhoid … She hid it so you didn’t have to … And then it happened so fast.”

“No, Dana, please, not Magda.” Cilka clutches at Dana’s arm. Please, please, not my sister too.

Dana nods slowly. “I’m sorry, Cilka.”

Cilka feels an intense pain course through her body and up into her head. She leans over and retches, feels arms around her, under her arms, helping her up. Gita is crying softly next to her.

“Cilka,” Dana says, her voice choked with tears. “She told me just this morning how much she loves you. How brave you are. How she knows you’re going to get out of here.”

Cilka lets Dana and Gita hold her, the way she held them when they lost their families. This is what they share—unfathomable losses.

“I have to see her,” Cilka says.

Her friends go into the block with her and help her to sit in the bunk across from Magda’s body. Cilka wants to cry and scream but it comes out more like a yell, a fury. And then, as soon as it has come out of her, it goes back inside. Her crying stops. She stares, shaking, but feeling blank. She stays like that for a long time, and her friends stay with her. Then she stands and closes her sister’s eyes, clutches both her friends’ hands in turn, and leaves the block.



* * *



“Did you get the disease? Have you had symptoms?”

“No and no,” Cilka says, her mind numb.

“That means you probably have an immunity to it, meaning you can get exposed and not suffer the symptoms or become sick. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. Why do you need to know?”

He shifts on his feet.

“We need nurses to work on the infectious ward, which is now overflowing with typhoid cases; we need nurses like you who can work there and not get infected.”

“Is that all?” she says, with a strange mix of fear and relief.

He looks surprised. “What did you think we would be doing to you?”

“I don’t know … injecting me with the disease to see how I fared?”

Petre cannot keep the shock from his face. He looks away, speechless.

“I’ll go,” she says hastily. “I’ll work on the ward; there are many days here I’m not really needed. If you need someone in my place, please … there are many capable women in my hut.”

He nods, but he is not really listening. “I think Yelena Georgiyevna was right about where you have come from.”

“I come from Czechoslovakia.”

He sighs, knowing it is not the full answer. “To think we would experiment on you, or on anybody for that matter, in the manner you just said.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cilka says, panicking. “I didn’t mean to say that. When do you want me to start?”

“Tomorrow is fine. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Cilka finishes cleaning up before dashing to the nursery next door. Natia is rolling around on the floor, attempting to snatch at a nearby rag doll. Her little face lights up as she hears Cilka call out her name. Cilka sweeps her into the air, and, hugging her tightly, she paces the room, whispering words of love and promises to return as soon as she can.