Cilka's Journey(65)
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They see Josie and Natia a second and third time. The third time, in a moment with Josie out of earshot of the others, Cilka asks her if she has met a man called Alexandr while working in the administration building.
“The Czech man?” Josie asks.
“Yes, he works as a messenger. Or did, last I knew,” Cilka says.
“Yes, I don’t have a lot to do with him day to day, but I see him. He is very friendly,” she says. “Which is a rare enough thing around here.”
“It is,” Cilka says. “I guess that’s why he has stayed in my mind.”
Josie contemplates Cilka. “I can try to talk to him for you.”
“Oh no…” Cilka says. “I was just wondering if he was still there. I haven’t seen him for a while.”
Josie nods. Cilka can see she wants to say more, but she turns away and calls out to little Natia, who is reaching out for her.
A fourth planned visit doesn’t happen as autumn comes early; the temperature drops dramatically, and rain and sleet prevent all but the foolhardy and those forced to work from being outside. The trusties have curtailed their daily visits to Cilka, perhaps thinking she has received the message, or having found someone else to intimidate. Still, the drugs dwindle, and the doctor seems permanently rattled. A feeling of unease plagues Cilka, darkness and cold closing in on her with the weather.
CHAPTER 19
Daily life for Cilka plays out, the only thing changing being the patients in the beds. The gloom of another winter fifty miles from the Arctic Circle hits and settles on her.
Getting out of bed in the darkness is something she doesn’t want to do. Often, she doesn’t go to the mess hall for breakfast. Her conversations in the evening have ceased. No longer does she gather around the stove, sipping hot tea and listening to the stories and complaints of the women, who now all trudge to different parts of the camp for work, with varying degrees of warmth, food, and physical challenge. More in the hut are able to aid the others now, and so the pressure is off Cilka—she is no longer the only one who can bring in extra rations or materials. But being less useful is not necessarily a state Cilka is able to embrace.
Her bed becomes her sanctuary, and she lies with her head turned to the wall.
On the ward, Raisa and Lyuba notice the change, comment on it and ask if something is wrong. Can they do anything to help her? With a forced half-smile she tells them she is fine, nothing is wrong. There is no other way to answer their questions. Cilka cannot articulate to herself, let alone anyone else, how she is feeling.
For the first time in many years she has allowed herself to be dragged down by the enormity of what she has seen, heard, and done—or not done—herself. What she no longer has and what she can never long for. It is like an avalanche—there seems to be no way now of holding it at bay. She doesn’t understand how she kept it all back before, but suspects this may be happening because she has acknowledged aloud to Yelena that she survived that other place. Josie is also front and center in Cilka’s mind. With every day that passes, Josie comes closer to being separated from her daughter.
Cilka thought she had been saved from this feeling of despair by using her position to make a difference to many of the sick and injured. Now she knows that it will always catch up to her. She is filled with heaviness. Why go on?
“Get the midday medication,” Raisa tells her one day, seeking to jolt Cilka from her melancholy. Without response, Cilka trudges to the dispensary, shutting the door behind her.
She stares at the medications lining the shelves for a long time, disoriented. She picks up a pill bottle, the Cyrillic script swimming in her vision. To take them all would bring back the blankness. She tips the pills into her hand. She rolls them around.
She tips the pills back into the bottle and, trembling, spills some on the floor. She gets down on her knees and starts to pick them up. The door opens, startling her.
“Cilka, I’ve been looking for you,” Yelena says, putting her head around the door. “Did you drop something?”
“Yes,” Cilka says, not looking up. “I’ll be out in a moment.”
Once the trembling has subsided, Cilka takes the medication to Raisa, and then finds Yelena. The doctor looks at her steadily for a while, as if guessing what has just played out in Cilka’s mind—her dance with death, oblivion, freedom from the aching loss and the guilt and shame; and then her step back from the abyss.
“Are you ready for another challenge?” Yelena asks Cilka.
“Not really,” Cilka replies.
“I think you are,” Yelena says slowly, still watching her carefully. “At least, you could try it, and if you don’t like it, well, we can always stop it.”
“Are you opening another ward?”
“No, not a ward. We need a new nurse on the ambulance. What do you say?”
“I’ve seen what the ambulance brings in. How can I help them? I need you and Raisa and Lyuba to tell me what to do.”
“No, you don’t. Not anymore, Cilka. I think you would be a great asset at the scene of an accident. They need someone who can think quickly on her feet, do what needs to be done to get the patient here, then we can take over. Will you at least give it a try?”
What have I got to lose? Cilka thinks.