Cilka's Journey(72)
CHAPTER 22
“He made it through.”
The words greet Cilka as she enters the ward.
“Mikhail Alexandrovich? Where is he?”
“Bed 1—we thought you might like to have him as close to the nurses’ station as possible. You’ll be able to write your notes and still see him.”
“I’ll go and say hello.”
Mikhail is sleeping. Cilka looks at him for several moments, her eyes wandering down the bed to where she knows only one leg remains, hidden under blankets. She was present when his right leg was amputated. She touches his forehead, swathed in fresh bandages. Her training kicks in and she picks up his file, scanning it for information on how he fared overnight. Nothing concerning jumps out at her.
When she returns to the desk area, Raisa discusses the other patients and they share out the workload: washing, changing dressings, administering medication. There are two new women on the ward who had a fight the previous night, inflicting nasty injuries on each other. Raisa and Cilka agree to nurse one each, to avoid getting caught in the middle of the dispute.
Cilka has barely begun attending to her patient when the words “Ambulance going out” are shouted.
“Go! I’ll see to your patient,” Lyuba calls out.
Outside, the ambulance is waiting.
“Do you want to ride up front?” Pavel asks.
“Yes,” Cilka says as she takes hold of the ambulance door. “After you. Kirill Grigorovich can play with your leg today.”
Reluctantly Pavel climbs into the ambulance, pushing up against Kirill.
“What the hell are you doing?” Kirill demands.
Cilka climbs into the cab, slamming the door shut.
“Let’s go.”
With a screeching of gears, the ambulance drives off.
“If we’re going to be working together, can we try to get along?” Cilka says, leaning over Pavel and staring at Kirill.
He changes gear, refuses to reply.
“Do we know what we are going to today?” Cilka asks.
“A crane has collapsed and the driver is trapped inside,” Pavel says.
“Only one casualty?”
“I think so, but you never know. Sometimes we’ve gone to an accident like this and found that the bloody thing came down and landed on ten others,” Pavel answers.
“Who is rescuing him?”
“Depends,” Kirill throws out.
“Depends on what?” Cilka asks.
“Has anybody ever told you, you ask too many bloody questions?”
“Plenty of people, probably everyone who’s ever met me.”
The truck bounces over a boulder and Cilka winces as her shoulder slams into the window.
“So you’re not going to shut up then, is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m not going to shut up, Kirill Grigorovich, so you had better get used to it. Do you want to answer my question? Or should Pavel?”
“Well—” Pavel begins to explain.
“Shut it, I’ll tell Cilka I-Have-to-Know-Everything Klein. It depends how dangerous the rescue is. If it’s risky, then the supervisors will make the prisoners do it. If not, then the guards will want to make themselves heroes.”
“Thank you,” Cilka says. “We’ll know as soon as we arrive how dangerous it is then. I know you don’t like talking to me, Kirill Grigorovich, but it does help if I have even just a little information.”
“Yeah, well, clearly knowing everything didn’t stop you being sent here.”
Cilka chortles. “I never said I knew everything. I just like to know what I’m getting into.”
When they reach the site, there is nothing they can do straight-away. Senior guards and supervisors appear from time to time to yell, as prisoners try to untangle the mess that was once the long arm of the crane, now wrapped around the driver’s box. There is no glory in this rescue.
For the next two hours Cilka, Pavel and Kirill stand in the cold, stamping their feet, smacking their hands, returning to the ambulance to escape the wind. Several times Cilka climbs up the mangled metal frame of the collapsed crane to wriggle partway into the cabin to check for signs of life in the driver. Each time she notes his pulse getting weaker, the flow of blood from his head wound no longer gushing, the bandage she has put around the wound soaked in blood.
After her last trip, Cilka returns to the ambulance to tell Kirill to go back to the hospital. On the drive back, Cilka sees the first bloom of spring flowers pushing their way through the frost on the ground. The wind whips them around and still their stalks bounce back, staying rooted to the frozen earth. Cilka has served nearly one third of her sentence. It is unbearable to contemplate how much longer there is to go. Instead, looking at the flowers, she dreams of the light and warmth that soon will come, and with them, time to see Josie and Natia again.
* * *
When she gets back to the ward, Cilka is told Mikhail is awake and has been asking for her.
“How are you feeling?” she asks him, smiling, reassuring.
“Is it gone, my leg? But I can feel it still. The pain is there.”
“I’ll get you something for the pain, but yes, Mikhail Alexandrovich, the doctor had to amputate your right leg, but she has done a marvelous job repairing your left leg, and with time it will heal.”