Cilka's Journey(77)
Maria turns to Cilka. “I kept my promise.”
“What’s going on?” Josie demands, clutching Natia, terrified.
Cilka strokes Natia’s face, then Josie’s.
“Josie, this is Maria Danilovna, the wife of Commandant Alexei Demyanovich. You have nothing to fear. She is helping you.”
“Helping me how?”
“Jozefína, I offered to help Cilka Klein after she saved the life of my daughter, not once, but twice—”
“Well, it wasn’t really me—”
“I’m telling the story, Cilka!” Maria says. “She saved my daughter’s life twice. I asked her what I could do to help her, in gratitude for her care. She didn’t ask for anything for herself; she told me about you and asked if I could help you and your daughter.”
“I don’t understand, you offered to help her and instead you’re helping me?”
“Yes, there is a car waiting outside. It will take you and Natia to the train station and from there to Moscow. A friend of mine, Stepanida Fabiyanovna, will meet you in Moscow and take you home with her. I’m hoping you will take up the opportunity of living with her, earning a small allowance by performing duties and helping in her home.”
Josie, holding Natia, drops to the floor, sobbing, overcome. Cilka bends down beside her, hugging the two of them. Yelena and Maria look on, wiping tears from their own eyes. Natia wriggles free and reaches to put her tiny hands around Cilka’s neck. Cilka sweeps the little girl into her arms, holding her close. She kisses her over and over on the face until the little girl bats her away, causing Josie and Cilka to laugh through their tears. Slowly, they all stand up together.
“Mumma,” Natia squeals as she thrusts her arms toward her mother. Josie takes her.
Maria smiles warmly, wiping her eyes. “I’ll leave you to say goodbye properly. Give my best wishes to Stepanida Fabiyanovna. Tell her I will write soon.”
As Maria Danilovna opens the door, Cilka runs after her, surprising herself by wrapping her arms around her. She catches herself, steps back.
“How can I ever thank you?”
“You already have. Take care, Cilka. I’ll be checking on you from time to time.”
She gives them all one final nod, and leaves.
The door opens again. It is a guard.
“Time to go. The car is waiting, the train won’t.” He holds up a small bag. “The commandant’s wife asked me to give you this; it’s some clothes for the little one. I’ll put it in the car.”
They walk back into the reception area. Josie quickly runs over to Alexandr.
“Goodbye, Alexandr,” she says.
“Good luck, Josie,” he says, pressing his hands over hers, over the child.
As Josie walks back toward the group, Alexandr locks eyes with Cilka. She turns away, puts her arm around Josie and Natia, and walks out into the open with them.
As they reach the car door, Josie looks from Yelena to Cilka. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave you.”
Cilka laughs. Josie’s words are the most beautiful and absurd she has heard for a long time. She keeps the smile on her face, tries to fight back the tears.
“Get in the car. Go. Find your brothers. Have a good life—for me, for all of us—and make sure that little girl does too. I’ll think of you always, and with nothing but happy thoughts.”
One last hug, Natia squeezed between them.
The car door is slammed shut. Yelena and Cilka watch it disappear, neither wanting to move.
“Of all the things I’ve seen since I’ve been here, this is what I will remember, what I will cling to when the darkness of this place threatens to envelop me. I don’t know how the commandant and his wife have managed it. Someone high up must have owed him a favor. Now back to work, there are other souls to save,” Yelena whispers.
The sun breaks through the thick clouds for a moment. Cilka feels like she is breaking apart. “Leich l’shalom,” she whispers quietly, to Josie. Go toward peace.
* * *
That evening, Cilka tells the others of Josie and Natia’s departure, making light of her role in their release. Tears are shed. Memories relived. Happiness and sadness in equal measure.
The conversation opens up, as it often does these days, about their lives before Vorkuta.
Their reasons for being there are as varied as their personalities. As well as having been in the Polish Home Army, Elena had been accused of being a spy. And then she speaks to them in English, which has everyone in awe of her.
“I knew, of course,” says Hannah, smugly.
For five years they have lived with someone who speaks English. Several ask if she would teach them, just a little. A secret act of resistance.
Other girls from Poland were also charged with helping the enemy, in a variety of ways. None of them mention prostitution. Olga shares again the story of how she found herself on the wrong side of the law for having made garments for a wealthy general’s wife. When her husband ran afoul of Stalin and was shot, she was arrested and transported.
Margarethe begins to sob.
“I die a little more each day, not knowing what has happened to my husband.”
“He was taken with you, wasn’t he?” Olga asks, as though trying to solve the puzzle aloud.
“We were taken together but sent to different prisons. I never saw him again. I don’t know if he is alive, but my heart tells me he is dead.”