Cilka's Journey(80)

“I can help,” the guard says.

“I can help,” one of the prisoners croaks, coughing.

“Thanks.” Turning to the other prisoner: “Can you keep an eye on him?” she says, nodding toward the injured man. “He’s got a badly broken arm.”

“I’ve got him,” the prisoner answers.

Cilka holds the lamp up toward the way out and the shuffling, wincing men start to follow it. Pavel, behind her, eases his arms under the unconscious man’s shoulders, taking a firm grip around his chest. Cilka picks up the medication box, places the intravenous bottle of fluid on top, and follows the workers along the long, claustrophobic corridor and eventually into the open door of the lift cage.

She looks back. Through the sooty swirl of the lamplight she can see that Pavel is struggling with the weight of the man. She hears rumbling. No. Dislodged rocks break away, spewing out clouds of dust. She hears Pavel scream.

Cilka hears yelling, and the lever of the lift clicking up, the cage door slamming. She coughs and coughs, ears ringing. She collapses, her head hitting the hard caging of the lift wall, her body vibrating as it starts its slow ascent.



* * *



“Cilka, Cilka, squeeze my hand.” Yelena’s soothing voice drifts into Cilka’s semi-consciousness.

Hand, feel hand, squeeze, she tells herself. The small effort of obeying this command sends shock waves of pain through her body and she lapses back into unconsciousness.



* * *



The sound of someone crying out stirs Cilka awake. Without opening her eyes, she listens to the familiar sounds of doctors and nurses going about their work, of patients calling out for comfort, calling out in pain. She wants to call out for both.

“Are you with us, Cilka?” she hears Raisa whispering. She feels Raisa’s breath on her cheek; she must be leaning over her.

“It’s time to wake up. Come on, open your eyes.”

Slowly, Cilka opens her eyes. The world is a blur.

“I can’t see,” she whispers.

“You may have blurred vision, so don’t panic, Cilka. You’re going to be all right. Can you see my hand?”

Something flashes in front of Cilka, a movement. It could be a hand. Cilka blinks several times, and each time she does so her vision clears a little until she can identify fingers; yes, it is a hand.

“I see it, I see your hand,” she mumbles weakly.

“Good girl. Now just listen while I tell you how you are, then you can tell me how you feel. All right?”

“Yes.”

“You have had a nasty blow to the back of the head requiring twenty stitches. I can’t believe you made it out of there, when the whole tunnel was collapsing. What are you made of?”

“Stronger stuff than you thought.”

“We had to cut some of your hair away, I’m afraid, but it will grow back. Now, you are bound to have a headache and we don’t want you talking, feeling like you have to do anything.”

Cilka opens her mouth to speak. Pavel. She is remembering the last moments in the mine. She gurgles his name, in distress.

“It’s all right, Cilka,” Raisa says.

“Pavel…”

“I’m sorry, Cilka. He didn’t make it.”

And it is my fault, she thinks. I made him go in.

She closes her eyes.

I am cursed. Everyone around me dies or is taken away. It is not safe to be near me.

“Cilka, you have grazes and bruises on your upper back where the rock landed; you must have been bent over when it happened. They are nothing serious and are healing nicely.”

She tries to breathe. It doesn’t matter about her.

“How are the other men?”

“Oh, Cilka. Only you would ask about others before yourself. Thanks to you, the workers who came out before you are mostly fine.”

Cilka is relieved they are not all dead. But, Pavel. She should have been more careful.

“Now,” Raisa says. “Here is how you are going to be treated, and I want your promise that you will do as we tell you. I want none of your interfering, even if you do think you know more than all of us put together.”

Cilka says nothing.

“I said, promise.”

“I promise,” she mumbles.

“Promise what?”

“To do as I’m told, not to interfere and think I can heal myself.”

“I heard that,” Yelena says, having snuck up on them. “How is our patient?”

“I’m—”

“I’ll do the talking, you’ve just agreed to keep quiet,” Raisa says.

“I said nothing about keeping quiet.”

“My question has just been answered. Cilka, tell me how you feel? Where does it hurt?”

“It doesn’t.”

Yelena huffs. “I want you to stay lying flat for another twenty-four hours. Try not to move too much, let your body heal, particularly your head. I suspect you have been badly concussed and only rest will heal that.”

“Thank you,” Cilka manages.

“Get some rest. I got word back to your hut that you were injured but are going to be all right; I know how close you are to the women there and I thought they might be worried.”

Hannah certainly will be, she thinks. But the last container Cilka got for her will last awhile.