Cilka's Journey(96)

“I’ve been asked to report here,” she says with a confidence she doesn’t feel.

“Name.”

“Cecilia Klein.”

“Number.”

“1-B494.”

The receptionist rifles through several envelopes on her desk. Taking one, she looks at the number printed on it. 1-B494.

“Here, there’s a small sum of money in there and a letter to hand to the guard at the gate on your way out.”

Cilka doesn’t take the offered envelope.

“Take it and get out of here,” the receptionist snaps at her.

“Where am I going?”

“First to Moscow, then to be deported to your home country,” the receptionist says.

Home?

“I am to go to the train station?”

“Yes. Now get out of here. Next.”

The bulb in the ceiling blinks. Another piece of paper. Another moment where her life is decided for her.

“But I can’t just leave. There are people I need to see.”

Alexandr. Will he be released? Released under the dead man’s name. How will she find him?

Her chest aches, feels like it’s collapsing in on itself.

Yelena, Raisa, Lyuba, Elena, Anastasia and Margarethe—if she could get to them … She needs to say goodbye!

Klavdiya Arsenyevna is there, overseeing the prisoners’ release. Cilka has seldom seen her since moving into the nurses’ quarters. Now the guard steps forward.

“You are lucky, Cilka Klein, but do not test my patience. You are to leave immediately, not to go anywhere but the front gate. Or I can arrange for a guard to drag you to the hole if that’s what you would prefer?”

Cilka takes the envelope, shaking. The men behind her have all gone quiet.

“Next,” says the receptionist.



* * *



Cilka hands the letter to the guard at the gate, who barely glances at it, indicating with his head for her to move on. Slowly, she walks away, looking around for someone to stop her, tell her it’s all a mistake. The few guards she passes ignore her.

On she walks, down the only road she sees. Alone.

The heavy clouds roll in. Cilka prays it doesn’t snow today.

In the distance she can see small buildings. Homes, she thinks. She walks on. Aching with sadness, but dizzy, also, at the strangeness of this freedom. This road in front of her. One foot, the next. What do people do with this?

Walking down a street with houses and a few shops, she peers into windows. Women with children, cleaning, playing, cooking, eating, look out at her suspiciously. She catches the rich smells of stew, and baking bread.

She hears a familiar sound, a train slowly pulling in behind the buildings, and hurries toward it. By the time she reaches the railway line, the train is disappearing. Her eyes follow the tracks to a small station. She goes to it. A man is in the process of closing and locking the door to a small office.

“Excuse me?”

The man pauses with his key in the door, stares down at her.

“What do you want?”

“Where was that train going?”

“Moscow, eventually.”

“And among the released prisoners, did you happen to see a man … tall, slight bruising on his face…”

The man cuts her off. “It was full; there were many men. I’m sorry; I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

Cilka opens the envelope stuffed in her coat pocket. She pulls all the money out.

“Can I have a ticket for the next train, please?”

Josie and Natia are in Moscow. If all the trains went to Moscow, then in Moscow she could look for them, and eventually also, for Alexandr. If only she could remember the name of Maria Danilovna’s friend. It will be very difficult to track her down. But she can try. She will.

“It’s not due yet, but all you need is your release paper and movement order.”

“When will it come?”

“Tomorrow, come back tomorrow.”

Cilka is totally deflated, exhausted, desperate.

“Where will I stay?” she says, close to tears.

“Look, I can’t help you. You’ll just have to do what all the others like you have done: find somewhere warm to hole up in and come back tomorrow.”

“Can I stay here somewhere?”

“No, but look out for the police; they patrol day and night looking for your type, you prisoners—some of them have caused trouble stealing from shops and homes while waiting for the train.”

Cilka is crushed. She turns away, walks back to town.



* * *



Other prisoners have also been released and been told by the stationmaster to return the next day. They wander the streets. They get into trouble with the locals. Blood is spilled. Cilka doesn’t offer to help, choosing to stay apart.

She still doesn’t believe she is free. Maybe the world is just a wider prison, where she has no family and no friends and no home. She has—had—Alexandr. Is her life to be spent wondering about him the way she wonders about her father, about Gita, about Josie? How will she really find Josie in a huge city like Moscow? At least she knows Yelena will be safe. But she didn’t get to say goodbye, to hug her, to thank her properly. She feels wrenched in two. She spends the night behind a shop, curled up in a doorway in an attempt to keep out of the icy wind.