thinks, throwing silent daggers at his back.
Bed 9 is the unconscious wretch by the window. Cilka
leans in and, with detachment, feels for the pulse in his
neck. She is shocked to feel a strong, healthy thud thud, thud thud . . . She peels back his right eyelid and notes the pinprick-sized pupil, sees a flutter of movement.
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Looking around, she observes that Yelena and the two nurses present are occupied. She can see Josie’s back in
the filing room.
The man’s file lies at the foot of the bed. As she is about
to pick it up, she hesitates, and pulls the blankets away,
revealing his feet. She scratches her fingernail down his
right foot. It twitches. She reads his file.
A single line. Name: Isaac Ivanovich Kuznetsov.
December 24, 1947. Found unconscious in his bed, unre-
sponsive, brought to hospital. Not for treatment.
Isaac. A Jewish name. Cilka tries to control her breathing.
No. No. Not today, not this man. She will not sit by and
watch him die if there is something that can be done to
save him.
From the dispensary, Cilka finds the medication she has
used many times before to wave under the noses of uncon-
scious patients to try to bring them around. A foul-smelling
substance she has often thought could wake the dead.
Gently she slaps his face, calling his name. A small whimper
escapes his lips. She holds the cloth containing the
substance close to his nose. She pinches his nostrils shut
for a moment or two before releasing them. Being denied
oxygen briefly his nostrils flare open and inhale. Immediately, he responds; his eyes open as he gasps for breath, choking.
She gently rolls him onto his side. Soothing words float
from her lips to his ears as he turns his eyes upward
towards her.
At that moment, Josie comes over to see if she can help.
‘Is Yelena Georgiyevna available?’ Cilka says.
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Josie reaches out to Cilka, a look of concern on her face. ‘Cilka, are you all right?’
Cilka has forgotten, already, about the linen room,
though she does feel tired, emptied out.
‘I am, Josie. I just need to help this man.’
Josie looks around. ‘I’ll find her,’ she says.
Cilka is glad that she and Josie have become close again.
Josie was quiet and subdued, and closed off, for a long
time after Natalya disappeared. But she began to enjoy
conspiring with Cilka to sneak food back to the hut,
especially when winter set in. They have been pretty lucky
with the food, and sometimes Cilka has to remind herself
to be careful. Mostly the women do not leave so much as
a crumb, so it’s OK. But if the head guard, Klavdiya
Arsenyevna, came in at the wrong time, it could be the
hole or worse for Cilka and Josie. Not to mention Hannah,
whose pills are swapped from pocket to pocket and then
Cilka assumes sewn into something – her mattress, perhaps
– by night.
Josie returns a few moments later with Yelena.
Cilka explains how she was meant to be watching the
patient to record time of death but was concerned no
attempt had been made to work out why he was here.
When she did some tests of her own, she discovered he
had a strong pulse and good reflexes. She used the smelling
substance and he has regained consciousness.
Yelena listens intently. Reads the sole entry on his file.
She draws breath through her teeth. ‘You have interfered
here, Cilka. Gleb Vitalyevich isn’t going to like this.’
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‘But—’
‘I do think you’ve done the right thing, and I’ll take a
look at the patient, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be
consequences for you. Remember what I said? You two
go. It’s time to finish up and I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘You won’t get in trouble, will you?’ Cilka asks Yelena.
‘No. I’ll try and make it look like he recovered on his
own,’ she says.
Cilka looks down at the bewildered man lying in the
bed.
‘You’ll be fine, Isaac. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Cilka and Josie go to get their coats, their scarves, their
hats.
* * *
That night, Cilka hardly sleeps. How can saving a man be
a problem? Why is it that her life always pushes her to
be confronted by, or to embrace, the deaths of others?
Why is it that, even if she tries, she cannot change this?
Is there any point ever getting attached to another person
– Josie? Yelena? They are always in danger.
* * *
When Cilka arrives on the ward the next morning, she is
greeted by Gleb Vitalyevich and a bulky-looking trustie
thug.
‘I want her out of here,’ he screams on seeing Cilka.
The trustie moves towards her.
‘She’s an interfering, mixed-up zechka who does nothing 156
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here of any lasting good. She’d be of better use in the mines.’
Yelena and the other staff stand back watching the rant.
Cilka looks pleadingly at Yelena. She shakes her head,
indicating there is nothing she can do. Josie stands close
behind Cilka, silently supporting her.
The trustie grips Cilka’s upper arm, steering her to the
door.
‘It’ll be all right,’ Cilka calls out to Josie.
‘She is going,’ Gleb Vitalyevich says. ‘Now, the rest of
you get back to work.’
Cilka glances at Bed 9 and sees Isaac sitting up. She
throws him a quick smile as she is forced out of the ward.
The trustie follows her all the way to her hut.
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CHAPTER 12
The next morning at rollcall Josie keeps looking at
Cilka, and then at Antonina Karpovna, as Klavdiya
Arsenyevna barks out their names. They stand in ankle-
deep snow. Cilka looks back at Josie’s questioning eyes
beneath the lace detail on her hat. When Josie turns
back to Antonina, the spotlight casts a patterned
shadow across her pale cheek. Cilka knows Josie is
wondering when she is going to tell Antonina she has
to put her back on another work detail. As Josie leaves
the hut to head towards the hospital, Cilka falls into
line with her.
‘What are you doing, Cilka? You can’t come back,’ Josie
says, worried. Cilka did not tell their hut-mates last night
why she’d been back early; she’d feigned illness.
‘I assumed you just weren’t ready to tell everyone
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yesterday – I didn’t know you would try to come back!’
Josie says.
‘I am going to stand up for myself,’ Cilka says. ‘I did
nothing wrong, I deserve to have my job back.’
She is surpris
ing even herself, but something became
clear to her overnight. She will no longer accept death,
which is all around her, as inevitable.
‘You’ll get thrown in the hole! Please, Cilka, go back.
Don’t do this.’
‘I’ll be all right, Josie. I just need your help.’
‘I can’t. I don’t want to go back to working at the mine, I’ll die there. Please, Cilka.’
‘Just this one thing. I’ll wait outside. You go in and find
Yelena Georgiyevna, ask her to come outside and talk to
me. That’s all. I won’t walk into the hospital with you. No
one but the doctor will know I’m here.’
‘What if she’s not there? What if she’s busy?’
‘I’ll wait for a while, and if she doesn’t come out, I’ll
go back to the hut and think of something else.’
She has a good enough relationship with Antonina
Karpovna by now, having lined her stomach with hospital
food just like her hut-mates, so there’s a certain amount
she can get away with. As long as Antonina also keeps the
guard Klavdiya Arsenyevna happy.
Cilka lets Josie get a few steps ahead of her. When
Josie enters the hospital, Cilka leans against the building,
grateful for once for the swirling snow that covers her,
blending her into the surroundings. She watches the
door.
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It finally opens and two men walk away without noticing her. She waits. She watches. Time passes.
The door remains closed.
Back in her hut, Cilka flings herself onto her bed, beating
the thin mattress, screaming at the world, screaming at
her stupidity in losing a job that kept her safe and helped
to feed her hut-mates. She falls asleep, face down, drained
of energy, of emotion.
A hard slap across the back of her head brings Cilka
back to time and place.
Klavdiya Arsenyevna stands over her, her hand raised
to strike her again.
‘What are you doing here? Get on your feet,’ she screams.
Crawling to the end of her bed, scrambling to her feet,
with her head down, Cilka stares at the foot tapping out
a threatening tune on the wooden floor.
‘I said, what are you doing here in the middle of the
day? Answer me, zechka.’
‘I-I work in the hospital, but I’m not needed there
today,’ Cilka mutters, trying to buy herself time to explain
her dismissal.
‘So you thought you could just spend the day in bed?
In the comfort of a warm hut while everyone else is out
working?’
In fact the stove is barely working, the temperature
inside the hut is not much warmer than outside. Cilka is
still in her coat and hat.
‘No, I didn’t know what to do after I left the hospital
this morning so came back here, that’s all.’
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‘Well then, let me put you to work.’
‘Yes, Klavdiya Arsenyevna.’
Klavdiya pulls the blanket and mattress from Cilka’s
bed, throwing it into the middle of the room.
‘Your turn.’
‘I’m sorry, what do you want me to do?’
‘Strip every bed into a pile. You can then explain to the
others when they return how you trashed their tidy little home. You will do this and bear the consequences. Now
get going.’
Josie’s bed, being next to Cilka’s, is quickly added to
the middle of the room. And then the next, and the next,
until mattresses and blankets cover the entire floor of the
hut. Klavdiya positions herself next to the stove, enjoying
the scene.
With the last bed stripped, Cilka looks back at Klavdiya,
awaiting further instructions.
Klavdiya walks to the back of the hut next to Cilka’s
bedding and begins kicking it, looking for something that
shouldn’t be there. A letter, something smuggled into the
hut.
Next to Cilka’s bed, Klavdiya kicks the sheet that has
clearly come from Josie’s bed, before picking it up and
examining what looks like another piece of fabric sewn
onto the sheet.
‘What’s this?’ she calls out to Cilka.
Hurrying to her side, Cilka examines the sheet with the
attached piece of fabric containing words written in Cyrillic text, the names of medications.
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‘Who sleeps here?’ Klavdiya demands to know, pointing at Josie’s bed.
Cilka doesn’t answer.
Klavdiya stares at her. ‘You will sit here amongst this
mess until the others have come back and then I shall
return. Don’t forget to tell them it was you who did all
this,’ she says, sweeping her hand around the room. ‘You
did a better job than I would,’ she adds with a snarl. ‘I
want it to look just like this when I return, so don’t go
getting any ideas about fixing it up. Tell Antonina Karpovna
to be here when I return also.’
Punishing herself for her foolishness, Cilka curls up on
the wooden slats of her bed.
* * *
The blast of icy wind alerts Cilka to the arrival of the
women, Josie coming in behind them. They enter slowly,
stepping over the scattered bedding, shaking their heads
in disgust at yet another violation of their space.
‘Antonina Karpovna,’ Cilka calls out as the brigadier
is about to shut the door and leave. ‘Please, Antonina
Karpovna, Klavdiya Arsenyevna has asked that you stay
until she returns.’
‘Can we make our beds?’ one of the women asks.
‘No. And I have to tell you something.’
‘It wasn’t the guard who did this, it was me.’
‘Why did you do this?’ Elena asks.
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‘Because Klavdiya made her, obviously.’ Josie jumps to Cilka’s defence.
‘Is that right?’ Elena asks.
‘Still, it was me who did it,’ Cilka replies.
She flicks her eyes to Hannah, who is red-faced as she
presses around the edges of her mattress, seeming to find
her pills safe.
Antonina walks down towards Cilka.
‘What’s this all about? Why weren’t you at work?’
‘Well . . .’ Cilka says, struggling to hold on to a voice
that threatens to break.
She is saved by the door opening and Klavdiya stepping
inside the hut, imposing in her uniform. She looks around
with a wicked smirk on her face.
‘Get this place tidied up, you lazy bitches.’ To Antonina,
she says, ‘Come with me,’ and the two of them walk to
the end of the hut where Josie has been putting her
mattress and sheet back on the bed. They stop beside the
bed. Josie stops what she is doing. Cilka stands beside her
unmade bed.
‘Is this yours?’ Klavdiya asks Josie.
‘Yes, Klavdiya Arsenyevna.’
Klavdiya yanks the sheet away from the matt
ress, turning
it over, revealing the sewn patch with writing. She shows
it to Antonina and asks her, ‘What is this?’
Antonina looks at the sheet with writing thrust at
her.
‘I don’t know. I haven’t . . .’
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‘I’m sorry, Josie, you have the wrong sheet. This is mine,’
Cilka blurts out.
All eyes turn to Cilka as she reaches out and takes the
sheet from Klavdiya.
‘These are the names of medications we use in the
hospital. I wrote them to practise spelling them. I didn’t
want to make mistakes in the patients’ records.’
‘Cilka, no,’ Josie says.
‘It’s all right, Josie, I’m sorry you picked up my sheet.
Please, Klavdiya Arsenyevna, this is mine, I’m the one to
blame.’
Klavdiya turns on Antonina.
‘You are responsible for what goes on in this hut. What
have you got to say for yourself? When was the last time
you inspected this?’
‘I only did it today, this morning, when I returned,’ says
Cilka. ‘Before you came. Antonina Karpovna couldn’t
possibly have known about this. She inspected our beds
only yesterday.’
‘Is that right?’ Klavdiya asks, looking at Antonina.
‘I haven’t seen this before,’ Antonina replies, looking
at Cilka with concern.
‘Cilka, no . . .’ Josie wails.
‘It’s all right, Josie, make your bed. I’ll be fine.’
Cilka is grabbed by the arm, marched from the hut.
* * *
Cilka lies curled up on the stone floor of a tiny cell. She
wears only her underclothes. She is shivering so hard her
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hip and shoulder are turning to bruises. In front of her nose is a damp wall, smelling of mould. A barred window
at neck height lets in the weather.
With no sense of time, she trains herself to sleep, inviting
in the blankness. She wakes from nightmares, screaming,
thrashing about, banging her limbs on the cold, hard floor
and wall. She shivers more, the bruises blossoming all over
her.
Sometimes a hand throws in a hardened chunk of black
bread, sometimes a cup of soup so thin it could just be
water.
The toilet bucket in the corner reeks; it is rarely
changed.
When she wakes from her nightmares Cilka willingly
invites the blankness back. But sometimes it will not stay.