‘Keep them coming; I’ve got another pocket on this
side.’
The doctor places more drugs in the other pocket.
‘That’s all, if I gave you any more there wouldn’t be
enough for the patients.’
‘I don’t care about the patients! When’s the next delivery
coming in?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Wrong answer.’ The man presses the knife against
Cilka’s throat. She gasps.
‘Don’t hurt her! In two weeks, not for another two
weeks.’
‘Well, I’ll see you in two weeks, then.’
He lets Cilka go, keeping the knife raised. He looks her
up and down. ‘And maybe I’ll see you too; you’re not
bad.’
‘You should get out of here before someone comes
looking for me,’ Cilka says, bravely.
‘Yeah, you’re right.’ The big man points the knife at
the doctor. ‘He knows the drill – don’t leave here until
you know I will have cleared the building.’
Cilka and the doctor watch as the big man calmly walks
to the door, tucking his knife inside his coat, opens it,
pulls it shut quietly behind him.
Cilka turns on the doctor. ‘Who is he? We need to get
the guards, get someone and stop him.’ She wants to say,
‘How could you just hand over medicine to him?’ But
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how can she ask such a thing, when she has taken some here and there, to protect herself?
‘Slow down, Cilka.’
Cilka waits while he takes a moment, appearing to calm
himself before he speaks further.
‘He is one of the criminal trusties. He’s a powerful
person in the camp, with a lot of very strong friends. They
cornered me a few months back when I was leaving one
night and threatened to kill me if I didn’t give them regular supplies of medicine.’
This may be where Hannah is getting them from now.
Through the network.
‘Why didn’t you—’
‘Tell someone? Who? Who do you think is running this
place? It’s not the guards, Cilka, they’re outnumbered.
You should know that. It’s the trusties, and as long as the
work is done here, the fighting and killing kept to a
minimum, no one is going to challenge them.’
Cilka feels foolish to have been here so long and not
have realised the extent of the trusties’ involvement in
running the camp. But she supposes stumbling across such
knowledge is partly luck in a place like this – depends on
where you are and what you can overhear, find out. It is
better not to be so close to power, to not know too much.
She is still incredulous about what this means for the
patients – that quantity going missing. ‘I don’t believe that they can just walk in here and demand you hand over
whatever they want.’
‘Afraid so,’ he sighs, leaning against a bench as the
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colour slowly returns to his face. ‘They did it to my prede-cessor, and I’m just the next person for them to threaten
and intimidate. And they will kill me, I have no doubt
about that.’
‘Then I’ll—’
‘No, you won’t. You won’t say anything, you hear me?
Not a word. Or it will be the last thing you say. They
know I won’t say anything, and if something happens to
that bastard who was just in here, they know it will have
been you that talked and they’ll be waiting for you.’
Cilka won’t say anything, for now, but she does need
to think about this.
‘Promise me you won’t say anything—’
‘There you are.’ Raisa appears in the doorway. ‘I was
wondering what was taking you so long.’ She looks at the
pale-faced doctor. ‘Am I interrupting something?’
‘No, no,’ Cilka and the doctor chorus together.
‘I’m sorry, Raisa, I shouldn’t have kept Cilka from her
work. She was just helping me out.’
‘You need to get some of the medication to the patients
right away, Cilka; they’re asking for it.’
Cilka looks at the scrunched-up piece of paper in her
hand; she had forgotten she was holding it. Straightening
it out, she tries to read what she needs. She quickly locates the medications and hurries from the room, leaving Raisa
looking at the doctor in disbelief.
As Cilka is handing medication to a patient Raisa steps
up beside her, whispering, ‘Are you all right? Was he
trying something on with you?’
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‘What? No, no, nothing like that. I’m fine.’
‘All right, but you will tell me if there is something I
should know?’
‘Don’t worry, I will.’
As Raisa walks away, Cilka calls out, ‘Raisa, did you see
a large, ugly man leaving the ward about five minutes
ago?’
‘I see nothing but large, ugly men leaving here all day,
every day. Was it someone in particular?’
‘No, not really. Thanks for your concern.’
At the end of her shift Cilka steps outside and looks to
the sky. Clear, blue, the sun shining brightly. The white
nights have returned.
‘You,’ is spoken gruffly behind her.
Cilka turns round. Six or seven large men stand behind
her. They take one step closer in unison.
‘Have a safe evening,’ one of them says.
‘I will,’ she defiantly throws back at them.
‘See you tomorrow, same time,’ he says.
From behind the pack the large, ugly brute who held
a knife to her throat only a few hours earlier steps forward.
Out of his pocket he pulls the knife and tosses it from
one hand to another.
Cilka walks away slowly, not looking back.
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CHAPTER 18
‘You promised, Cilka, please make it happen,’ Elena
pleads one Sunday evening as they stroll around
the camp, snatching this opportunity to enjoy the dazzling
overhead display of sunlight poking through clouds.
‘I know,’ Cilka says. She wants to see Josie so badly,
but she hasn’t figured out what to do about the eyes of
the trusties on her. Whether they might threaten anyone
they see her close to. She has determined by now, though,
that they only appear as she finishes work. She has never
seen them after she returns to Hut 29. ‘I’ll go to the nursery tomorrow and get a message to Josie that it’s time you
met Natia.’
Though Olga has been working in the maternity ward,
she hasn’t yet crossed paths with Josie – only seen little
Natia when delivering a mother and baby over to the
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nursery. Josie must finish later than her in the administration building.
‘I’m sorry to keep pestering you,’ Elena says, ‘you’ve
seemed worried about something for several weeks and,
well, me and the others are concerned about you . . . and
perhaps seeing Josie and Natia will help you.’
Cilka has been going straight to bed after nightly duties,
not speaking much to the others, not wanting to endanger
anyone. It isn’t just the trusties who are worrying her,
though. It is also the thought that some of them might
already know, as the doctors did, what went on in that
place. And they know that she is Jewish, and that she never speaks about her arrest. The worry has brought images
back to the surface. Made her blank and unresponsive.
‘You’ve been talking about me?’
‘We talk about all of us, behind our backs of course.’
Elena smiles. ‘Something has been bothering you. You
don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to, but we might
be able to help. You never know.’
‘That’s very nice of you, Elena, but everything is fine.’
She tries to keep the sharpness out of her voice. ‘I promise
I will get a message to Josie tomorrow. I want to see them
both too.’
Several of the other women from Hut 29 join them and
Elena excitedly tells them Josie and Natia will be visiting
next Sunday. Cilka must correct them. She will get the
message to Josie, but she doesn’t know when they will see
her. Clearly Josie hasn’t been wandering around on the
white-night Sundays, whether by choice – for comfort or
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safety of herself and her child, from Vadim, from strangers
– or because she’s under a specific set of rules, Cilka is
not sure. But hearing that a visit to Josie and Natia is a
possibility is enough for the women, for now.
Anastasia walks up beside Cilka.
‘Tell me more about Josie. Why is she so special?’
The sun pokes in and out of the clouds, throwing
shadows across Anastasia’s young features.
‘No one has said she was special.’
‘Look at them, look how happy they are just hearing
her name.’
Cilka considers. ‘We went through a lot together when
we first came here. Josie was the youngest of us and I
guess we all sort of mothered her. Then she got pregnant.
That was hard on her and we all helped her get through
her pregnancy. That’s all. You can understand them now
wanting to see her again with her baby – for them, part
of that baby belongs to us. They have made clothes for
her, and some of them have left their own babies behind,
so they are desperate to hold little Natia.’
‘I see.’ She nods. ‘I look forward to meeting her.’
They walk on in silence for a while.
‘The man who visits your bed some nights,’ Anastasia
says, ‘do you love him?’
Cilka is stunned by the question. ‘What?’
‘Do you love him?’
‘Why would you ask such a question? Do you love the
men who abuse you?’
‘That’s different.’
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‘In what way?’
‘I hear your guy talking to you. He’s in love with you.
I just wondered if you loved him back. I don’t hear you
saying the same things to him.’
Cilka pulls Anastasia close.
‘You will not ask me that again,’ she says firmly. ‘My
business is not your business. You’re young and still have
a lot to learn about this place and your place here. Do
you understand?’
Anastasia looks shocked. ‘You don’t have to get angry
with me. I just asked a question.’
‘I’m not angry,’ Cilka says. Though she knows she is
acting as she has in the past. Some indignation rising up,
cracking through the blank surface. ‘I need you to know
your boundaries where I’m concerned. I’ll do all I can to
help you, but you need to stay out of my business.’
‘I’m sorry, OK? Sorry I said anything.’ Anastasia moves
away from her. ‘I just thought if you loved him back that
would be really nice.’
Anastasia’s questions rattle Cilka. She knows Boris feels
differently about her than she does him. She has never
considered their arrangement to be anything more than
her providing him with comfort and her body. A transac-
tion. Love! She is fond of the women in her hut, and
Yelena, Raisa and Lyuba. She cares for them, would do
anything for them. When she tries to connect these
emotions to Boris she definitely can’t. If he disappeared
tomorrow would she miss him? No, she answers to herself.
If he asked her to do something that could get her into
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trouble? Same answer. What he provides for her is safety from gang rape. She knows about being the property of
powerful men and the protection it can provide, though
she has also never had any choice in the matter. No, she
cannot think of love.
Cilka looks to her right, to where the voice came, not
sure if it is aimed at her.
‘Enjoying your walk?’
Cilka freezes. Her hand instinctively pushes Anastasia
away, not wanting her to be part of any danger she now
feels is imminent. The thug who held a knife to her throat
is only a few feet away, surrounded by his shadows, all
smirking, some leering at the two girls. The thug pulls his
knife from his pocket, waving it at Cilka.
‘I’m going back to the hut,’ she fires at Anastasia. ‘Go
and find the others and meet me back there.’
‘But—’
‘Go, Anastasia, don’t ask questions.’
Slowly, Anastasia walks away, towards the rest of the
women. The hut is the jurisdiction of Boris and the trusties
who protect ‘their’ women, so Cilka thinks they will be
safe there.
‘What do you want?’ she asks, hoping to keep their eyes
on her so the other women can get away.
‘We just saw you and thought we’d say hello,’ he smirks.
Cilka asks them more questions, hoping not to work
them up but trying to stall them. She notices Vadim in
the distance, watching.
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‘I am no threat to your . . . operations,’ she says. And starts to walk away, the hairs rising on her neck when she
turns her back to them. How easy it would be for the
thug to lunge with the knife.
Collapsing on her bed back in the hut, Cilka looks at
the bed beside hers, where Anastasia sleeps, the girl who
moments ago was placed in danger because of Cilka; the
girl who had asked Cilka about love. Still a girl, only
sixteen, the age Cilka was when she entered the other
place, she realises. Was that why Cilka had been so upset?
Had she been that naïve at Anastasia’s age? Had she
believed in possibilities like love? Yes, she had.
Auschwitz-Birkenau, 1944
Cilka watches as hundreds of naked women file past her.
The snow is several inches thick on the ground and continuing to fall, whirling around in the wind. She pulls her coat collar over her mouth and nose, her hat all but covering
her eyes. Women march past her to who knows where, their
death the only certainty. She is transfixed and cannot move.
It’s as if she must bear witness to the horror – she might survive this hell on earth and be the one who has to tell whoever will listen.
A handful of SS guards walk either side of the rows of
women. Other prisoners hurry on, turning away. It is too
much to fathom, too much pain.
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As the last guard passes Cilka, she sees the commandant from Auschwitz, Anton Taube, walking behind him, his
whip smacking against his thigh. He is Schwarzhuber’s senior officer. She recognises him. He sees her. Before she can turn and run he has grabbed her by the arm, forcing her to walk with him. She doesn’t dare speak or attempt to break free.
Taube is the most hated and feared of all the senior officers, even more than Schwarzhuber. Already he has visited her
in her room. Already he has let her know he too will come for her whenever it suits.
Out of the gates of Birkenau they march, into a nearby
paddock off to the side of the road that separates Auschwitz from Birkenau.
The women are made to stand in a single line, pushed
and shoved by guards until they stand shoulder to shoulder, shivering, freezing, weeping. Cilka stands beside Taube,
looking at the ground in front of her.
‘Walk with me,’ Taube says to her.
They stop in front of the first woman. With the tip of his whip Taube lifts her breast. When he releases the whip, it sags down onto her chest. To the guard walking in front of him he indicates for the women to be pushed back a step,
out of line. Cilka watches as the next two women, after
their breasts also sag, join the first on a back row. The fourth woman stays in line, her breasts having bounced back into place.
He is choosing whether they will live or die, depending
on whether or not their breasts are firm.
Cilka has seen enough. She stumbles along beside Taube,
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not looking above ground level, refusing to notice whether the next woman has remained in line or taken a step back.
Turning away, she projectile vomits, splattering the
pristine white of the snow with her morning coffee and
bread.
Taube laughs.
Blindly, Cilka allows herself to be grabbed by the arm by a guard and half dragged back to her block.