eerie calm surrounds them as they file into the middle of the room.
As Cilka opens the door, the blinding sunlight reflects
off the powdery snow surrounding the building. She hears
the engine idling on the truck waiting just outside the
fence.
The women wait behind her, the keeper of the death
block. ‘Get out!’ she screams. ‘Come on, you lazy bunch,
get moving, quicker.’
She holds the door open as one by one the women exit
the block and walk between the SS officers guiding them
to the back of the truck. The last woman is struggling to walk; a gap has opened up between her and the woman in
front. Cilka sees the nearest SS officer pull his swagger stick from its holder on his belt and advance on the woman.
Cilka gets to her first, screaming at her as she slips her arm around the woman, half dragging her towards the truck.
The SS officer puts his stick away. Cilka doesn’t let up on her screaming until she has helped the woman onto the
truck. The doors are slammed shut, and the truck drives
off. The SS officers wander away.
Cilka stands watching the truck leave. She is completely
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hollowed out, though she feels bile in her throat. She doesn’t see the prisoner until she is a few feet away.
‘Murderer,’ the prisoner hisses at her.
‘What did you say?’
‘You heard me, you murdering bitch. You have as much
blood on your hands as they do,’ she says in a shaking voice, pointing to the departing truck.
The woman walks away, turning back, glaring at her.
Cilka looks from her to the truck as it rounds a building out of sight, to her hands.
She tears at her gloves. Using her teeth, she frees her
fingers, throws the gloves to the ground and drops beside them. Burying her hands in the snow, she grabs handfuls of it, rubbing each hand furiously, desperately, tears streaming down her face.
‘Cilka, Cilka,’ a panicked voice calls out.
Her friends Gita and Dana run to her. Reaching down,
they try to lift her up, but she fights them off.
‘What’s wrong with you, Cilka?’ Dana pleads.
‘Help me wash it off, make it go away.’
‘Cilka, come on . . .’
Cilka holds up her hands, now red from the cold and the
vicious rubbing.
‘I can’t get them clean,’ she wails.
Dana takes one of Cilka’s hands and rubs it with her coat to dry and warm it up before pulling one of the discarded gloves on.
‘Cilka, we’ve got you. It’s all right.’
Gita helps her to her feet.
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‘Come on, let’s get you back in your room,’ she says.
‘The blood, can’t you see the blood?’
‘Come on, back inside before you freeze,’ Gita says.
* * *
‘Cilka, are you all right, we could do with a hand here,’
a worried Kirill says.
‘All this blood,’ she says, staring at the ground.
‘Cilka.’ Fyodor touches her arm gently. She flinches.
Then sound and light and air come back to her. She swal-
lows, takes a breath.
She focuses on the unconscious man lying at her feet.
Though his face is covered in blood, she thinks she knows
who it is.
No, not him. Please.
‘Get the stretcher, Kirill. I can’t see his injuries,’ she
manages to say. ‘We’ll load him up and I’ll get a better
look in the ambulance.’
Once the man is on the stretcher, Cilka walks beside
him as he is carried to the ambulance. A prisoner joins
them.
‘Is he going to be all right?’
‘I don’t know yet. Do you know his name?’
‘Petrik – Alexandr Petrik,’ the man says as he peels off,
walking away.
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CHAPTER 31
‘Check Bed 13 and record time of death,’ Yury
Petrovich says to Cilka the next morning as he
starts his rounds on the ward.
What he doesn’t realise is that Cilka has been checking
Bed 13 all night.
‘Surprised he’s still with us. I expected him to die over-
night,’ Yury says.
‘OK, will do,’ Cilka says, trying not to reveal any emotion
in her voice. After all, she does not really know Alexandr,
has barely spoken with him.
Cilka reads Alexandr’s notes again as she walks back
over to Bed 13. She looks down at his unconscious figure.
His face is badly swollen, she can see his nose and left
cheekbone are broken. She pulls back his right eyelid,
gently, noting his pupils are pinpointed and swim in liquid.
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It is strange to be touching him after all this time, and in these circumstances.
‘Oh Alexandr, what did you do to deserve such a beating?’
She pulls back the blanket covering him and examines
his chest. Dark purple bruises cover his entire abdomen.
She softly runs her hands over his ribs. None feel broken.
She examines his legs. Multiple bruises and a badly
swollen, twisted left knee. No obvious broken bones.
‘Why isn’t Bed 13 being actively treated?’ she asks
Lyuba. ‘I’m seeing lots of bruises and swelling and his face
is smashed up, but no major broken bones.’
‘I’m not sure,’ Lyuba answers. ‘But . . .’ she lowers her
voice, ‘I heard he was caught smuggling written material
out of the camp, and they think he had been doing it for
some time.’
‘Who said that?’
‘An officer was here earlier this morning, asking about
him. He left when he was told he wasn’t going to make
it.’
Cilka remembers the scribbles on the edges of the paper
at his desk in the administration building. Did the doctor
assign her this man because he knew she wouldn’t just let
him expire, while the official notes would make the author-
ities think they didn’t have to do anything further?
‘I’m going to clean his face up a bit and see if I can
find a head wound.’
‘He’s your patient,’ Lyuba says. ‘Just be careful.’
Cilka tends to her other patients before returning to
Alexandr. She is trying not to be too obvious about her
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attentions. As she cleans away dried blood and removes splinters of timber from his scalp, she talks to him softly.
She continues washing his chest and looking closely at the
injuries there. She straightens his twisted left leg and thinks she feels a tremor of resistance, a reflex to the pain that
a conscious person would make.
She goes outside with a bowl and returns with packed
snow from a spring flurry. Placing a towel under his knee,
she packs the area with snow, holding it in place with
another towel. She records all his vital signs, none of which tell her he is currently losing his battle to live.
Throughout the day she monitors Alexandr, replacing
the icy sno
w when it melts into a pan. She notes the
swelling around his knee has subsided a little.
That evening she hands his care over to the night nurse
who, on looking at Alexandr’s file, asks Cilka what she’s
been doing. The patient is not for active care. Cilka tells
her she has been doing basic nursing care only, has admin-
istered no medication or done anything contrary to what
she has been taught.
‘Well don’t expect me to do the same,’ the nurse
responds.
‘I don’t,’ Cilka says, knowing she has to be careful.
She finds it hard to leave the hospital. She will come
back as early as she can in the morning.
Alexandr remains unconscious for the next four days.
During the day Cilka washes him, talks to him, packs snow
around his injured left knee, checks for reflexes. There
aren’t any. At night he is ignored.
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‘How much longer are you going to continue caring for Bed 13?’ Yelena asks on the fifth day.
‘Until he wakes up or dies,’ Cilka answers.
‘We weren’t sure he’d live this long; what’s your secret
with him?’
‘Nothing, I just clean him and talk to him. The swelling
around his face and head is going down, there’s this gentle
face under there,’ Cilka says. Knowing she can be open
with Yelena, she says, ‘I’ve met him before, you know.
There’s just something about him.’
‘Cilka, how many times have we told you not to get
attached to your patients?’ Yelena scolds.
‘I just want to give him the best chance to live. Isn’t
that what we’re here to do?’
‘Only when there is hope of survival. You know that. I
bet you can’t count the number of patients you have cared
for who have died.’
‘Whatever the number is, I don’t want there to be
another,’ Cilka says with more anger than she intends.
‘All right. Let me know if you want me to look at him,
or if anything changes with him.’
Cilka goes back over to Bed 13.
‘Well, Alexandr, you’re getting me into trouble. Now I
need you to do one of two things. Wake up or . . . No.
Just the one thing, wake up. I want to hear your voice
again.’
‘Ambulance going out.’
Cilka returns with two patients from an accident – a
truck has skidded in the mud and overturned. She is kept
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busy for the rest of the day. She leaves the ward exhausted.
Nothing has changed with Alexandr.
The next morning Alexandr is where she left him. As
she begins her morning ritual of washing his face, he says
quietly to her, ‘I thought you’d given up on me.’
Cilka jumps up, gasping.
‘Yelena Georgiyevna!’
Yelena is at the bedside in an instant. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘He’s awake, he spoke to me.’
Yelena leans over Alexandr. Lighting a match, she flicks
it back and forth in front of his eyes. He blinks several
times. The only other person Cilka has ever known to
have eyes of such a dark brown they appear almost black
was her friend Gita. Gita’s face flashes before her.
Cilka leans over Alexandr, peering into his eyes.
‘I’m glad you’re back,’ she says.
‘Cilka. I believe we have met before.’
Yelena looks at Cilka with a half-grin. ‘Cilka, will you
continue caring for this patient? I think you know what
is needed.’
‘Thank you, Yelena Georgiyevna. I’ll call you if I need
you.’
‘You have a beautiful voice, Cilka, I’ve enjoyed our
conversations.’
‘What conversations?’ Cilka says playfully. ‘I’ve been
doing all the talking.’
‘I’ve been answering. Could you not read my thoughts?’
Cilka blushes, ‘I don’t even remember what I said to you.’
‘Would you like me to tell you?’
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‘No, I would not. Now lie still and let me look at your injuries.’
Over the next six days, Alexandr’s injuries fade and
heal. It is only when an attempt is made for him to stand
and walk that the extent of the injury to his knee becomes
obvious. The joint will not flex or bend without pain.
When Cilka has a spare moment, she assists Alexandr
onto his feet and, with his arm around her waist, supports
him as he adjusts to weight-bearing and slowly, painfully
walking a few steps.
Two weeks pass and Alexandr is still on the ward.
Having spent the best part of the day at an accident
scene at the mine, and assisting in surgery, it is the end
of her shift before Cilka gets back to Alexandr.
‘Can you stay and talk awhile?’ he asks when she tells
him she has come to say goodnight.
‘I guess I could stay for a little while.’
Cilka grabs a chair, places it at the head of the bed and,
after propping Alexandr up on more pillows than he is
entitled to, she sits with him. They talk. They laugh quietly.
‘Cilka,’ a nurse says.
‘Yes?’
‘The patient needs his rest and so do you. Time to go.’
‘I’m sorry. I’m leaving now.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Cilka. Sweet dreams.’
The next morning Cilka asks Yelena if she can have a
private word.
‘Come into the dispensary,’ Yelena says.
Yelena shuts the door behind them, leans against it.
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‘It’s going out on the ambulance . . . ’ Cilka says shyly.
‘What about it?’
‘It’s, just, well, I was wondering if I could take a break
‘He has to leave here sooner or later, Cilka.’
‘Of course he does. He’s getting better every day, I know
that.’
‘Do you want to stop the ambulance run until he is
discharged?’
‘It’s not about Alexandr being on the ward.’
‘I see. It’s about you no longer wanting to risk your life.
I think I understand.’
‘I wonder if I’ve done it for long enough.’
‘You’ve taken more risks, not all of them calculated, I
fear, than anyone else I know. Consider yourself no longer
on the ambulance run.’
‘Perhaps just one more so I can say goodbye to Fyodor
and Kirill. I’ve become quite fond of them.’
‘In a brotherly way.’
‘Of course.’
‘And Alexandr? You care for him, don’t you?’
Cilka doesn’t answer.
‘It’s all right, you’re allowed to feel something for a man.
It makes me happy to see you thinking about a future.’
‘How can I think about a future while I’m here, really?’
‘You can, and I think you do. Get back to work. Once
more out on the ambulance.’
As Cilka goes to le
ave the room, Yelena embraces her.
‘I’m happy for you,’ she whispers in her ear.
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* * *
Cilka doesn’t have to wait long for her final ambulance
run. That afternoon she travels with Fyodor and Kirill to
yet another mine collapse. This time she is cautious and
asks the supervisor to declare the tunnel safe before she
ventures in. The two men caught in the collapse cannot
be resuscitated and are left for the truck to take their
bodies to the mortuary.
On the drive back to the hospital Cilka tells Fyodor
and Kirill she won’t be accompanying them anymore. The
other nurses will be rotating that role.
Kirill goes silent. Fyodor is gracious and tells Cilka how
he has enjoyed being in her company and watching her
work.
As they arrive back at the hospital, Fyodor gives her a
warm brotherly hug and a kiss on the cheek. Cilka turns
to Kirill, expecting the same. He stands away from her,
looking at the ground.
‘Kirill, I’m sorry if you don’t like my decision to stop
the ambulance run. Will you say something?’
‘Is there anything I can say to make you change your
mind?’
‘No. No, nothing, this is what I want, for me.’
‘And what about me? Have you considered what I might
want?’
‘Kirill, what are you saying? What has my decision got
to do with you?’
‘Obviously nothing,’ he says, with barely concealed fury.
‘See you around, Cilka Klein.’
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‘Kirill, wait. Can’t we at least be friends? Kirill, please, don’t leave like this.’
Without a backward glance, Kirill walks away, leaving
Cilka stunned. What is it he was saying? What is it he
wasn’t saying?
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CHAPTER 32
‘Two more days, that’s all I can keep you for, I’m
afraid,’ Yelena tells Alexandr and Cilka.
‘Thank you, we’ll make the most of them, won’t we,
Cilka?’
Cilka blushes. ‘I have work to do,’ she stammers as she
rushes away.
‘She’ll be back,’ Yelena tells Alexandr with a wink.
Cilka spots Kirill at the nurse’s desk.
‘Kirill, hello, it’s nice to see you back,’ she says as she
approaches.
‘What’s going on there?’ he snarls at her.
Perplexed, Cilka looks where Kirill is indicating, back