and then you can decide.’
Josie raises her eyebrows at Cilka, encouraging her.
Cilka slowly nods.
‘Yes, thank you, doctor. But what about Josie?’
‘Let’s worry about Josie in two weeks. I’m sure we can
find suitable work for her. In the meantime, I’m going to
write you a note to give to your brigadier. You are to come
here every day, bringing Josie; she will return to your hut
after we have done her dressing but you will stay on and
work.’
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The doctor scribbles out another note, tears it off and hands it to Cilka.
‘Now, both of you, go back to your hut and rest.’
‘Excuse me,’ asks Cilka, ‘but what do we call you?’
‘I’m Doctor Kaldani, Yelena Georgiyevna. You may
address me by either,’ she says.
‘Thank you, Yelena Georgiyevna,’ both girls chorus.
They follow her back through the ward. The moans and
cries of the patients make the hairs on Cilka’s neck stand
up.
She will do what she’s told.
They pass through reception, head back out to the cold
and the slog back to their hut.
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CHAPTER 5
‘I know you’re cold,’ Cilka says to Josie. ‘But I think
we should save the coal until the others come home.
I’ll just add enough to keep it burning.’ She wonders if
she’s already trying to make up, somehow, for the fact she
will be warmer than the other women for the next two
weeks.
Cilka ushers Josie onto her bed, tells her to wrap the
blanket tightly around herself. After placing a small
amount of coal into the stove, Cilka lies down and looks
across the small gap separating her from Josie. She studies
the young girl’s face. Cold, fear, pain and confusion distort her features.
‘Move over.’
Cilka sits and then lies down next to Josie, knowing it
will be comforting to her.
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Within moments she and Josie are both asleep.
They are woken by a gust of freezing air and the groans
of the others returning. The women push and shove to
get close to the stove, removing wet boots and wiggling
toes in front of it.
‘Well look who’s spent all day in bed,’ says Elena.
All the women look in their direction, sooty-faced. Cilka
can feel their anger, their tiredness, their envy.
Natalya comes over to them. ‘How’s her hand?’
Cilka moves off the bed, reaches under the blanket and
pulls Josie’s hand out for Natalya to see.
‘She will need the bandage changed every day for two
weeks, the doctor said.’
‘Does that mean she doesn’t have to work?’ Hannah, a
newer arrival, a wiry woman who has been sticking close
to Elena, calls out from the pack around the stove.
‘Of course it does,’ says Cilka. ‘She can’t even feed
herself properly. How do you expect her to work?’
‘Well, at least you have no excuse,’ Hannah says. ‘Back with a bucket of coal in your hands tomorrow, won’t that
be a treat for you?’
Elena says, ‘I’m so tired I just want to sleep and never
wake up.’
The door opens before Cilka can say anything and
Antonina is standing there.
All eyes turn to the door. The women rush to the end
of their cots. Josie struggles to her feet, taking her place.
Antonina walks past the women to Josie and Cilka’s
beds. All eyes follow her path.
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‘Well?’
Cilka says, ‘Excuse me, Antonina Karpovna, can I get
the notes from under my pillow?’
She nods.
Cilka produces the notes and hands them over. Antonina
first reads the one describing Josie’s condition and her
need for daily dressings and no work. She pauses, squints
at Josie’s hand and nods. Then she reads the second note,
looks at Cilka, and reads it again.
‘You just scored the best seats in the house. Congratu-
lations.’ She passes the note back to her, bemusement on
her broad face. ‘All out, line up.’
The women head back outside, falling into two neat rows.
They follow Antonina to the mess. Dinner awaits. The snow
has stopped falling but is thick on the ground. They trudge
through it. Cilka is keeping her head down, and her hat
low. But Elena and Hannah catch up to her.
‘You’re going to have to tell us what the note says,’
Elena hisses through her scarf.
Cilka doesn’t say anything.
And then Natalya says, in a more polite tone, ‘We are
curious, Cilka . . .’
‘Well, I didn’t say yes,’ Cilka says, ‘but they’re short in
the hospital and they asked me to work there.’
Elena gasps.
‘You lucky bitch.’
Hannah glares at Cilka.
‘She said no,’ Josie says, ‘but the doctor is making her
do a trial.’
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‘Why didn’t you say yes?’ Natalya asks.
‘Scared of needles?’ Cilka tries – a joke to deflect the
tension.
Olga, who has been watching all the while from a
distance, sniggers.
Josie says, ‘She didn’t want to have a position higher
than us – honestly, I heard her try to refuse.’
‘That’s madness,’ Natalya says. ‘Any one of us would
say yes.’
They’ve almost reached the mess.
Cilka feels the knowledge sinking in for them all, even
Elena and Hannah, that now she will have access to better
food, warmth, materials. By accident, again, Cilka is in a
position of more, unwanted, power.
‘I’ll try to save Josie’s bandages,’ she says, ‘when they’re
changed. So you can wrap your feet, your heads, for work.’
‘You better,’ Elena says.
At the mess, the women all file off and eat their watery
soup and stale bread. She notices that Elena keeps looking
at her, whispering to Hannah.
Josie says to Cilka, ‘It will be all right. Maybe we’ll all
find good jobs.’ She is staring off into the middle distance, no doubt imagining a rosier future. Cilka is glad she can
maintain this optimism. It will keep her strong.
* * *
Nine o’clock is observed by the lights going out; the women
already in their beds.
The searchlight outside advances into the hut, along
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with a shower of snow. The door is open. Several women raise their heads to see the cause. Boys and men, old and
young, are pushing their way into their hut. Many of the
women scream, burying themselves under their blanket.
If you can’t see me and I can’t see you, I’m not here.
‘We thought we’d give you a lit
tle time to settle in,’ says
the man Cilka recognises as Boris – the one who chose her.
‘But it’s bloody cold and we need some warming up. Where
are you? Where’s my pretty one? I’ve been waiting all day
for my fuck. Come on, identify yourself so we can get started.’
He is walking in her direction, pulling the blankets from
all the women as he approaches.
‘I’m down here,’ Cilka calls.
‘What are you doing?’ Josie cries out. ‘Cilka, what’s
happening? I’m scared.’
Boris stands over Cilka, smiling down.
‘Cilka!’ yells Josie.
‘Shut up, bitch, before I shut you up,’ he says to Josie.
‘It’s all right, Josie, it’s all right,’ Cilka says, although she is shaking.
‘Hey, Vadim, here’s your one next to mine,’ says Boris.
‘Come and get her.’
Josie attempts to get out of her bed, screaming.
Boris roughly pushes her back down and holds her as
Vadim makes his way over to Josie.
Then, stumbling, Boris sits on the edge of Cilka’s bed
and starts taking off his boots. The smell of vodka wafts
off him. Josie is quietly sobbing, a sound that tears at
Cilka’s heart. She puts a hand on Boris’s chest.
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‘If you let me just have a few words with her, I can quieten her,’ she says flatly. Every other woman is screaming and cursing as they are slapped around and forced down
on their cots, but she feels responsible for Josie. She was
there when she was chosen for this. She has to do what
she can to protect her.
Boris gives an uninterested shrug of his shoulders, which
tells Cilka she can try and calm Josie. Vadim has his hand
over Josie’s mouth and is tearing at her clothes.
‘Hold on a minute,’ Cilka says to him firmly. He stops,
surprised. ‘Josie, listen to me. Listen.’ Cilka leans closer
to the girl and speaks quietly. ‘I’m sorry . . . there is nothing you or I can do to stop this. Or if there is I haven’t yet
worked it out.’ She blinks her eyes slowly. Time is distorting in the way it does when she becomes blank. Just limbs.
‘Cilka, no, we can’t let them—’
‘I would murder them all if I could,’ Cilka whispers.
She turns to Vadim. ‘Please, she has an injured hand.
Be careful.’ She turns back to Josie. ‘Josie, I’m right
here.’ Knowing, though, that she isn’t. Not really. ‘I’m
so sorry . . .’
She looks at Boris. ‘She’s just a child, can’t he leave her
alone?’
‘Not my decision. Anyway, Vadim likes them young. So
do I. You’re not much older than her, are you?’
‘No.’
Cilka begins to unbutton her shirt. She knows what to
do. The noise of screaming women, and shouting men
determined to do what they came here for, is overpowering.
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For a moment Cilka wonders if the noise will bring guards, rescuers. None arrive. They are probably just doing the
same thing.
As Boris explores her body with calloused hands, talking
himself up, Cilka looks across at Josie. In the flickering
light from the stove she sees Josie’s face turned to her – a
new level of fear in her eyes. Cilka reaches out her hand.
A heavily bandaged hand is placed on hers. Hand in hand,
with Josie quietly sobbing, their eyes never leaving each
other, they survive their ordeal.
As Boris is putting his trousers and boots back on, he
whispers to Cilka, ‘No one else will touch you. And I can
arrange that only Vadim will touch your friend.’
‘Then do.’
‘Come on, boys, if you haven’t managed to fuck by now,
you’re not gonna get it up tonight. Out of here – let these
ladies get their beauty sleep,’ Boris calls out across the
room.
Groans from the unsuccessful men mingle with the
sniggering and laughter of the conquerors, only to be
replaced by the sobs of the injured and distressed women.
No one speaks. The stink of unwashed, vodka-soaked men
is all that is left in the air.
* * *
As the clanging outside drags the prisoners into a new
day, the women rise slowly. Heads down, no one makes
eye contact. No chatter. Cilka risks a quick glance at Josie.
The swelling and bruising on her cheek and around her
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eye is obvious from where Vadim pressed her down. She thinks about saying something, asking how she is, having
a closer look at her facial injuries, asking if she has any
others. Josie turns her back on her. She gets the message.
Breakfast plays out in the mess hall in silence. The old-
timers throw a quick glance at the newcomers, registering
the injuries, knowing the cause. They retreat into their
own shame, grateful for the fresh bodies that will provide
some relief from their assault.
As the others leave for work, Cilka and Josie remain in
their hut. They have been told not to leave until Antonina
returns and escorts them to the hospital. Josie returns to
her bed and curls up, her face buried.
Ice forms on the inside of the windows as the stove
cools. Their time alone is mercifully short. Cilka can’t
stand the tension between them.
As they enter the hospital waiting room, Antonina takes
them to the reception desk.
the gist of her words. ‘The other will have to stay here
until the end of the day. I’m not coming back just to get
one of them.’
The woman at the desk reads the pieces of paper handed
to her.
‘Come with me.’ She beckons.
They follow her through the ward into the treatment
area. Josie sits on the chair indicated, Cilka behind her.
The dozen or so beds are all occupied, along with several
chairs holding those capable of sitting. Groans of pain
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escape from several of the patients. They seem to be mainly men, but there are a few women. Cilka challenges herself
to examine these people, trying to work out where they
are injured or what could possibly be wrong with them.
For many it is obvious: visible wounds exist, blood seeps
through scraps of material masquerading as a bandage or
tourniquet. She feels the blankness sliding over her, cold
as snow.
‘Ah, here you are.’ Cilka and Josie see Yelena Georgiyevna
approaching. Josie glances up before returning her eyes
to the floor in front of her.
‘How are you today? How is the pain?’
Josie shrugs.
The doctor looks from Josie to Cilka, who turns away.
Yelena gently places her fingers under Josie’s chin, forcing
her to look up. The injury on her face looks worse, having
been stung by the icy walk to the hospital. The doctor
brushes her fingers over the d
amaged area. Josie winces.
‘Can you tell me what happened?’
Josie forces her head down, Yelena releasing her hold.
‘It’s her fault,’ Josie spits. ‘She made me do it, made me
go along with it. She calls herself my friend and she did
nothing to help me, just let them . . .’
‘Men visited our hut last night,’ Cilka whispers.
‘Oh, I see.’ Yelena sighs. ‘Do you have any other inju-
ries, Josie?’
Josie shakes her head.
‘And what about you, Cilka?’
‘No.’
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‘Of course, she doesn’t, she just let him have her, didn’t fight, didn’t say no.’
The doctor stands. ‘Stay here. I’m going to try to find
a room I can take you both to, I want to examine you
further.’
Cilka and Josie wait in silence. Cilka wonders about the
doctor. Are people assigned this work in the camps? Or
do they choose it? She can’t imagine anyone wanting to
be here. Yelena returns and ushers them into a nearby
room, the occupant being taken out is arguing that he
should be in a room by himself; he is a senior officer, not
to be treated like a prisoner.
The bed in the room has the crumpled sheet and blanket
of the former occupant, and the smell of an unwashed
male, stale alcohol and cigarettes. Yelena has the two girls
sit side-by-side on the bed.
‘This is a brutal place . . .’ says the doctor.
‘I know,’ Cilka whispers. She turns to Josie. ‘Josie, I’m
sorry, I should have warned you, told you what to expect,
helped you understand—’
‘You just lay there. You . . . looked at me. Cilka, how
could you?’
Cilka is still not able to access any feeling but she notices, distantly, she has started shaking, her knees knocking up
and down on the bed. She clutches her hands beneath
them.
‘I’m sure she didn’t have a choice,’ Yelena answers.
‘She could have tried; a friend would have tried.’ Josie’s
voice lowers and tails away.
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There are always other things people think she should have done. But it is hardest hearing this from someone
she has been trying to let in, become close to. ‘I just hoped it wouldn’t happen,’ Cilka says. ‘I knew it would, but I
didn’t know when, and I just hoped it wouldn’t.’
She is truly sorry, but she also doesn’t know what else
she should have done, could have done.