Cilka's Journey (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #2) - Heather Morris Page 0,16
the large mine that looms ahead of them. It looks like a black mountain with an opening that disappears into hell. Piles of coal tower beside small ramshackle buildings. At the top of the mouth of the mine they can see the wheel that is drawing coal up from the depths below. Open train carts line the track as the women get closer.
As they reach the mine, those in front peel off, going to jobs and areas they are already familiar with. Antonina hands the new arrivals over to a guard before following some of the women from the other huts, who are also part of her brigade.
Walking among the women, the guard pushes several to one side, separating them out.
“Hey, Alexei,” he calls out, “come and get this lot. They look like they can swing a pick.”
Another guard comes over and indicates that the fifteen women should follow him. Cilka, Josie and Natalya remain behind. The guard looks at them.
“Couldn’t swing a bloody pick with all of ya hanging on to it. Follow me.”
They walk over to one of the mountains of coal, arriving just as the crane dumps a load on the top. They are showered in dust and small chunks of the hard, sharp coal.
“Grab a bucket each and start loading. When it’s full, take it over to one of the carts and dump it in,” he says, indicating the carts sitting on the train rails. Others are already at work, and again it seems a matter of following their lead.
The women pick up a bucket each and start filling them with pieces of coal.
“You better go faster or you’ll find yourselves in trouble,” a woman says. “Watch me.”
The woman takes her empty bucket and uses it as a scoop, half filling it. Steadying it on the ground, she uses her cupped hands to fill it to the top. The women attempt to copy her with varying degrees of success. They all fill their buckets before attempting to pick them up. None of them can; they are too heavy.
“Empty some out and just put in as much as you can carry. You’ll toughen up the longer you do it,” they are advised.
Cilka and Josie can only manage half-filled buckets, which doesn’t go unnoticed by the guard standing at the cart. It was one thing to carry them, another trial to lift and empty them.
The guard monitoring them looks at the half-empty buckets.
“You lot don’t get a break. You have to make up for being such weak bitches, and get moving.”
At various points, Cilka sees Antonina writing in a little book, conferring with the guards, answering for her brigade’s productivity.
* * *
The work is so grueling that Cilka, Josie and Natalya are beginning to groan and huff out loud. They watch enviously when the others get ten minutes to down tools and take a break. There is a burning sensation across Cilka’s shoulders, neck and back. When the next clanging bell sounds several hours later, buckets, picks and other tools are dropped where they are. Men and women trudge over to the train tracks, sorting themselves out as they find the others from their brigade—those they share a hut with and those from the surrounding huts. They stand, waiting to be led by their brigadiers, waiting for the signal to walk.
Once they are allowed, they silently trudge back down the track, stopping again outside the compound gates. Antonina Karpovna hands her piece of paper to the administrative guard, who counts the women in. They follow Antonina back to their hut, shuffling and sore, where a few embers glow without giving off any heat. Natalya throws some coal into the stove to reignite it. Cilka is amazed she can find the strength to even look at the coal, let alone lift a scuttle of it. They all fall onto their beds, pulling blankets up over their heads. No one speaks.
What passes for their dinner does nothing to restore their energy. Returning to their hut, many retreat back to bed, but some hover around the stove.
“What are you looking at?”
Cilka, lying on her bed, recognizes the voice. Elena.
“Not your ugly face,” she hears Natalya reply.
Cilka pushes up on one elbow to see where the exchange of words will go.
“I’ll take you out, bitch, if you don’t keep out of my face.”
“Leave me alone, you bully. Leave all of us alone,” a defiant Natalya snaps back, standing up from her bed.
“Natalya, sit down. She’s not worth it,” Olga says.