Cilka's Journey (The Tattooist of Auschwitz #2) - Heather Morris Page 0,23

refuses, will she be put in the hole? Maybe, at least, the job would mean she can smuggle more food to those who need it, or trade it for cigarettes, boots, coats for the others.

The doctor looks confused. Cilka supposes no one would ever say no.

“I don’t think I can,” she says.

“I’m sorry?” says the doctor. “We all must work.”

“And I am happy to work at the mine,” she says, but she hears how flat her voice is. Once she had thought she deserved more, or better, but she knows there is always a very great cost.

“Well,” says the doctor. “How about for the next two weeks, when Josie comes for her treatment, you help me, 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.”

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 Dr. 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.

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.

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 ends of their cots. Josie struggles to her feet, taking her place.

Antonina walks past the women to Josie’s and Cilka’s beds. All eyes follow her path.

“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. Congratulations.” She passes the notes 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