Page 104 of Cilka's Journey

Boris leans on one elbow, trying in the dark to see Cilka’s face, to read her expression, look into her eyes.

“What would you think if I told you I’m in love with you.”

Cilka doesn’t respond for several moments. He waits.

“That’s a very nice thing to say.”

“I really thought about it when you were away, in the hospital. And what do you feel for me?”

Nothing, she thinks. I have merely tolerated you. And not for the first time, the kind, attractive face of Alexandr comes into her head. But she should not tease herself like this.

“Boris, you are a very nice man; there is no one in this camp I would rather have lying with me,” she says, able to make out his ruddy nose, the wetness on his lips in the half-light. She looks back at the ceiling.

“But do you love me?”

“I don’t know what love is. If I was to allow myself to fall in love with someone, I would have to believe there was a future. And there isn’t.”

But she does know that it is possible for her to be drawn to someone, in the way she has heard people speak about. It is also cruel to be so drawn to someone in a place like this.

“How can you be sure? We could have a future together. We won’t spend the rest of our lives here.”

It is better to feel nothing, she thinks.

“Do you see that empty bed over there?”

Boris peers into the dark.

“No.”

“Well, there is an empty bed. Olga slept there every night since the day we arrived here.”

“Yes…” Boris says, uncertain.

“Do you know why she was here?” Cilka’s voice rises, eliciting a “shut up” from the darkness.

“How could I know why she was here when I don’t even know why you’re here?”

“She was Russian and she fell in love and tried to marry a man from Prague. That is against your laws. For that they were taken away; she ended up here and she has no idea what happened to him but she suspects he is dead.”

“What does that have to do with us?”

“I am from Czechoslovakia and you are Russian.”

“Things can change,” he says plaintively.

“Yes, they can, but right now this is our reality.”

Boris snuggles into Cilka, his passion gone, seeking comfort. Cilka tolerates it.

Boris’s affection, and his abuse, remain constant; the injured and sick remain constant; the friendships in the hut remain quietly expressed through the sharing of resources, through the consoling of one another over their conditions, their losses. Margarethe, Anastasia, Elena and Hannah remain, but Cilka does not feel as close to them as she had to Josie. Hannah reminds Cilka, whenever possible, that she could disrupt the peace of the hut, that she could reveal all. And Cilka still cannot face that. Cilka remains connected to Yelena, even if it remains mostly unsaid—expressed through looks and gestures across a patient’s bed, across the ward. And though she tries to deny the feeling to herself, Cilka looks out for Alexandr—a figure smoking, his eyes closed in momentary pleasure, near the administration building. In snow, through rain, in brief sun—his face turned up to the light. When she sees him, her heart leaps, but still she hurries on, thinking that to let in such longing can do no good.

All this continues as the seasons change—darkness to light, white nights to long dark winters. Cilka’s nightmares still oftenwake her: emaciated bodies, whistling doctors, the commandant’s black, shiny boots. She grasps for the good memories, but they are getting further and further away. She fantasizes about Josie and Natia’s life, about Lale and Gita’s. She imagines them safe and warm and holding each other. She endures.

CHAPTER 28

Vorkuta Gulag, Siberia, June 1953

Another white-night summer. The first few Sunday evenings of venturing out “after dark” lack the enthusiasm and enjoyment of summers past. Their eighth summer, eight years of their lives stolen.