Page 17 of Cilka's Journey

“Who did this? Who pushed her?” Cilka had only seen the quick movement of Josie ejected from the huddle, falling. She has her suspicions though.

Most of the women look away, but Cilka notices Natalya glance toward the culprit.

Cilka walks up to Elena sitting snug on her bed.

Elena snarls at Cilka, “I could break you in two.”

Cilka understands the difference between an empty threat—a display of power borne of helplessness—and a true intention to harm others.

“Plenty of people scarier than you have tried to break me,” Cilka says.

“And I’ve fought men ten times your size,” Elena says.

The women around them move away, giving them space, certain a fight is about to start.

“Get up,” Cilka demands.

Elena continues staring defiantly. A fire is flaring inside Cilka.

“I will ask you one more time. Get up.”

The two women face off for several moments before Elena slowly stands up, pouting her lip a little, like a child.

“Elena, I am going to take your blanket off, hope the sheet underneath is not riddled with lice, and tear the end off. You will not try to stop me. Do you understand?”

Elena huffs, but nods slowly. The other women have closed the space again, standing behind Cilka now that the dynamic has revealed itself to be in her favor.

With one eye on Elena, Cilka pulls the blanket free. She takes the bottom of the sheet and brings it to her mouth and tears at it with her teeth until she has made a small rip. Using her hands, she pulls a strip free.

“Thank you, Elena. You can remake your bed.”

Cilka turns to the doorway.

Antonina Karpovna is standing there, her arm against the door frame barring Cilka from leaving.

“Am I going to have trouble with you?” she asks.

“Nyet.” Cilka answers in Russian.

Antonina removes her arm. Cilka walks back outside, where Josie sits in the snow as the sun goes down, her body rocking from the cold and pain. Cilka wipes the snow from her injured hand before wrapping it in the torn sheet. Helping Josie to her feet, her arm around her, she steers her back inside. It feels strange to be so close to someone. The last person she had voluntarily touched like this had been Gita. Those gathered around the stove move aside to let them get as close as they can to the warmth.

The dinner alarm sounds. Josie refuses to leave her bed. Cilka feels a beat of frustration, anger, at her helplessness. She almost leaves her there. Then she thinks of how much worse it will be if Josie doesn’t eat, loses strength.

“Josie, come on,” she says, and helps her up.

In the mess, Cilka hands Josie her mug of soup. She takes it in her left hand. When a chunk of stale bread is thrust at her, Josie can’t accept it. It falls onto the floor.

A mess guard watches, waiting to see what Cilka, next in line, will do. If she helps, she can probably expect to be punished. If she doesn’t, Josie’s strength will suffer. Josie bends down, holding tight to her mug, looking pleadingly to Cilka to help. With their eyes connected, Cilka places her own piece of bread between her teeth, holding it there—a silent instruction. Josie carefully puts her mug on the floor, picks up the piece of bread, and grips it between her teeth, before picking up her mug and moving on.

Once they find a place to stand, away from the guard’s stare, Cilka takes the piece of bread from Josie’s mouth and helps her tuck it up the sleeve of her coat.

Back in the hut, the subdued women all ask Josie how her hand is. She bravely tells them it will be all right. Cilka is glad that eating has made her more hopeful.

Sitting on her bed, Cilka watches as the snow turns liquid onthe outside of the window, tears running down the glass. She asks Josie to show her her burned hand. Carefully she unwinds the makeshift bandage, the last layer sticking to the blistered skin. Josie shoves her other hand in her mouth to keep from crying out in pain.

“It looks better,” she says, trying to comfort Josie with the words she doesn’t believe herself. She knows how important it is to not give up.

Natalya comes over and sits down beside Cilka, looking at the wound.