Page 67 of Cilka's Journey

“No and no,” Cilka says, her mind numb.

“That means you probably have an immunity to it, meaning you can get exposed and not suffer the symptoms or become sick. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. Why do you need to know?”

He shifts on his feet.

“We need nurses to work on the infectious ward, which is now overflowing with typhoid cases; we need nurses like you who can work there and not get infected.”

“Is that all?” she says, with a strange mix of fear and relief.

He looks surprised. “What did you think we would be doing to you?”

“I don’t know… injecting me with the disease to see how I fared?”

Petre cannot keep the shock from his face. He looks away, speechless.

“I’ll go,” she says hastily. “I’ll work on the ward; there are many days here I’m not really needed. If you need someone in my place, please… there are many capable women in my hut.”

He nods, but he is not really listening. “I think Yelena Georgiyevna was right about where you have come from.”

“I come from Czechoslovakia.”

He sighs, knowing it is not the full answer. “To think we wouldexperiment on you, or on anybody for that matter, in the manner you just said.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cilka says, panicking. “I didn’t mean to say that. When do you want me to start?”

“Tomorrow is fine. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Cilka finishes cleaning up before dashing to the nursery next door. Natia is rolling around on the floor, attempting to snatch at a nearby rag doll. Her little face lights up as she hears Cilka call out her name. Cilka sweeps her into the air, and, hugging her tightly, she paces the room, whispering words of love and promises to return as soon as she can.

She hopes by saying these words they will come true.

A white surgical gown, face mask and thick rubber gloves are handed to Cilka as she enters the infectious ward. As she is tied into the gown at the back, she looks around the ward, trying to process the scene. Every bed has at least one patient, some two; others lie on the floor with no mattress, covered only by a dirty sheet or blanket. She tries to steady her breathing.

The nurse helping her into the gown introduces herself as Sonya Donatova.

“It looks as if we’re going to be busy here,” Cilka says. “Please tell me what you want me to do.”

“Very happy to have you, Cilka. Come with me, we’re doing rounds. I’ll introduce you to the others later.”

“Can we not get more beds in here? No patient should have to lie on the floor.”

“We move the ones who are not going to make it onto the floor; it’s easier to clean the floor than a mattress. You’ll get the hang of it.” Something turns in Cilka’s gut. Bodies on the floor, on the ground, with no hope of living another day. So, she is back here again. Her curse.

Cilka watches as two nurses gently lift a patient from a bed and place him on the floor nearby. She overhears one of them say: “He’s on hourly time of death recording.” Once a blanket has been tucked under his frail shivering body, a note is made in his file and placed by his feet. Cilka sighs, feeling the familiar sensation of her body beginning to leave her, icing over.

She follows Sonya to a bed where a delirious, screaming woman thrashes about. Sonya dips a small towel in a nearby basin of water and attempts to place it on the woman’s face. She is smacked in the hand and upper body by the flailing limbs.

“Help me cool her down. Take one of her hands and hold tight.”

Cilka grabs one of the woman’s arms, forcing it down by her body. Sonya holds the other arm and with her free hand attempts to place the wet towel on her face and head, only partly succeeding.

“She only came in yesterday. She is young and has got to the delirious stage really quickly. If we can cool her down and break the fever, she has a chance of surviving.”

“Couldn’t we just bring some snow or ice in and apply it to her skin?”

“We could, that’s one way of cooling someone down quickly, but it could be too quick and would shock her system. No, I’m afraid we have to do it fast but not that dramatically.”