Page 8 of Cilka's Journey

“I’ll know when I see her.”

The woman in front of Cilka turns back to the younger girls with a look of pity, whispering, “The bastards are picking who they want to fuck.” She looks Cilka and Josie up and down. “You’ll have no problem.”

“What does she mean, we’ll be picked?” Josie asks.

Cilka shakes her head in disbelief. Can this be happening again?

She turns to Josie, looks her in the eyes. “Listen to me, Josie. If one of the men chooses you, go with him.”

“Why? What does he want?”

“He wants your body.”

She hopes she will be able to explain to Josie later that he can have her body and that is all; he cannot have her mind, her heart, her soul.

“No, no, I’ve never been with a boy. Cilka, please don’t make me. I’d rather die.”

“No, you wouldn’t. You have to live. We have to live. Do you hear me? Do you understand?”

“No, I don’t understand. I didn’t do anything, I shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m sure most of us shouldn’t be here, but we are. If you get chosen to be the property of just one man, the others will leave you alone. Now do you understand me?”

Josie’s face is tight, puzzled. “I-I think so. Oh, Cilka, this has happened to you before, hasn’t it?”

“Lift your head up, don’t look afraid.”

“A moment ago you told me to be invisible.”

“That was then, this is now; that’s how quickly things can change.”

Cilka raises her own eyes toward the men.

Birkenau Administration Block, 1942

Cilka is sitting beside Gita, each working diligently, their eyes meeting fleetingly, small smiles shared. Cilka was pulled out of the selection line, and chosen for this work, rather than the Kanada. And she is grateful Gita is now working here, too. But she hopes she can also get Magda into the warmth, somehow. Gita’s hair is stillcropped close to her head but for some reason Cilka has been allowed to grow hers. It feathers down over her neck and ears.

She doesn’t see the two SS officers approach them and with no warning she is grabbed by the arm, jerked to her feet. As she is dragged away, she looks back at Gita, her eyes pleading. Every time they are separated it could be the last time they see each other. She sees an officer approach Gita and strike her across the head with her hand.

She tries to resist as she is dragged outside and across to the women’s camp. She is no match for the two men. It is quiet in the camp—the women all out at work. They walk past the barracks where the women live until they come to an identical building, but this one is surrounded by a brick wall. Cilka feels bile rise in her throat. She has heard that this is where women go to die.

“No… Please…” she says. “What’s happening?”

There is a shiny car parked on the dirt road outside. The officers open the gate and go into the courtyard. One of the officers knocks loudly on the door to the left-hand building, and as the door opens, they throw her inside, slamming it behind her. Cilka is sprawled on a rough dirt floor and standing in front of her, in front of rows of empty crude wooden bunks, is the man she recognizes from the selection, the senior officer, Schwarzhuber.

He is an imposing man and is rarely seen in the camp. He taps his tall leather boot with his swagger stick. From an expressionless face he stares above Cilka’s head. She backs up against the door, feeling for the door handle. In a flash, the swagger stick is hurled through the air and strikes her hand. She cries out in pain as she slides down to the floor.

Schwarzhuber walks to her and picks up his stick. He stands over her, dwarfing her. He breathes heavily as he glares at her.

“This will be your new home,” he says. “Stand up.”

She gets to her feet.

“Follow me.”

He takes her behind a wall where there is a small room and a single wooden-slatted bed with a mattress on it.

“You know each block has a block leader?” he says.