"I think," said old Aftasia Smin, "that that is not a proper subject to discuss with our guests at the table." Then, her eyes suddenly gleaming, "I have something else that is interesting. Will you ask my cousin's wife if she will come with us into my bedroom? There is something I would like to show her."
"She is at it again," said Smin's wife, frowning after her mother-in-law as she led the female guests away.
"I suppose she is," said Smin, and when the women came back, he was confirmed in his opinion by the new way the American blonde looked at Aftasia Smin. Aftasia had been showing off her war wounds again. Well, she had a right; not every old woman in Kiev had fought bravely in the Civil War, as well as owning a Party membership twenty years senior to Smin's own.
Surreptitiously Smin glanced again at his watch. Past midnight! And he had been up since six. Of course, the next day, he thought idly, would not be very strenuous. The experiment with trying to get power from a turned-off reactor would probably not take place on a Saturday. Perhaps they could even defer it until the Director came back? It was his baby, after all. But it was just like the Director to conceive the idea and then find "important business" somewhere else, so that
Smin was stuck with the responsibility of carrying it out. Important business! Shooting ducks outside of Moscow! When, really, if Director Zaglodin desired to kill a few ducks, there were millions of them in the Pripyat Marshes, just north of the plant…. But, of course, it was not the ducks Zaglodin wanted, it was the company; he was hunting powerful connections more than waterfowl.
Smin yawned and eyed the vodka botde. But it was not yet time for the one drink he allowed himself each day. "Can I at least have some tea?" he asked his mother just as the male teacher, Didchuk, said eagerly:
"Can you imagine? Mr. and Mrs. Garfield say that their home is only a few kilometers from Disneyland!"
So it was a happy enough evening, and an interesting one for all concerned. It took Smin's mind off, or nearly off, the problems of Chernobyl and he forgave his mother for her surprises, even for her stubborn decision, at her time in life, to decide to observe Jewish holidays again. By the time Vassili was yawning and the old grandmother had dozed off in her seat, it was too late to try to get a taxi. Smin drove his new relatives back to their hotel, with Didchuk along to interpret.
Until they had crossed the bridge over the Dnieper River, they were almost alone in the streets of suburban Kiev. The officers in roving militia cars glanced at them as they passed, but few policemen would bother the driver of a black Chaika with yellow fog lights at any hour. Then, as they approached the center of the city, there was activity, even at this hour. In the main square, Army trucks with batteries of floodlights made the scene bright as new banners were hoisted into position for the May Day parade—we will fulfill our plan! and we demand peace and freedom for the world! As they Crossed the square where the great old cathedral stood, Smin said to Didchuk, "Tell them that services are held there every Sunday; if one wishes to believe in God, one may."
"I already have," said Didchuk proudly. "They were very pleased to hear it."
The May Day parade would go along the Khreshchatik, of course — there was no more famous street in Kiev. They had to dodge around the Army trucks to get to the entrance of the Great Gate Hotel. Of course, the hotel doors were locked at that hour. When Didchuk had roused the doorkeeper to let them in, they all got out of the car and stood for a moment in the chilly April night air. "I wish," Candace Garfield said earnestly through Didchuk's translation, "that we had been able to get together earlier, Cousin Simyon. It's really too bad that we have to leave for Tbilisi tomorrow. We have enjoyed this very much, and if you ever come to Beverly Hills—"
"Of course," smiled Smin gallantly, reaching to put his arms around her. In his hug she was even slimmer than he had thought, and there was a scent of France and America that came from her hair. "Ah, well," he said to Didchuk as they drove away, "there is simply one more duty call we will have to pay next time we are in California. What a nuisance, isn't it?" But now that they were alone Didchuk appeared to have remembered that he was in the presence of a Deputy Director and senior Party member, and he did not seem to know how to respond to the pleasantry.
By the time Smin was back in his mother's flat everyone was asleep. He was careful not to wake his son as he poured himself the 150-milliliter nightcap of brandy that was all he allowed himself anymore and gratefully stretched out next to his gently snoring wife. It had been an interesting evening, if sometimes puzzling — what had Dean Garfield meant when he called his wife a "Valley girl"? And certainly it had been a pleasant ending to a day that had been full of irritating worries.
When the doorbell rang and someone knocked heavily at the same time, Smin woke up with a start. It was after three o'clock! Selena was upright next to him, her face strained. "No, no," Smin soothed, not having to ask what had frightened her because he knew, not having to reassure her that the bad days when a knock at three in the morning meant only one specific, hopeless thing were over, because she knew that too.
He almost persuaded himself to relax as he listened to the voices outside, until his son burst into the room, a blanket wrapped around him, crying, "Papa! It's the militia! They have brought an important message for you — you must go back to Chernobyl at once!"
Chapter 4
Leonid Sheranchuk knows very little of nuclear energy. In this he is like most of the engineers and managers in the Chernobyl Power Station. Sheranchuk's specialty covers piping, pumps, water, and steam, and his work experience has been confined to that outdated peat powered plant north of Moscow. For most of the others their experience has been in coal and oil plants, and what they know is turbines, transformers, and electricity. The mushrooming growth of nuclear power in the Soviet Union has gone faster than the supply of engineers trained in nucleonics can keep up withh — though, of course, the problems of a nuclear power plant are known to be very like the problems of any power plant anywhere — you heat your water into steam, and you turn your steam into electricity— and the specifically nuclear questions, they are taught, have been solved at higher levels long ago. All the same, Sheranchuk wishes he knew more. He has even enrolled in an evening course in nucleonics at the local polytechnic, though it will not begin for another month. Meanwhile he reads texts when he can find time.
When Sheranchuk got home he thought of tackling the books again, but he was really tired. Maybe later, he thought. He ate something instead, with the nine o'clock news broadcast going on unheeded on the television set. His wife had, of course, eaten with their son, Boris, long since, but she sat companion-ably with him over a glass of wine. "Did anything interesting happen at work today?" she asked dutifully.
"No," said Sheranchuk; there was no use telling her about the annoyances with the proposed experiment on Reactor No. 4; she was already too likely to worry about the unknown dangers of nuclear power. "Some problems with one of the pumps, but it's all right now." He thought for a moment, and then said, "The Deputy Director said, in general, I was doing a good job."
"In general!"
"It's just his way. He calls me his plumber."
"Plumber!" But she knew how her husband felt about Deputy Director Smin. "Then you won't have to go in tomorrow morning?" she asked. "Because of your dentist's appointment, I mean?"