Stepping onto the front landing, the door slapped closed behind me. Moths fluttered around the lone light. As I was wearing only my long T-shirt, the air felt cool. Wrapping my arms around myself for warmth, I identified the shadowy figure conversing with my parents, Uncle Victor Kaletnik.
On any other night, I wouldn’t have dared to eavesdrop on my parents, but overhearing Uncle Victor’s words, “One poor man is dead,” I was filled with curiosity and dread. Many of my friends’ parents worked at the station, and I probably knew the family of the man who died. Besides, the adults were talking so intently that they hadn’t noticed me.
“I think we should both disappear, Ivan,” Uncle Victor urged. “The authorities are not being honest with us. The danger is much greater than they say.”
“But the reactor is intact,” Papa interrupted.
“Ivan, you’re not listening to me. Our bosses know that the situation is dangerous, but they’re not telling us,” Uncle Victor said.
“I have a duty to the station, to my country,” Papa said.
“You talk about your duty, Ivan,” Mama said. “But what about your duty to Katya and me?”
“Ivan,” Papa’s old friend interrupted. “I was at the station this afternoon. I saw a field of graphite in front of Reactor Number Four. If Number Four didn’t blow up, why is the graphite, which we both know is stored in the reactor’s core, all over the yard?”[5] he asked. “The reactor must have exploded. You can’t deny the evidence of my own eyes.”
“That’s impossible,” Papa argued. “Yakyhm Beregovoi would have made an announcement. You know that the Soviet reactors are the safest in the world.”
“Ivan, listen to Victor. The station is dangerous,” Mama urged.
Papa laughed. “A little radiation won’t hurt me.”
Mama threw up her hands. As she rushed past me into the house, her face looked as stricken as the day she learned that Granny Vera had died. She didn’t even stop to ask me why I was on the porch.
“Natasha!” Papa called to her.
After the door slammed closed, Uncle Victor shook his head. “I guess I’ll be going.” He took a few steps towards the car.
We all knew that arguing with Papa was a waste of time.
“Victor, station guard is the best job that I could ever hope for,” Papa called to his friend’s back. “You know without this job I’d be a peasant. Tilling the land, barely selling enough potatoes to feed my family.”
This was the first time in my life that I had ever heard Papa plead with someone.
Uncle Victor stopped walking and turned to face Papa. “Well, I’m not going back until I know it’s safe.”
“Many men have deserted. Hryhory Larin ordered me to return to work tonight,” Papa said.
“Is your job worth risking your life?” Uncle Victor asked.
With those words, my worry burst out of me. “Why is the station unsafe?”
The men turned toward me, surprised.
“Mama needs you, Katya,” Papa said.
Uncle Victor cleared his throat. “Your daughter deserves a serious answer, Ivan.”
In the moonlight, I could see the scowl on Papa’s face.
Uncle Victor stepped up onto the stoop, leaving Papa in the shadow of the oak tree. “The station generates electricity by harnessing the strong and dangerous power of radioactive materials.” He paused as if seeking a simple explanation. “Those materials are like animals pulling a cart. When they are tied together, all goes well, but it becomes dangerous when the ropes and harness break. When the reactor exploded, the nuclear reaction became uncontrolled—like a small, slow detonation of an atomic bomb—and radioactive poisons saturated an area of many kilometers around the station.” He lowered his voice, which sounded sad. “We can’t undo the contamination. Mankind can only wait for thousands of years for the various radioactive molecules to lose their evil power.”
“Victor, you could go to prison for talking nonsense like that,” Papa said. His disembodied voice arising from the shadows of the oak tree was stern.
Uncle Victor Kaletnik in prison? Thousands of years? What did all this mean? Most frightening of all, the adults seemed confused, too. My chest was constricted with worry as I blurted out, “Is Angelika Galkina’s father all right?”
“Khodenchuk is the name of the poor devil who died,” Uncle Victor said. “But a lot of men have radiation sickness and are at the clinic.”
I wanted to ask, “what’s radiation sickness,” but Papa broke in.
“That’s enough, Victor,” he snapped. “Go inside, Katya.”
Although I was shivering from the cold, I lingered. “I’ll play you in checkers soon,” I said to Uncle Victor.
His head cocked in puzzlement as if unable to comprehend how to answer me.
When I returned to my room, the first thing that I saw was the flowery divan. I regretted that I had forgotten to ask Mama to get out the sheets and blanket for its bed. Now that it was so late, I didn’t think she would be eager to help me.
“I’m going to work,” I heard Papa shout from the front door.
“But Victor Kaletnik said…” Mama called from her bedroom.
“I don’t trust his judgment,” Papa said.
“Ivan!” Mama cried.
“I’ll be careful. Listen to the radio, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
A few minutes later, I heard the roar of a car engine. Papa was leaving for the station.
There were so many things that I wished for. I wished I had given Papa a hug. I wished that I could travel back in time to the night before—when everything was still perfect. I wished for my little baby matryoshka doll.
Chapter Ten
ON SUNDAY MORNING, my mother and I faced the transistor radio. It was a small black box. Normally, we used it sparingly in order to conserve the battery, but we had been listening to it all morning. Despite the crackle of static, we were stunned at what we had just heard.
The announcer said, “We have a minor problem at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant.” We heard that we were not allowed to go outdoors or anywhere near a window. We were going to be evacuated, but only for two or three days. “Stay calm. Pack sparingly and wear light clothes.”[6]
Heavy footsteps approached the front door. Thank goodness. Papa had returned from work. He would know what to do.
But then, a loud knock sounded.
“Panic is forbidden,” the radio announcer said. His voice was solemn, like I imagined God’s to be. A bit of static crackled on the radio, then we found ourselves listening to a Beethoven sonata. It was a joke around our village whenever the authorities wanted to change the subject, they played classical music.
Mama nodded at me, and I ran to open the door.
A man dressed in camouflage stood on our front stoop. Such a stern expression didn’t belong on his young face, but then, self-importance was common in Communist Ukraine. “Gather your things. We are evacuating this area.”
My mother appeared at my side. “My husband works at the station. We will wait for him.”
“Your husband will meet you in town,” the man promised.
How did he know this? I wondered.
“What do I need to take? Will our things be safe here while we are away?” my mother asked. She wrung her hands and looked helplessly around our cottage.
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