If I were the Soviet Premier, I decided, I’d find every single Chernobyl official guilty. If I could, I’d lock them up in a dirty, drafty jail underneath the station and see how they liked living in such a contaminated place.
Papa appeared at the door. “Mama said that you had a biology test today. How was it?” he asked.
“Fine.” This was probably not true. I hadn’t studied and could have flunked.
My father stared at my wall. “The poster looks good there.”
Papa sounded so self-satisfied that I just wanted to hurt him. “I hate the station.”
He hurried over and drew so near that I could see the stubble on his face. “What did you say?”
“It could kill us all!” I cried.
“Ungrateful girl!” Papa yelled.
I clamped my hands over my ears and threw myself on my bed.
“That’s where we get this beautiful apartment, our three hearty meals a day. That’s how I pay for the clothes on your back, your Moped, and the jewelry you love.”
I rolled over and looked at him. “I could make money, Papa. Uncle Victor has offered me a job.”
“What?” he said, as if he hadn’t heard me. “No!”
“It would be good experience working for a scientist. He’s willing to pay me. You don’t like Margarita Pikalova. You’re always saying that I should get a new job.”
“Not with that traitor,” Papa muttered.
“Dumplings are ready,” Mama called.
“Please,” I begged.
“No daughter of mine…” Papa began, but words failed him. Following a few moments of heavy breathing, he stormed out of the room.
Mama stuck her head in my door. “Dinner.”
“Not hungry!” I yelled.
I waited for my father to return and order me to eat, but he left me and my growling stomach alone. The smell of the varenniki reminded me of the happy times in our cottage that seemed so long ago. Why couldn’t my father understand?
Chapter Twenty-Four
NOW THAT I HAD A MOPED, I could visit the woods on my own, and on a free weekend, I drove to the forest closest to Slavutich. I stopped the Moped next to a deserted path that I had been told led to a stream. Not wanting to risk a damaged tire, I pushed the machine over the bumpy path until I spied a clump of bushes. After I made sure that the bike was completely hidden, I pocketed the key and started hiking.
The gravel path meandered through a forest of thickly clustered poplar, aspen, pine and oak trees. Their dense branches blocked the sun and created the half-light of a forest shade that I remembered so warmly. From far away, I heard the rush and splatter of the stream. Sunlight cut through the branches and colored the air green. Hurrying down the path, I felt as if I were returning home.
But first impressions can be deceiving. When I reached the stream, I saw that the water was sluggish. Cattle patties dirtied the banks in rough brown ovals. I searched the banks, but the only stones were the size of pebbles. There was no boulder anywhere.
I found a clean place to sit and yanked off my tennis shoes. The soil was sandy, not the soft, squishy mud that I was used to. I parted some reeds and stuck my feet in. At least, the water was icy. I would have given up and left if the stream had betrayed my fond memories by being warm. A minnow nibbled on my toes. I looked more closely and spotted a fish hiding among the mauve, pink, and gray rocks of the streambed. If only I had brought my old cane pole.
I picked up a rock to skip. Feeling it flat and hard in my hand, I tossed it aimlessly. It skimmed across the water and disappeared into the deep woods on the other side.
I hadn’t been inside a forest since the day after the accident when I had gone to search for Vasyl. For so long I had thought of Vasyl’s appearance as a nightmare, but after I saw him on Margarita’s stairs and he led me to Uncle Victor’s, I wasn’t so sure.
When I was a child and wanted my forest creatures to appear, I had concentrated on the light. Now, I stared at a bright patch of sunlight that fell on a branch and created a dark shadow on the surface of the flowing stream.
If only Vasyl would appear now. I had so many questions I wanted to ask him. Why had he chosen to tell me, of all children, about the accident? Was he a person or a spirit? Was he good or bad? He said that I would come back. It seemed impossible, but then I reminded myself that everything else that he had said had turned out to be true.
Not believing that he was going to appear, still I waited for him.
Some trash floated by—a plastic bag, a soft-drink can. A turtle kerplunked off a rock. A dragonfly nearly lighted on my hand. With no strange boy or water sprites to keep me company, after about an hour, I yawned. Could I be growing bored in the woods?
Eventually, I felt a hard cramping in my toes from the icy water. When I yanked them out, I stuck on my tennis shoes. But my cold feet didn’t bother me nearly as much as the feeling of dissatisfaction that buzzed around my head as irritating as mayflies.
I remembered when I used to sit next to my boulder by my stream. The forest, the wind and my creatures had all whispered to me, sharing their secrets. The whole world was clean and safe. My magic rock could cure any problem and make any dream come true. I could do anything and be anybody.
Now, the forest had become ordinary—just some water, trees and dirt. At least, that’s how it felt.
I stood up and brushed myself off.
Hiking the path again, the light shifted as I passed into the depths of the forest where the thick branches overhead blocked the sun. I was about twenty paces from my Moped when I experienced a familiar sensation. The air sparkled as if it were a pane of glass. I responded instinctively, readying myself to see things differently.
I looked around, but everything was the same. I saw only the path winding through the woods and, in the distance, the bush where I had hidden my Moped. Beyond that, the highway stretched out wide and gray. But something inside me felt different. I was still waiting when I heard Boris’ voice. Hello, Katya! He sounded as if he were standing in a room next to me, a room in the trees.
I looked around. Only the branches swayed in the breeze. No one was there.
I knew that the voice was in my head. Yet, it sounded real. Where was he?
Katya….
I felt as if I were five years old, and we were playing hide-and-go-seek again.
“Boris!” I cried out loud. A car honked on the nearby highway.
I was alone. Still, the same warmth filled my chest as I had experienced when I rode behind Boris on the Yava. As I walked back down the forest path towards my Moped, I kept studying the shadows of the deep woods, but I knew I wouldn’t see him there.
Boris still had secrets to reveal to me. How could I find out what he was hiding?
Chapter Twenty-Five
AFTER SCHOOL ON MONDAY, I found Uncle Victor’s door open. He was sitting at the long table reading a journal. I had brought a school notebook with me. I wanted to jot down some notes about the disaster—to understand more. If I couldn’t completely understand, at least I wanted to get the facts right. “Hello,” I called.
Uncle Victor looked up. “Katya, come in.” When I had settled on the chair next to his, he asked, “So have you talked to your father?”
“I haven’t had a chance,” I lied.
At this evidence of my father’s continued disapproval, Uncle Victor’s face fell. They had known each other since boyhood. He quickly tried to cover his disappointment by taking off his glasses and cleaning them with a cloth. “I’m not comfortable without his permission.”