“Give me a little more time,” I said. “He’ll agree. He’s always talking about how I ought to earn more money.”
Uncle Victor put his glasses back on and met my gaze. “O.K.”
“Can I do anything for you?” I asked. “I mean, as a volunteer? You don’t have to pay me.”
Perhaps Uncle Victor was touched by my eagerness because he said, “What can I do for you?”
I didn’t hesitate: “Uncle Victor, there’s so much I want to learn.”
Putting down his journal, he asked me, “What are you most interested in?”
I hadn’t known what I was going to say beforehand. “I want to know about the firefighters.”
Victor Kaletnik nodded. “Boris Boiko. He was your neighbor, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” I said softly.
Uncle Victor sighed. “In Hiroshima, the bomb went off at 2,300 feet. Boris and the other firefighters were closer to a nuclear reactor than anyone in human history.”[27]
“But Uncle Victor,” I broke in, and the question felt urgent. “I read that water doesn’t put out a nuclear fire, so what was Boris doing?”
“You’re right,” he said. “At temperatures of over 2,500 degrees centigrade, water itself breaks up into its explosive chemical components of hydrogen and oxygen. The firefighters were actually fueling, not extinguishing the nuclear fire.”
“So why were the firefighters on the roof?” I cried. “Why did they put themselves in so much danger?”
Uncle Victor’s tone was soothing. “In addition to the fire which raged in the reactor core, dangerous non-nuclear fires had sprung up all over the tar roof. The firefighters succeeded in extinguishing these ordinary fires. If they had failed, the remaining reactors might have ignited.”[28]
Could this be Boris’ secret? Had he truly died a hero? “I was afraid that Boris had died for no reason,” I said, my relief thickening my voice.
“Not at all,” Uncle Victor said matter-of-factly. “The firefighters’ quick work prevented a disaster too horrible to think about.”
He had no idea how happy he had made me.
Uncle Victor looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. “Now I’ve really got to finish my journal article,” he said. “I’m leaving on a short trip to Canada tomorrow.”
“Please, Uncle Victor, let me do something for you while you’re gone,” I begged.
When he didn’t answer, I asked, “Can I check on your apartment?”
“You can come read my books.” He pulled a key out of his pocket. “And you can help me by jotting down my messages for me.” He gestured towards the kitchen. “Otherwise, the voice machine gets full.” He shook his finger at me. “But nothing else unless your father approves.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
AT LUNCH THE NEXT DAY, I was sitting alone at a picnic table reading Chernobyl, A Disaster for the Generations. I always brought a book to keep me company. After years of being unfriendly, no one but Lyudmila was likely to disturb me.
When I saw her heading towards me, I quickly stuck the book into my backpack. At this point, I wasn’t ready to tell Lyudmila about my job at Uncle Victor’s. I was no longer working at Crystal Creations. I had lied to Lyudmila and Margarita and blamed the decision on my parents. My bad grades offered an easy excuse. I’m not sure exactly why I was so hesitant to tell Lyudmila the truth. But she was successful at the crystal business in a way that she wasn’t at school.
Sergei Rudko and Stepan Yasko sat down at the next table. They looked over at us. Sergei was the captain of the soccer team; Stepan was the high scorer. As groups of kids walked by, they all greeted Sergei and Stepan. “Do you think we’ll win the game Friday? Great goal, Stepan!” With their neatly combed hair and bulging muscles, the boys exuded confidence and fun. They were both eating oversized sausage sandwiches.
Lyudmila batted her eyes at the boys in a ridiculous way.
“Come have lunch with us, Lyudmila,” Stepan called.
“I can’t,” she said, then added. “Maybe later.”
Lyudmila was the most popular girl in our class with the boys. The other girls disliked her for flirting so openly.
While Lyudmila and Stepan were bantering, Sergei and I looked at each other. When he smiled at me, I felt myself blushing. “How was algebra?” I called out.
“I think I passed it,” Sergei said. Then Stepan spoke to him, and Sergei turned away.
“So,” Lyudmila asked as she plopped down, “why don’t you go talk to Sergei?”
“Why should I?”
“Because you like each other,” she said.
“I do not,” I protested.
“I just saw it in your faces when you looked at each other.”
Lyudmila should forget about her silly crystals and take up face readings, I thought.
“So now I’ve cracked the secret of your mysterious appointments.” Lyudmila laughed knowingly. “You’re meeting Sergei.” She shook her pointed fingernail at me. “Angelika will be so angry when she finds out.”
“I am not meeting Sergei,” I protested.
Lyudmila smiled, and her tone became confidential. “I’m sure that Margarita Pikalova will let you borrow an extra-powerful love crystal, even if you’re not working for her anymore.”
I shrugged.
“Don’t you ever want to go out with a boy?” Without asking, Lyudmila picked up a pear from my lunch. She carefully bit into it so as not to disturb her dark lipstick.
“You tell me every detail of your dates, Lyudmila,” I said. “Why do I ever need to go on one?”
Lyudmila stood up and tossed the pear core into the trash. “You’re so stubborn, Katya.” As she walked away, swinging her hips, Stepan watched her.
I took out my book but instead of reading, I just sat there eating my cucumber and mayonnaise sandwich. I was about to take her advice and walk over to sit with Sergei when someone touched my shoulder.
I looked up, and Angelika stood there. The last few years had not improved her looks. Although her blonde hair, smooth skin and luminous eyes were still beautiful, in comparison with her china-doll nose, her mouth had grown outsized. Her crooked teeth, which I used to consider cute, now appeared crude.
“Are you going on the field trip?” Angelika asked. Her hands were on her hips. Her narrowed eyes gleamed with disapproval.
I was tempted to ask her why she was talking to me, but I thought I knew. The planned field trip had made me remember our childhood together, too.
I shook my head.
When Angelika’s gaze fell on the table, I glanced down at my book, Chernobyl, A Disaster for the Generations. Her father had been one of the engineers running the safety experiment on Reactor Number Four. That made Comrade Galkin partly responsible for the accident. Quickly, I covered the title with my hand.
Angelika grimaced. “Why are you reading that propaganda?”
“It’s not propaganda,” I said.
Angelika’s face had turned red. “Have you forgotten that my father was one of the engineers?” Her tone was bitter, and I understood its meaning. She had never forgiven me; my father had lived, and hers had died.
I answered her, gently, “I haven’t forgotten, Angelika.”
“My father gave his life for the station,” Angelika said.
Since the engineers’ mistakes had cost many lives, I couldn’t come up with an answer that wasn’t unkind.
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