“The radiation was too high for humans to approach,” Comrade Mokhoyida said. “So not a single rivet or weld holds the Sarcophagus together.”
I had read about the Sarcophagus’ construction. The government had assembled the twelve-story structure using remote-controlled cranes and giant military helicopters. Too radioactive to be removed, these large machines now lay buried somewhere in the Dead Zone—alongside 12,000 other cement trucks and bulldozers employed to clean up the accident.
“To collect the graphite from the roofs, the government purchased robots from Japan, but the machines were useless,” Comrade Mokhoyida said.
The robots couldn’t function on the rough ground. Instead, for this most dangerous job, the government hired men. They were called “biological robots.” Few of them understood the risks that they were running.
“Some 3,400 army reservists with picks and shovels were hired to clear the roofs. The men were given strict time limits, sometimes as little as twenty seconds, to reduce their exposure and keep them safe,” Comrde Mokhoyida said.
Keep them safe? I wondered if our guide knew that many of these biological robots had already died? Uncle Victor told me that the doctors were forbidden to tell the men their illnesses were caused by the radiation.[33] Even my own father’s doctors had lied to him. Dr. Sokolov had claimed that his thyroid cancer was probably unrelated to his exposure to the radiation. “Why does anyone get cancer?” he had shrugged. “Who knows?”
“Today, only twenty-five percent of the Sarcophagus can be entered by humans,” Comrade Mokhoyida said. “The remainder still contains four times the lethal dose with readings of up to 3,300 roentgens an hour.”
I looked over at Lyudmila. She was calmly chewing gum. But I had read that if a person stayed for just two minutes inside the forbidden areas, she would be overcome by radiation sickness. After ten minutes, she would die.[34]
“The Sarcophagus is believed to contain up to 200 tons of melted nuclear fuel in addition to thirty-seven tons of radioactive dust. You are looking at a building which safely houses more radioactive waste than any other facility in the whole world,” Comrade Mokhoyida bragged.
The guide’s propaganda was too much to bear. “That building is not safe!” I protested loudly enough for the whole bus to hear. I knew that the Soviets built the Sarcophagus to last only thirty years, but the plutonium alone would be radioactive for another 250,000.[35]
Lyudmila punched me in the arm for making a scene, and Angelika glared at me in annoyance. I was about to add more, when Sergei craned his neck to stare. I remembered Lyudmila’s look, no boy is ever going to like you. And I shrank back in my seat. I wanted him to notice me, not think I was a freak.
“You better be quiet, Katya, or I’ll report you to Tatjana Petrovna!” Angelika yelled.
Comrade Mokhoyida smiled calmly at me. “Don’t worry. We are already planning another stronger structure, to contain the contaminants for a longer period of time. We will build this structure over the Sarcophagus.”
“That’s right,” Angelika broke in. “The authorities have the situation under control.”
I was tempted to ask, Then, why are they already planning to build another ‘stronger structure?’ And why haven’t they built it yet? But for the moment, I managed to contain my anger.
“What’s wrong with you?” Lyudmila hissed.
As I pointed out the window at the Sarcophagus, I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. “That’s what’s wrong.” I told her. Although I knew Lyudmila wasn’t interested in the facts, I couldn’t stop myself. “Another explosion could occur any hour, any minute, or any second.” I was furious at her—at all of them—for not knowing enough to be afraid. “If the reactor explodes again, the consequences could be even worse than last time.”[36]
Lyudmila cocked her head and peered closely at me. She was wearing at least three coats of mascara. Her eyelashes were so stiff that they looked like small swords. “You never show any emotion,” she said. “And now, you’re so angry.”
When I met her gaze, her blue eyes were full of curiosity. She looked as if she had never really seen me before.
I turned away from her towards my watery reflection in the window. During our many arguments, my parents had said the same thing to me. “You’re so angry.”
“No, I’m not,” I always answered. Yet as I stared out the window at the clumsily built Sarcophagus, I felt as red-hot as the reactor core on the night of the explosion. A few minutes passed, while I breathed deeply, trying to regain control of myself.
“Hey,” Mikhail pointed at the Sarcophagus. “A bird just flew in there.”
I looked in the direction that he was pointing.
Since the Sarcophagus was over 100 yards away, it took me a moment to spot the crow. Its black head poked out of a crack in the nuclear shield. The crack appeared to be about the length of my arm. Flapping its midnight-blue wings, the bird began flying towards us.
“That crow probably built a nest inside the damaged reactor,” Mikhail said. “It will have radioactive babies, and then the whole family will fly away to… Norway.” He shrugged expressively. “All over the world.”
Chapter Thirty-One
AS THE BUS CROSSED THE BRIDGE, I caught my first glimpse of Pripyat. The town’s tree-lined streets were crumbling. Decapitated streetlights dangled on electrical cords. Grass poked out of cracks in the sidewalks. I saw only one sign of life. A long-abandoned piece of gray laundry flapped in an open window.
Our bus pulled up in front of the square, concrete plaza and jerked to a halt. “This town of 45,000 people was so young that the city fathers never gave this plaza a name,” Comrade Mokhoyida said.
It looked like an ordinary plaza dotted with benches and surrounded by trees. But where were the cars, the people and the pets? I remembered all the May Day parades that I had watched from the vantage point of this plaza. How I had hurried across this square on my way home from school. I missed the vendors selling punch from the roadside stands, the mothers pushing strollers, and the blooming gardens.
Pripyat was a ghost town. I knew that cities weren’t alive and so couldn’t die, but looking at the spooky emptiness of the plaza, I still felt sad.
I checked my dosimeter: Thirty-six microentgens an hour.
“Is that high?” Lyudmila asked.
I shook my head. “It’s only a little higher than Slavutich.”
“You’re so good in science, Katya. I’m so bad,” she said in a little girl’s voice.
Mikhail turned around in his seat. “I can help you in science, Lyudmila.”
She and Mikhail began whispering again. I did my best to ignore them.
“First, we’ll go to the apartment house across the street,” Comrade Mokhoyida said.
I looked over at it. It would have been a typical ten-story apartment project except that the windows were all shattered or missing. The doors were either gone or hanging on their hinges. The paint peeled from the window sills, and the stucco was dirty and cobwebbed.
“How many of you went to school here?” Comrade Mokhoyida asked.
About ten of us, including Lyudmila, Mikhail, Sergei, Angelika and me, raised our hands.
“So you’ve come home.” In this one short remark, Mokhoyida brushed past all the heartache of our broken lives, and without showing any sympathy, she began issuing instructions concerning our tour.