Orest Stelmach - The Boy from Reactor 4

In 1994, I had a son with a woman who was doing the same work. She has died since then. My boy’s name is Adam, and it is for his sake that I write this letter.

My health is not good. I am dying. Adam is sixteen. I want a better life for him. Would you be willing to sponsor him? Let him come to America, the best place on Earth. He is a good boy. He has done nothing wrong. He does not deserve this fate.

I do not have an address because I do not want anyone to find me. I do not have a phone because I cannot afford one.

There is a woman in Kyiv. She knew the woman who bore my child. She agreed to give me her phone number and address for the sake of the boy.

Clementine Seelick

Yaroslaviv Val 8

Kyiv 01021

Ukraine

Phone: 244-3683

It was I who first kissed you beneath the apple cart when you were twelve, not my brother. You kissed me back, and then slapped my face and ran off. You stepped on my ankle as you ran. I limped for the next two weeks.

I am not dead, Vera. I am alive. Please help my boy.

I eagerly await news of your response.

Nadia slid the letter back to her mother. The prospect that her uncle was still alive, that she had family in Ukraine, struck a chord inside her. She wondered if he looked like her father and what he could tell her about him. The thought of a younger cousin was even more exciting. What was his daily life like? What were his dreams and aspirations?

“That was the first one,” Nadia’s mother said. “I got two more after that.”

The second letter was the same as the first one, except the tone was more urgent. The envelope contained a grainy picture of a boy in gray sweats and skates on a pond. His face was a contrast with his thin upper body: full cheeks, hearty eyes, and an unusually dark complexion. A red-and-white chimney encased in scaffolding and the top of a cement tomb loomed above the trees on the horizon.

Nadia’s mother grabbed the picture and bristled. “Look at this boy. He doesn’t even look Ukrainian. He looks more like one of those Mongolian reindeer people. Pathetic. You’d think whoever’s trying to pull this scam on me would have put a nice-looking Ukrainian boy on ice skates. Like Wayne Gretzky.”

The third letter was dated April 2. That was two weeks before the man posing as Milan had called Nadia to set up a meeting. The handwriting was so weak it was almost illegible.

Dear Vera,

A friend of mine has some very important information that he must share with someone who can be trusted. We are surrounded by scavengers, killers, and thieves. I am told by an old friend in America that your daughter is a person of integrity. That she can be trusted. Please ask her to call Clementine immediately. I beg you.

The fate of the free world depends on it.

He had scribbled Clementine Seelick’s address and cell phone number again at the bottom of the note.

“There’s no mention of his son this time,” Nadia said, hearing the disappointment in her voice. “As though that was just a pretense to start a dialogue with you. And there was no more time for games.”

Her mother scoffed. “There is no Adam. There is no Damian. Fate of the free world ? Spare me. I can see it now. Once you get there, they’ll tell you they need fifty thousand dollars in fees to release the money or something Nigerian like that. It’s a scam, Nadia. Don’t get sucked into it.”

Nadia wasn’t so sure. “What about the kissing under the apple cart? Did that really happen?”

“Well…” Nadia’s mother swallowed, blushed, and looked away. “It just can’t be him.”

“Who else would know a detail like that? Who would remember it?”

“Someone Damian confided in as a boy. Some other con artist.”

“Who surfaces now? Fifty years later?”

Nadia’s mother stared into space for a second. “Maybe it’s him, then.” She turned back to Nadia with a fierce expression. “And he’s the one that’s going to rip you off.”

Nadia knew there was only one way to be certain. “Do you have a pen and some paper? I need to copy this woman’s name and phone number.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Why?”

“I already called it. Three times.”

“And?”

“It’s a beauty salon. They’ve never heard of any Clementine Seelick. I spoke with a hairdresser, the bookkeeper, and the owner. Nothing.”

Nadia shook her head. “That makes no sense.”

Her mother wasn’t so cynical now, though. “You came here asking about Damian. It’s too much of a coincidence. Why? What’s this business with Victor Bodnar?”

“Do you know anything about the ten million dollars Damian stole?”

Nadia’s mother’s eyes shot up. “Ten million…” Her breath expired before she could finish the sentence. “He stole ten million dollars ?”

Nadia pulled out her checkbook. “I’m writing you a check for fifteen hundred dollars.”

“Finally.”

“Get out of town. Take one of your many male suitors and go on a vacation. Preferably out of the country. I don’t want to scare you, but it may be dangerous for you to stay here. I did the same for Marko, but he tore it into pieces.”

She took the check, folded it in half, and stuffed it deep in her bosom.

Her mother was always practical. “Your brother’s an idiot,” she said. “My daughter’s wish is my command.”

ARESTLESS CROWD watched the Amtrak departure board overhead at Penn Station. Some carried briefcases, others dragged suitcases. None looked happy.

The bars on the board spun forward and rotated. The revolving numbers sounded like a giant roulette wheel. One of the bars landed on the 8:45 a.m. Empire State to Albany. It was now boarding at Gate 13A.

Victor handed Tara a fanny pack. “Wrap this around your waist under your coat. There’s two thousand dollars in it. Another seven thousand was wired into your bank account this morning.”

“Victor—”

“A woman will meet you at the train station. She will take you to her home in a town called Voorheesville. When it is safe for you to come home, your aunt will call you from New York. Until then, you must not speak to anyone. Otherwise, Misha will find you, and you will never be free from him.”

“Okay, I understand. But what about you? Here,” she said, pushing the fanny pack into his chest. “This is too much.”

“No, it’s not. You see… I need you to do me a favor.”

Tara hesitated. “What kind of favor?”

Victor reached down and picked up what looked like a small duffel bag. One end was vented. He unzipped the other. A black-and-white cat poked its head out and chirped like a parakeet at Tara.

“I need you to take care of him for me,” Victor said. “I have no one else.”

Tara froze, mouth open, as though she weren’t a cat person but didn’t want to admit it. “Why can’t you take care of him?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m going to be traveling soon. He answers to Damian, but you can call him whatever you want. He’s a good boy.”

Tara swallowed and forced a smile. “Okay. I’ll take care of him. Damian and my baby will be friends.”

“That would be… so nice. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He took a final look at Damian and zipped up the carrier. Tara reached out and grasped it by its strap.

“You have it?” Victor said.