Michael Beres - Chernobyl Murders

The morning chatter of birds through the open window awakened her. The previous evening she’d gone for a walk alone. Pripyat’s lin-den trees had thickened, and she’d stood watching skylarks building nests. She went into the bathroom and stared into the mirror, trying to see if she had changed, if her complexion was rosier, her cheeks puffier, her eyes calmer. The only change was a slight thickening of her abdomen. To see it she had to stand on a stool and study her profile. Six weeks, and the baby was beginning to show. She’d noticed the change this week, and now she was certain she could see the bulge beneath her slip.

“It’s still too early to see,” said Marina, standing in the bathroom doorway watching her.

Marina was like a sister, someone she could confide in. They had spent many nights discussing what she should do, and she had decided to request a medical leave to have the baby. She would stay with Aunt Magda in the town of Visenka during the last months of pregnancy. Finally, the most difficult decision, she would arrange for the baby’s adoption.

Juli stepped off the stool and began combing her hair. She glanced to Marina. “I’m going to tell my supervisor today, assum-ing she doesn’t already know.”

“No one knows,” said Marina. “Nobody was in the apartment next door last winter. The footprints on the balcony were made during the day. The following week, our new neighbors moved in, so there’s nothing to worry about. Another pair of powerless women like us.”

“Are you going to lecture me again, Marina?”

“Not a lecture, Juli. I simply wondered when you would tell your secret to someone besides me and the doctor and your aunt.”

“I’ll tell my supervisor late in the day so I’ll have the weekend to prepare for the gossip.”

“And Mihaly?”

“We’ve been through this, Marina. I’m not trying to protect him! A fool protecting a fool! His wife finds out about us, and we continue seeing one another! It’s an insane situation! Nothing good can come of it!”

“The baby is good,” said Marina.

“I know. I didn’t mean to yell. I’ll… tell Mihaly today. After work. After I tell my supervisor and get the hell out of there.”

“You still won’t consider an abortion?”

“No. Don’t ask why. Maybe because my father is dead and I was his only child.”

Juli looked in the mirror, saw her own face sneering back at her.

“I should have gone to medical school like my father wanted instead of working at a damned nuclear plant. I’d be a doctor in Moscow sitting behind my desk, and on the other side of the desk is an unmarried girl come to get the results of her test. I should have stayed in Moscow after school or gone to some other job away from here so I would never have met Mihaly.”

“Do you love him?”

“I don’t know. I’m a coward, Marina. If I do love him, I don’t have courage to say it.”

Marina came behind her, took the brush from the sink, and began brushing Juli’s hair. “You’re very brave. No matter what I’ve said the last few days, I want you to know I don’t think I would have handled the situation as well.”

“I should have handled the birth control so none of this would have happened.”

Marina paused a moment, then resumed brushing Juli’s hair.

“Here we go again. It’s the men in power who cause the problems.

Always the men who put us into situations we’d rather not be in.

Keep reminding yourself you’re going through this for a couple who can’t have a baby of their own. When you tell Mihaly, remember to also tell him about the couple. They’re waiting for their baby.

Their baby.”

“Last night I lay awake thinking about how Mihaly will react.”

“How?” asked Marina.

“Silent, brooding. Then he’ll smile, put his arm around me, and ask what he can do.”

“Do me one favor,” said Marina.

“What?”

“If he thinks only of himself, kick him in the nuts.”

Juli turned, and when she saw Marina smiling she couldn’t help laughing. They hugged and Juli felt her eyes fill with tears. “I haven’t even thought of contacting my mother. She’ll never know about it.”

“It’s all right,” whispered Marina into her ear. “You’ll be all right.”

Marina took Juli’s hand and led her out of the bathroom. “Come with me. You need breakfast to feed our couple’s baby. Plus, I don’t want you to be late. No running for the bus.”

In Kiev a man wearing a ski mask despite the warm spring weather had, during the past month, beaten and raped three women in three separate metro stations. Kiev’s detectives were put on extra duty.

Female militia officers were placed in each metro station as decoys.

But the rapist had not been lured into the trap.

Because he was single, Detective Lazlo Horvath worked several sixteen-hour shifts in a row. His reward was the requisite congrat-ulatory speech by Chief Investigator Chkalov and a weekend off.

Chkalov had seemed angry, the speech terse, the weekend off given reluctantly after an odd complaint saying Lazlo should have visited the militia station in Pripyat while visiting his brother. A rumor among detectives linked Chkalov’s foul mood to KGB inquiries.

But on this Friday morning, with one normal day shift to go before his weekend off, Lazlo was not concerned with Chkalov’s relationship with the KGB. What occupied Lazlo’s thoughts this Friday was the plan for Tamara Petrov to spend the weekend at his apartment. This morning, before going on duty, he had cleaned the apartment, a procedure consisting of cramming the accumulation of clutter either into the garbage or into the closet. His bed linen and an assortment of soiled towels and clothing were in the back seat of the Zhiguli to be dropped off at the laundry. The inside of the Zhiguli smelled ripe as he drove along in the morning sun.

Lazlo stopped for breakfast at a pastry vendor on Khreshchatik Boulevard. The last time he’d been there the tea had been weak, so he ordered coffee. He sat on a bench in the plaza near the stairway to the metro. While he ate pastry and sipped the strong coffee from a paper cup, morning commuters disappeared into a metro stairwell like ants heading into a wine cellar. The main post office across the street reminded him of the last letter from his brother. Mihaly said Nina knew about the “other woman,” and he and Nina had rec-onciled. Mihaly would stop seeing the woman and work hard to salvage his marriage.

As he sat in the sun enjoying the warm southerly breeze, Lazlo wondered what this “other woman” of Mihaly’s was like. Perhaps Juli was a Gypsy, at least in appearance, like Tamara. If so, if he were in his brother’s position, could he be tempted away from Nina and the girls? Of course he could. Being in a profession of trying to make things right did not mean he was better than anyone else.

Perfection was for others, perhaps those without ties who could cross the frontier and live in so-called freedom.

A young woman walked past, the breeze making her cotton dress cling to her hips. Like Nina, thought Lazlo, Nina on last summer’s holiday. So young and beautiful, but not for him. Tamara was no less beautiful. Not young, his age, but still beautiful.

At the metro stairwell, a young man emerged carrying a guitar case. The man, most likely a student, was perhaps nineteen.

His hair was dark. The young man glanced at Lazlo. Dark eyes.

Gypsy eyes. The young man striking in his resemblance to the one he had killed. “Boys killing boys,” an officer at camp had said. “The strings of his violin silenced in youth,” said another. A quarter century had passed, yet he could not get the boy out of his mind. He had killed a maker of music. All those songs left unplayed. All the joy of his music unfulfilled. All because of Lazlo, the Gypsy. Tamara was the only person he’d told of the incident. Soon he would tell Mihaly. Perhaps having two people in his life know about the Gypsy would help.