Michael Beres - Chernobyl Murders

After the young man carrying the guitar case was gone, Lazlo did his best to return to the present. Horns sounded, and a loud motor scooter roared past. Tonight, after a relatively peaceful day of asking questions around the metro, filling out reports at headquarters, and doing his laundry, he would be with Tamara. Tamara, who often said his constant brooding and moroseness were unhealthy, even for the Gypsy. He disposed of his garbage, went to the Zhiguli, and drove across town to a wine shop that sold a fine Hungarian vintage.

As Juli stood at the bus stop in front of the low-level laboratory building, she felt as if those waiting behind were trying to detect signs of pregnancy. Though her supervisor had promised confidentiality, Juli assumed the entire laboratory knew. She wished she could leave immediately to be with her Aunt Magda near Kiev. The bus wheezed to a stop, giving off a loud groan. Insane. Even the machines of the world seemed to know.

Mihaly sat at the back in his usual seat. Juli could see he looked worried and wondered if he already knew about the baby. But Mihaly was not looking at her. Instead he stared out the window and did not turn to her until she sat down.

“Friday at last,” she said.

“But tonight I must return to the station,” said Mihaly. “I’ll only have time to eat and take a short nap.” He looked at his watch. “I’m due back at midnight. Sorry, Juli, if my mind is elsewhere. They’ve already begun reducing power on unit four. Everyone knows she’s unstable at low power, yet they invite visitors from other ministries.

The elite in Moscow will have their experiment completed for May Day. Idiots.”

Juli thought for a moment, and said, “If something goes wrong, isn’t it simply a matter of reinserting control rods?”

“Not necessarily,” said Mihaly. “The RBMK, she’s got tentacles like an octopus. She can go into power surges. We went to the chief engineer last Wednesday, but he still insists on the shutdown. We’re doing a goddamned experiment dreamed up in Moscow. Experiment without analysis-it’s how we do things at Chernobyl.”

Power, machines, industry. What did her unborn baby mean to them?

“What kind of experiment, Mihaly?” When she spoke, her voice sounded foreign, overly calm, like a mother speaking to a ranting child.

“They want to see how long the turbines can generate emergency power after a shutdown,” said Mihaly. “They’ve picked us to be the guinea pig for the entire system. Moscow engineers wouldn’t want to lose any sleep when we can do their experiment. As if we haven’t got enough problems.”

“What problems?” Again her voice sounded distant.

“There’s been a mysterious warning light.”

Juli imagined they were discussing how she could have gotten pregnant instead of discussing the reactor. “Mysterious?”

Mihaly turned with a serious look, a technician anxious to solve technical problems. “It’s happened twice in the last week. Two separate operators catching a glimpse of a panel light in their peripheral vision. But they were on the other side of the room, and the light was momentary. Today we took turns watching the board constantly because emergency backups were off so they could be worked on. Tomorrow morning, after we shut down, electricians will install lock-on circuits, so once a light comes on, it won’t go off until we shut it off. The lock-ons should have been installed in the first place, but parts weren’t available when construction was finishing up.”

“Awards handed out for completing projects on time.” Juli felt as though she had no control over what she said, speaking as if she were one of the machines.

Mihaly went on. “There are things we can fix only when the unit is shut down. Like clogged pipes. And listen to this one. A few weeks ago, an idiot driving a front loader ran into one of the towers carrying power lines into the control building. Luckily he only buckled one of the legs. If he had knocked the tower down and we lost power, we would’ve been in real trouble. This morning we caught the same driver taking a shortcut through the yard outside the control room. After we shut down, they’ll fix the tower, and we’ve convinced the chief engineer to fence in the area. Mistakes are piling up, and we’ve got to fix them before they lead to something else.”

The guard on the bus interrupted to check their passes. The sign for Pripyat went by on the right, and Juli knew they would be at her stop soon. If only she could see Mihaly on the weekend, tell him then about the baby. In the past, she could have suggested a rendezvous. Mihaly would have met her, because in the past, the meeting would have had another purpose. It was over. The last time they had been together was weeks ago, before she found out she was pregnant.

Mihaly was looking out the window again. The bus passed a field of wildflowers blooming gold and yellow. Juli decided not to tell Mihaly about the baby tonight. Monday would be soon enough.

Monday, her supervisor would confirm her medical leave, and then she would tell Mihaly about the baby.

“Will you work all weekend, Mihaly?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll still be on the early bus Monday?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because,” said Juli, “I have to arrive early on Monday, too. I’ll see you on the early bus. We have to talk…”

Mihaly turned to her, gripped her hand. “I don’t like being torn apart by my love for you and my obligation to my family. Why can’t we simply keep our secret?”

“Big secret,” said Juli. “You tell your militiaman brother, and he tells your wife!”

“Laz didn’t tell Nina.”

“And you believe him?”

Mihaly stared straight ahead, sat silent as if he were a man of great patience waiting for the vixen’s tirade to subside. Finally he spoke quietly, calmly.

“The night I returned home from your apartment, I should have guessed Nina knew.” He continued staring straight ahead.

“But sometimes, even when we know something, we pretend not to know. We should have both known it was over. We shouldn’t have seen one another again because it’s made this moment harder for both of us.”

They sat silent during the remainder of the ride. Before her stop, Juli asked, “Will I still see you on the early bus Monday? It will give us a chance to think over the weekend.”

“Yes, I’ll be there.”

The bus stopped. Mihaly touched her hand lightly. She stared into his eyes, felt an overwhelming urge to kiss him. But she stood, said good night, which seemed inappropriate because the sun was still high in the sky, and left the bus.

Juli looked back as the bus pulled away and saw several passengers watching her. But Mihaly looked straight ahead, his pointed nose and small chin accelerating his movement away from her. The bus resembled the wall of a gallery devoted to portraits of melancholy. Sad faces, brooding faces. And this on a Friday evening before a spring weekend.

Juli turned and walked to her apartment, wondering about a world in which machines took over the lives of the workers. But most of all, she wondered if Pripyat, a town populated to service the Chernobyl reactor, a town neither rural nor urban, was a place in which a child could be raised properly by a single mother.

Friday night in Ukraine was a night of celebration. Even farmers, merchants, and teachers who worked Saturday used Friday night as an excuse to consume large quantities of vodka and wine. Another week of toil was officially over, and one deserved to overindulge.

The result of overindulgence was often a deep, satisfying sleep. For many, Saturday began with snores and dreams and, sometimes, nightmares.

Of course, not everyone drank on Friday evening. Major Grigor Komarov of the KGB, for example, had attended a concert featuring the works of Prokofiev at the Philharmonia with his wife. He had consumed not one drop of vodka, not even at dinner beforehand.