Amaury Dreher - Opalescence - The Secret of Pripyat

—I have read that some reports question the impact of the accident on health?

He shrugged his shoulders.

—Yes, it’s hard to know, there are not many studies available. We are only beginning to have the necessary perspective. The World Health Organisation and the United Nations concluded that the consequences of the accident were overestimated.

—Haven’t thyroid cancers exploded?

—They have increased, that’s true. But this is also due to the fact that the medical follow-up of the population has been much more thorough than before, mechanically more pathologies have been observed. You know, radiation has a cataclysmic connotation. The truth is that in some parts of the world, such as China, the United Kingdom and Iran, some people are exposed to much higher levels of radioactivity in natural contexts. The biggest victims of the disaster were the liquidators, those who were sent from the very first moment.

—What about the inhabitants of the exclusion zone? I heard that some of them were still living here.

—Yes, many of them have returned, including the Babushkas. These grandmothers are the real Chernobyl rebels. But they are not at much risk today. People like us even less so.

—I am very intrigued by the Babushkas… You have already met some? I asked.

—Of course, there are not many more and they are quite scattered, but you can find them quite easily. Although, almost all of them are close to the end. They’ve been here a long time, you know.

—When this century is over, what will happen to the Zone? Do you think she’ll lose her aura? Is the Zone immortal?

—I’ve been thinking a lot about the posterity of this place. Of course, the sarcophagus is planned for a period of 100 years, but what should we do next? Should a third enclosure be built? Will science have made enough progress? Some are already imagining the construction of a giant dome that would cover a large part of the exclusion zone. The future holds the promise of better materials, new technologies to solve the problem. Scientific progress is our lifeline. We cling to it as a comforting and unverifiable hope. Neither you nor I will be there to admire the result. I believe that the Zone will be eternal, but subject to permanent control. The danger will always be present, but controlled and contained.

—Are the Stalkers doomed to disappear?

He shrugged again, pulling his cigarette.

—They will be forced to renounce. I guess they’ll just have to observe the Zone from the outside. Maybe they’ll develop ploys to get in there. Some will probably have the crazy idea of digging galleries. They will emerge on the other side of the ramparts thanks to their radioactive underground and any effort would be in vain. Employees working for the Zone will continue to be corruptible. What’s the point of sacrificing so much energy to lock down this space? It will never be inviolable. It never was.

Andrei did not say any more words. He was confined to looking into the void and remaining silent until I called him out:

—Tell me, what do you do when you’re not in the Zone?

—Oh, nothing interesting. I am content to live,” he soberly assorted.

Cigarettes were running out and the cold was gradually settling in. Little covered as usual, I was soon shivering. Andrei had noticed my discomfort. He plunged his head into his bag and almost miraculously took out two vials of Nemiroff. Eager for lightness, we worked hard to exhaust them. If my companion seemed insensitive to the effects of the sweet nectar, I for my part multiplied the sips with increasing ease; a sign that my judgment was deteriorating. The tarpaulin would hold up. So is my liver. I grabbed the small bottle of Nemiroff and emptied it with one stroke. The feeling of fullness was amazing. I was now ready to spend the night outside, to sleep without fear.

The lantern was weakening, the darkness would soon invade us. Feeling my eyelids getting heavy, I took one last look at Andrei. He had fallen asleep silently, his arms wrapped around his bag in a somewhat tragic posture. I closed my eyes.

We were woken up by the first light of day. The night had been short, but deep. Slavic spirits had played their part magnificently. Dreamlike epics had followed one another during my sleep. I had dreamed of being a warrior at the head of a Viking army, ready to strangle anyone who stood in my way and prevented me from protecting my own. My dream was disconnected from the Zone, as if my subconscious mind refused to care about it. My alcoholic imagination had numbed my limbs and fogged my mind. I struggled to get up.

Andrei was already standing up, laying out an apple that he had carefully cut out. He winked at me and added, “I picked it up outside the Zone, you can eat it without fear.”

Our breakfast was consumed, we tried to carefully pack our belongings and recover the various wastes, removing all traces of our passage. We were getting back on the road.

Andrei was jovial, he walked whistling. “I will show you something. It’s one of my favorite places in the Zone.”

The huge warehouse with the irradiated vehicles was nearby. The employees of the exclusion zone had placed the various devices there, which had been mobilised in the first moments of the disaster. As soon as their mission was completed, they had to be confined because of their radioactivity, which was considered too high. They were no longer usable and had no other purpose than to be stored until they were forgotten.

The gate was blocked by inscriptions and dissuasive signs. A heavy lock had been installed to guarantee the place against intrusion. However, there was a ladder on the north face, so it was easy to climb up and reach the roof. From there, it was possible to enter through an air duct and then sneak into the various garages.

Andrei handed me a mask. It was essential to limit the inhalation of dust and gas emissions, the nature of which I preferred to ignore. The passage also had a foul smell that had to be overcome.

We crawled to a kind of desk with multiple empty shelves. The light in the room obviously didn’t work anymore, I turned on my headlamp. Some filing cabinets were mouldy and piles of rubbish also released an infamous smell. We decided to go out and down the stairs to reach the basement. All kinds of vehicles were there. They were perfectly aligned, as if their owners had wanted to expose them to an excessive manic and narcissistic excess. The garage seemed much larger than from the outside. It had several floors, including an underground part housing larger models. Buggies were stationed at the upper levels. One of them seemed to me to be in excellent condition.

—This thing still works, doesn’t it?

Andrei replied to me in a blink of an eye.

—Officially no one has used it for 30 years!

I approached a small van with a Soviet logo on it. I tried to distinguish through the glass, but a thick layer of dust blocked my view. Andrei asked me: “Above all, don’t touch anything. This dirt is very harmful.”

Beer cans were dying in a corner. The darkness was sometimes contrasted by meagre rays of light. Rebellious, they would sneak between the gaps in the wooden planks that were supposed to block the windows.

Andrei moved carefully, with a meticulous and observant eye. He was looking for something. He explained to me that he had installed a motion detector on his previous visit. “I’ve always been curious about the number of people who come in here. This place is much less well-known than Pripyat. Access is considerably more difficult. This has not prevented 16 people from entering since last year.”

He finally located the small box, hidden next to a toolbox. He inserted a new battery into his device and carefully replaced it. The detector was calibrated to detect only human presence, animals did not influence its measurements.