Amaury Dreher - Opalescence - The Secret of Pripyat

The Howler had a boat, a kind of raft with an old engine and oars that allowed him to go up the Pripyat River. From time to time, the desire took him to walk through the Zone. He roamed the river alone, having no course but the desire to drift. The engine was broken, but the paddles were fine.

—The soldiers leave you alone? I asked.

—Oh yes, the relationships are even quite friendly when we meet. But they hardly pass through anymore. They have enough to worry about with the protection of the Zone and the surveillance of the Stalkers. And then there’s this damn war in the east.

—And the tourists? Any of them make it this far?

—One of them came to my hut once. He wanted to take pictures of me from different angles. I threw his camera in the river. He didn’t dare to get it back.

—Are you planning to stay around until the end?

—The Babushkas are all old, in 5 or 6 years I will be the last here and I intend to be the last native of Pripyat to die in the Zone. That’s where I belong, next to my daughter.

—And the danger? I asked him.

—What danger? What danger? Cold, hunger, loneliness. That is the real danger. The Babushkas of the cities live in concrete hutches. Here, they are free, queens in their own lands. You know that the post-traumatic stress of evacuations had consequences as serious as the disaster itself. No, no and no. I’m much better off here.

As the hours passed, I felt that the Howler appreciated me, in contrast to the circumstances of our meeting. I decided to launch the subject of the treasure:

—Is it true what they say? A treasure would be buried somewhere in the Zone?

He ruminated and sighed.

—You know, I’ve seen others. Not so long ago, a man came all the way here to meet me about it. He was rather imposing and looked dark. He seemed tormented as if a shadow of a curse was hanging over him. If you ask me, your obsession will defeat you all.

—That’s not why I came here. The subject just arouses my curiosity, that’s all.

—Nonsense, they all say that. They actually have only one concern: to find the damn treasure. I’d shoot them one by one if I could.

He moved:

—Let them enjoy their miserable lives instead of trying hard here! There is nothing for them. Death awaits them and will take them like all the others. You know, I got the fortune. Prosperity, family success, all these components of happiness were mine.

The desolation that animated his face seemed irreversible to me. The hope once present in his eyes seemed to have evaporated forever. He was condemned to live with this loneliness, which he himself had chosen. No one had imposed his painful exile on him. I still had the impression that living as a hermit softened his suffering. He told me how looters had ransacked his daughter’s grave. Without shame, they had exhumed the body in search of clues that could lead to Pripyat’s treasure. Furious at having failed, after desecrating the tomb they had abandoned it in the forest, like a common rubbish.

“I only caught one. The kid begged and begged for forgiveness. I didn’t think about it. I took my axe and split his skull from top to bottom. I dumped what was left of his body in the river. Most of his friends had already fled. Others attended the scene. They swore they’d kill me sooner or later. I expect them almost as much as death.”

The Howler frowned as he prepared his hook. He performed his gesture with great precision and was not distracted by any external element. The movements were mastered, the choreography perfect. He took a few steps forward and dipped his fishing rod into the water before sitting on the ground.

—Some fish are huge, you’ll see.

—Are they really bigger since the accident?

—It’s hard to say. Probably. Anyway, they’re much better. The river is less polluted than in the past. I suppose they are in excellent health. In the past, people used to throw away a whole lot of dirt. No one cared about water quality.

—Are you angry?

—Against whom?

I pointed the power plant away.

—The people who built this.

—No. No. We needed it. I have no particular resentment against the government of the day. I hate both the whole world and myself.

The Howler pulled his fishing rod and then threw it to the ground with an angry look. Apparently the fish didn’t bite the hook. He gave up.

“Never mind, I’m going swimming. Are you coming?”

I nodded. The water must have been just over 0 °C, not to mention its radioactive nature. The Howler undressed and dived totally naked. He walked away nonchalantly, dabbling through the nascent mist. As for me, I decided to go back to his shack. Entering it without its owner gave me the impression of rediscovering it. The place was usually impregnable. He was strongly defended by the Howler who hardly let anyone in. I was favoured, I had won his trust. Did I deserve it?

I pushed the door, my heart pounding, and rushed into the hut. It was warm and silent. There was a chaos of warmth. I was contemplating his library. The Howler had all kinds of books: biology textbooks, political essays or even epistemology books; he did not spare himself any discipline. A manuscript bound with cords caught my attention. It was a collection of letters with no date or signature on them. The calligraphy seemed shaky and I had trouble deciphering it. In addition, the paper was damaged, some lines were missing and made the story particularly frustrating:

“The situation is very tense. The magma has pierced the concrete slab that separates the core from the reactor that melts with the water. According to Nesterenko, there is a risk of a 4-megaton nuclear explosion. (Unreadable…) Workers were hastily requisitioned. I had no choice. But I do what I’m told. (Unreadable…) The guys are all pretty young. Most of them are kids. The oldest of them is 32 years old. There are nearly 10,000 of them working in shifts all the time. Some are from Donbass, others from Tula in Russia. They were promised a reward. A lot of them would have gone there without it. Probably they don’t know what they’re risking. I myself don’t have much information about it. Some workers work without protection. Not all of them have adequate masks or clothing. I even saw some in shorts and bare shirts. The heat is extreme down there. We were not able to install any ventilation ducts through the underground. Temperatures reach 50 degrees. (Unreadable…) I just carry out the orders.”

On another page:

“Now the gallery is 150 metres long and has been completed. The mission is accomplished. The guys are relieved. But we remain cautious, the worst is still to be avoided.” (Unreadable…)’ The situation in Moscow is critical. I’ve heard some pretty serious things. Hospital number 6 is overcrowded. I’ve been described horrible scenes. Western journalists are being kept out of the picture. No one must know. (Unreadable…) But miners are not the only heroes. Successive helicopter pilots are facing an extremely difficult situation. We have 80 aircraft that take turns to contain the radioactive fumes from the reactor. They were brought from Siberia, 4,000 km from Chernobyl. The guys are doing a fabulous job, but not everything is going as we would like. Yesterday because of the heat and radiation one of the pilots fainted in the middle of the flight. Fortunately, the helicopter was rescued by the first officer. Others were less fortunate. We’re trying to keep it a secret, but an MI -8 crashed during operations. Of course there are no survivors. I look forward to returning to Kopyliv.”

Many pages awaited me, but I heard the Howler returning. His heavy step and hoarse voice seemed very close. With my heart pounding, I closed the manuscript. It probably contained other exciting stories. I decided to steal the document by hiding it under my jacket.