Amaury Dreher - Opalescence - The Secret of Pripyat

—Guess who I saw…

—Who is it? I replied in a candid voice.

— Oleksandr. I saw him in the distance.

—What’s he doing around here?

—I have no idea. If he had come near me, I swear on my head I would have strangled him.

—Why do you hate yourself so much?

—Old quarrels… But you have to know that Oleksandr is a little disturbed. And then… he’s a coward. He fears himself. He can be very impulsive. In fact, he has already fought in the Zone with Egor, another vagrant. It is said that the violence was such that they had to be beaten down with their fists to calm them down. They really had a hard time separating them.

—Who are they?

—Other troubled spirits you didn’t know.

He moaned in his beard.

—All crazy, they’re all crazy. I don’t understand why you’re staying here.

—You yourself have remained, I objected.

He grumbled, saying a few incomprehensible words. I watched him walk away to his room in his characteristic gait, the staggering gait of a learned and bruised old man.

I left the hut to settle on the steps. The promontory, where I was, offered a sparkling horizon. Winter was coming to an end. The Chernobyl plains would soon be covered with flowers and dazzling lights. Green and golden hues would follow the implacable whiteness of the cold nights that raged here. Przewalski’s horses would gallop through the vast depopulated areas, where they would encounter lynx, foxes and wolves also enjoying a habitat deserted by man. Europe’s first ecosystem would shine brightly and I would no longer be there to contemplate it. Why should I leave?

21st day in the Zone.

I arrived at the Jupiter factory, a vast tangle of steel structures, dilapidated buildings and abandoned trucks. Like Duga, the place had a secret aura. Officially, the main activity of the manufactory was to manufacture video recorders and radio components. Rather, its unofficial use was to provide the Soviet army with strategic equipment. Components necessary for submarines or the space industry were assembled here. It was still possible to observe a satellite dish on the roof of the complex. Some even thought that the plant was producing electronic components embedded in the USSR’s nuclear missiles.

The factory was the second largest employer in the exclusion zone after the nuclear power plant. It had continued to operate after the disaster and was only abandoned years later. The site had been converted into a radiation monitoring and decontamination process management centre. In particular, the robots used to manufacture the temporary enclosure around the reactor were tested. It was one of the largest buildings in the Zone. However, it was not on the guided tour program, due to its poor condition and the risk of roof collapse. Thus, the general public was relatively unaware of its existence. On the other hand, the Stalkers were very familiar with the Jupiter factory. For my part, it was the first time I had been there. Also, I was animated by a little thrill of excitement, the same one that had accompanied me when I entered the Azure pool.

The complex was not so difficult to reach, the plant was located southeast of Yanov and was easily accessible without means of transport. All you had to do was follow Zavodska Street on the outskirts of Pripyat. I was convinced that I knew the path even though I had never taken it. The surroundings seemed familiar to me. In front of the entrance of the complex were still completely rusty and out of order minibuses. Some rested on their sides as if an invisible force had tipped them over to prevent their use.

The plant was only abandoned in 1996. It was full of industrial equipment and scientific furniture that had to be moved. Inside, the machines had been dismantled and the spare parts sold elsewhere. Many spaces had been converted into living spaces. Thus, one could find sofas, books and flowerpots scattered all over the place in an almost charming disorder. The main building had a cellar that aroused strong curiosity among the stalkers, similar to the hospital in Pripyat. Nevertheless, I did not venture to explore the basement of the plant because of its recent flooding. Who knows what kind of horrors could thrive there? So I limited myself to walking around the ground floor and the upper floors.

I looked through the main room: the ground was strewn with debris, more or less human waste. An imposing ventilation duct was attached to the wall. Its Blue Turquin colour gave it a stylish appearance despite the ravages of time. I was trying to gauge if a man could sneak in. Probably a puny individual would succeed. In an adjacent corridor, I found a sign detailing the rotation schedules for workers. I continued my progress by the stairs, wandering according to my intuitions.

Andrei had mentioned this place only a few times. The only thing he would have told me was that he had been shot in the area. Strangely enough, it didn’t scare me. I had confidence in the place, I didn’t feel threatened. I was even wondering if Andrei hadn’t lied. It was his style to dramatise and distort reality to make himself exhilarating. As for me, I was not carrying any weapons and had no need to protect myself from anything.

A little further on, I walked through a thick door to find myself in a rectangular room, whose floor was entirely covered with mosses. Traces on the wall suggested that a radiator had been ripped off. In an underlying room, a large ruby-red safe lay nonchalantly in a corner. It was half-opened, but, of course, empty of any content. I was trying to imagine what kinds of secrets might have been stored there, scientific and industrial mysteries that had probably been destroyed or even stolen.

My eyes were drawn to a can of soda that was lying in the middle of the filth. It looked brand new. Its light-blue colour was bright and barely covered with dust. I turned my head carefully to find more evidence of recent visits. Abandoned shoes were piled up, but it was impossible for me to date them. I was about to approach them when I noticed a rather characteristic sound. It was not a scream or laughter, but rather a lament. Someone was sobbing. The pace was slow and deep. The tone was unusual. It was male crying. The swallowing was accompanied by quite serious sighs, with tragic tendencies. Slowly, I was trying to get ahead. I could not distinguish the individual, only my hearing guided my steps.

I walked through a door and saw him. The man was lying on the ground, slumped against a wall, his hands joined on his head as a sign of torture. I couldn’t believe it, but it was Oleksandr. The unfeeling and unfathomable colossus was now in a position of incredible weakness. Opposite thoughts were going through me. Should I comfort him, run away, kill him? My intuition was screaming at me to get out of there, but I was still petrified. I was trying to understand what could put him in this state.

Parallel to my assumptions, I was struck by the fact that Oleksandr was standing between me and the exit. There was no way he was going to see me. His reaction would be too unpredictable. I was thinking fast before I realised the obvious. The windows were my only escape. I was on the second floor. A jump was possible, the deep snow would cushion the fall. Oleksandr had formidable senses, I was convinced he would hear me. I took one last look at him. He was starting to stir. He blew his nose noisily and then staggered up. He was heading towards me. I swore silently. No more choices: I approached the opening of the adjoining window and jumped through it without question. The time spent in the air seemed endless to me. The landing was violent. I had jumped in a hurry, without worrying about what was underneath. In addition, I had chosen the worst window, given the presence of a small fir tree nearby. If it helped to slow my fall, it also slapped my face. Branches had skewered my shoulders, thorns had whipped my face, but I had managed not to make any sound. My heart was racing, but I was intact.