The Blackbird Girls

by Anne Blankman

  “I’ve never tanned so quickly in my life,” he said, sounding pleased. “There must be something in the air.”

  It was an expression Oksana had heard many times before. “Love is in the air tonight,” her parents said when they saw a young couple out for a romantic evening stroll. Or, “Spring is in the air,” they said when wild roses bloomed in the forests outside Pripyat. And, “Winter is in the air,” they said when they could smell the sharpness of snow. Today, though, the words made Oksana uneasy.

  “Ah, Oksana,” Dyadya Sergei said. “I didn’t see you standing there. You’re as quiet as a shadow.”

  Although she wanted to rush past him so she wouldn’t have to look at Valentina, manners forced her to put on a smile and say, “Good afternoon, Dyadya Sergei.”

  “I have to see if my father is home,” Valentina said without looking at Oksana. She hurried up the stairs.

  “I saw your mother on the roof,” Dyadya Sergei said to Oksana. “There was a crowd of us. You ought to go up there before the fire’s put out. It’s quite a sight! Above the station, you can’t even see the sky. It’s all smoke, blue everywhere.”

  That meant Papa was sure to be angry, because the fire was probably someone’s fault. Or a machine’s. Either way, he would be furious, for the fire would mean filling out loads of paperwork and accident reports. Papa might even be in trouble because the fire had started during his shift.

  She started shaking deep inside. Dimly, she heard Dyadya Sergei saying something, but she couldn’t pay attention anymore. “I have to go home,” she said, and pushed open the swinging door at the landing. She mustn’t be late for lunch. The soup would go cold, and Papa must be hungry.

  Inside the apartment, her mother stood at the stove, stirring a pot. “Good, you’re home,” she said without looking up. “Set the table.”

  Oksana didn’t move. “Where’s Papa?”

  Now her mother did look at her. “He isn’t home yet.” Her smile didn’t touch her eyes. “We’ll eat lunch without him.”

  “Mama, I saw military trucks. The soldiers wore gas masks. And there are policemen all over the place!”

  Her mother pursed her lips. “I’m sure the authorities are merely taking precautions. Everything’s fine,” she added when Oksana didn’t speak. “I telephoned the power station, and nobody answered. The workers must have their hands full. The best thing we can do is leave them alone.”

  Oksana nodded. She hung her satchel on a peg by the door and went into the kitchen area to wash her hands. She loved being home, when it was just her and her mother. Their apartment was far nicer than any of her relatives’. They had two whole rooms—the main living space and a small bedchamber for her parents. They even had their own bathroom, which they didn’t have to share with the neighbors.

  Old rugs covered the wooden floorboards, and framed pen-and-ink drawings dotted the walls. There was even a bookcase, where she had an entire shelf to herself, and a radio. Her parents had just spent their savings on a television set, too. And Papa had promised that once she brought home a school report full of fives they’d buy her a proper bed and she wouldn’t have to sleep on the sofa anymore.

  “Set the table,” her mother said.

  “Yes, Mama.” Oksana grabbed a handful of silverware.

  After they had sat down and begun eating, her mother asked, “How was school?”

  Oksana thought of the footrace and shifted uncomfortably. She hoped Valentina wasn’t downstairs in her apartment, tattling to her mother about beating Oksana today. “Fine,” she muttered. She dragged her spoon across the bottom of her bowl, creating ripples along the surface of the borscht. It was her favorite kind of soup, because it was the same deep purple as a sky long after the sun had set, before black crept in. “Valentina said her father didn’t come home this morning, either.”

  Her mother rapped her knuckles with the back of her spoon. “Enough. I already told you not to worry. Did Svetlana Dmitrievna return your essay on Comrade Lenin?”

  There had been a 3 scrawled across the front of her paper. Oksana felt her cheeks warm. “No,” she lied.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Eleonora, I must speak with you,” called a woman’s voice.

  Eleonora was Oksana’s mother. With a sigh, she got up and opened the door. Valentina and her mother, Galina Yurievna, stood in the corridor. Valentina was still dressed in her school uniform and clutched a burlap sack to her chest.

  The Kaplans had never come to their apartment before. What could they possibly be doing here?

  “May we come in?” Galina Yurievna asked.

  Oksana’s mother hesitated. “Of course,” she said after a moment, and ushered them into the main room. “Please sit down,” she added, but Galina Yurievna shook her head.

  “I have news about the fire,” she said. “A friend just telephoned me. She’s a nurse at the hospital. She said there was an accident at the power station last night.”

  “Yes, we know about the fire—” Oksana’s mother started to say, sounding impatient, but Galina Yurievna interrupted.

  “It isn’t only a fire. Reactor number four exploded.”

  Reactor number four was where Papa worked! Was he hurt?

  “Something went wrong during the safety drill,” Galina Yurievna went on. “There was an explosion. And now the whole building’s caught fire.”

  Oksana’s mother had gone white. “The men—”

  “Are at the hospital,” Galina Yurievna said.

  Thank the stars! Oksana took a shaky breath. Her father would be fine. The doctors would fix him, and he’d come home and everything would be all right.

  “We’re leaving for the hospital now,” Galina Yurievna said. Oksana noticed that her hand rubbed Valentina’s shoulder absently, as if she didn’t notice she was doing it. As if the movement were automatic.

  Oksana glanced at her mother. But Mama didn’t touch her. Instead, she tapped her lips with her finger, as she always did when she was thinking. “We’ll go with you,” she said. “Oksana, pack Papa’s medicines.”

  Oksana knew what her mother meant. Every child in Pripyat knew about radiation poisoning. It was a sickness you could catch from working with nuclear power. Thankfully, it was easily cured. All you had to do was drink milk or mineral water and eat plenty of cucumbers, and you’d be well in a day or two.

  She found two cucumbers and a glass bottle of milk in the refrigerator. Quickly, she wrapped the cucumbers in wax paper and slid them into her mother’s string shopping bag. Then she realized what Valentina must be carrying in her burlap sack: her own father’s medicines.

  Together they all went down the stairs. The mothers walked ahead, talking in low voices. Hurrying a few paces behind, the girls were silent. Oksana sneaked a look at Valentina, whose face was pale and anxious. Valentina didn’t look back.

  Good, then they were ignoring each other. Oksana held the string bag tighter. The medicines would help Papa, and he would be so glad she’d brought them. He would kiss the top of her head. You saved me, he’d say, smiling at her. You’re a good girl.

  Not that he’d ever said those words to her before. He called her an angel when he was in a good mood, a brat when he wasn’t. But never “good.”

  That was all right, though. She already knew she was bad. She didn’t need anyone to call her good, because it would be a lie.

  In the lobby, they found Dyadya Sergei slumped on the floor. A puddle of vomit was spreading across the linoleum tiles. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he whispered. “I’m so dizzy.”

  His face was now a faded brown. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot.

  Oksana’s mother placed a hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up, Sergei. You need to go to the hospital.”

  While she used the communal telephone to call for an ambulance, Galina Yurievna knelt at
Dyadya Sergei’s side. “Help is on the way.”

  His eyes flickered open and closed. Oksana couldn’t tell if he had heard. She remembered his earlier words: something in the air. She thought of the soldiers’ gas masks and the strange, metallic taste in her own mouth, which she had felt while playing in the schoolyard.

  “Galina Yurievna,” she said, “is there something in the air that can hurt us?”

  “Of course not,” Valentina’s mother said quickly. But from the way she didn’t look at Oksana, Oksana knew she was lying.

  5

  Valentina

  THE LADY ON the telephone told Oksana’s mother that they couldn’t spare an ambulance to pick up Dyadya Sergei, so the girls’ mothers bundled him into the back seat of the car of their only neighbor who owned a vehicle. The neighbor volunteered to drive them all to the hospital, so they piled in.

  From the back seat, sandwiched between Oksana and Dyadya Sergei, Valentina watched the long, straight streets of Pripyat roll past. How badly hurt was Papa? What was wrong with Dyadya Sergei? He looked so different. Everything looked different.

  Smoke filled the sky. It cast shadows across the city. In the dimness, policemen patrolled and women walked hand in hand with their children, and men went into shops. A trio of soldiers wearing gas masks strode down the pavement. At a sidewalk restaurant, a crowd lifted their glasses in a toast, and a young woman in a white dress blushed. It was a wedding reception. People were celebrating, and Valentina’s father was in the hospital. Nothing felt real.

  At Pripyat Hospital, a nurse whisked Dyadya Sergei away. The girls’ mothers went to the reception desk to ask about their husbands.

  Valentina hugged the bag of cucumbers to her chest. For a moment, she and Oksana stood without speaking until Valentina couldn’t bear the silence anymore. There were too many questions in her head, crowding to get out. “What did you bring for your father?”

  Oksana didn’t look at her. “Why do you want to know? So you can steal it?”

  Heat rushed into Valentina’s cheeks. “I don’t want your stupid medicine.”

  “Why not? My medicine isn’t good enough for you?”

  “Th-that’s not what I meant,” Valentina stammered. “I’m not a thief.”

  “My father says your kind is always trying to steal from us.” Oksana started to say more, then closed her mouth. Their mothers were coming back.

  “The nurses won’t tell us anything,” Oksana’s mother said quietly. “Come along. We’re sneaking upstairs to find your fathers.”

  They took an elevator to the top floor. When the doors opened, a wall of noise roared out at them.

  The corridor was a jumble of confusion. Doctors and nurses ran to and fro, carrying charts and glass bottles and trays lined with syringes and needles. A doctor in a white lab coat talked to a man in a dark business suit. The man must be a Communist Party official—Valentina saw a pin, embossed with a hammer and sickle, in his lapel. In the middle of the corridor, a group of women talked loudly. Some of them were crying. One of them, who had a big, pregnant belly, sobbed, “Leo, my Leo!”

  “I don’t recognize those women.” A hopeful note hung in Valentina’s mother’s voice. “Perhaps they’re from one of the villages. Maybe there’s been an accident, a farming accident, and that’s why they’re here—”

  “No,” Oksana’s mother interrupted. She nodded at the pregnant woman. “I know her. Her husband’s a fireman in Pripyat. All of these ladies are probably firemen’s wives.”

  Valentina seized on her words. The firemen must have been hurt while fighting the blaze. Her papa was probably resting in one of these hospital rooms, eager to be discharged and home with them again.

  Her mother grabbed the arm of a passing nurse. “We’re looking for our husbands. They were on duty at reactor number four last night.”

  “They might be in the dormitory,” the nurse said. “You can come with me. I’m going there now.” She caught Valentina looking at the clear glass bottle in her hand and said, “Vodka. One of the best cures for radiation sickness.” She beckoned for Valentina and the others to follow her through an open doorway.

  Valentina took two steps into the room and froze.

  The smell was horrific: vomit, blood, and excrement, and something else, something that smelled like hot metal.

  Dozens of men lay on cots. Their pale faces glistened with perspiration. Some were sitting up and mumbling to themselves, while others lay motionless under thin white blankets. Where was Papa? She didn’t see him anywhere.

  A nurse rushed over to Oksana and Eleonora Ivanovna. She hugged Oksana’s mother, murmuring something Valentina couldn’t hear. They must be friends. Then the nurse led Oksana and her mother out of the dormitory. Valentina guessed Oksana’s papa must be in another room.

  She looked away to scan the rows of cots. Where was her father? He had to be here somewhere.

  Then she saw him. He was in a cot by a window. He lay still. So still. The blanket covering his chest barely rose and fell. His eyes were closed.

  Beside her, her mother gasped. “Nicolai.”

  Valentina unfroze with a jerk. She raced across the room to her father’s bedside. “Papa!” she said, but he didn’t wake up. She laid her hand on his shoulder. Through the fabric of his hospital shirt, the heat of his body pumped into her hand. He was so hot she thought he would burn her, but she didn’t move away.

  Her mother leaned over him, smoothing his hair away from his sweaty forehead. “Nicolai,” she said shakily.

  He looked different from the man who had kissed Valentina good night only hours ago. His face was as pale and thin as paper; she could see the veins in his temples. Sweat had darkened his hair, turning the strands from brown to black.

  What was wrong with him? He didn’t look as though he had been burned in the fire, and he couldn’t be sick from radiation poisoning, for everyone knew that was easily cured. So what had happened to him?

  His eyelids fluttered open. For an instant, they focused on Valentina. “Red stars in the sky,” he muttered. “Black pebbles on the beach.”

  What did he mean? He wasn’t making any sense. Had the explosion damaged his brain?

  The strong odor of drink wafted from him. Valentina guessed it was from the vodka the nurses had been giving him, to ease the radiation sickness. He sounded as though he were drunk, not ill. Perhaps he wasn’t badly hurt after all. Maybe he only needed to sleep away the alcohol.

  “Papa,” she said, bringing her mouth to his ear, “can you hear me? It’s Valentina.”

  His eyes blurred. She saw his lips moving, but she didn’t hear any words coming out. “Papa!” she cried. “Please answer me!”

  An arm wrapped around her waist and held her tight from behind.

  She twisted in the person’s grip, craning her neck to see his face. She caught an impression of a man’s cheek dotted with stubble.

  Before she could say anything, the man hauled her out of the dormitory. Her mother rushed after them. “Let go of my daughter!”

  The man paid no mind to her mother. In the corridor, he released his hold on Valentina. She moved back from him, staring. He wore a doctor’s white coat, and his brown hair was sprinkled with gray. His eyes were angry.

  “Who the devil let you into the dormitory?” he demanded.

  “A nurse.” Valentina’s mother squeezed her hand, a warning to hold her tongue. “Why did you take my daughter?”

  “I removed this girl,” the doctor said, still sounding upset, “for her own good. The men are under quarantine. That means they’re being held separately from other people,” he added to Valentina. “You mustn’t see your father. Do you understand?”

  She shook her head no.

  He bent down to her level and spoke slowly. “When the reactor exploded and released radiation into the atmosphere, the plant workers absorbed that ra
diation. Their bodies have become dangerously radioactive. If you hug your father or eat something he has touched or spend too much time with him, you might absorb some of his radiation.” The doctor’s gaze remained steady on hers. “Your father’s body could make you very sick or kill you. You must get away from here as quickly as possible.”

  Valentina didn’t believe it. “Can’t he drink milk and eat cucumbers and be cured?”

  The doctor sighed. He looked tired. “I’m sorry, but no.”

  “But that’s what we’ve been taught!” Valentina said. When the doctor didn’t reply, she asked, “Then how are you going to make him better?”

  Her mother squeezed her hand harder. “Hush, Valya.” Her face looked pale. “You mustn’t talk like that in public.”

  “But, Mama—”

  “That’s enough.” Her mother turned to the doctor. “If this were true, you would be telling the other wives, too,” she said quietly.

  The doctor took off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wish I could. I’m not permitted to because our officials are concerned about starting a panic. But when I saw your daughter, an innocent child, in danger . . . Go now, both of you.”

  Still Valentina’s mother made no move to leave. “What do we do?” she asked him.

  “Did your husband teach you what to do if there was a nuclear disaster?”

  “Yes, but he said it would only happen once in ten million years.”

  “That’s what the government ministers said, too,” the doctor said. “It looks like this is that one time. You must return home at once and follow your husband’s instructions.”

  What did he mean? And why wouldn’t he say how he was going to heal Papa? There was always a solution—that’s what Papa said; you just had to fail and keep trying until you discovered it.

  Valentina opened her mouth to ask when a fireman’s wife rushed over to them. “Doctor, I heard a rumor that our husbands are being flown to Moscow tonight. Is it true?”

  The doctor looked pained. He raised his hands. “Ladies, ladies!”