The Blackbird Girls

by Anne Blankman

  The room blurred. Rifka tried to blink away the tears, but they fell faster and thicker than she could manage. “Please, Mama, don’t make me go! Don’t you love me anymore?”

  Her mother laid Avrum on the bed beside her. Then she framed Rifka’s face with her hands. “My Rifka,” she said, “it is because I love you that I am sending you away.”

  12

  PRIPYAT, UKRAINE, SOVIET UNION

  APRIL 1986

  Oksana

  OKSANA LOOKED OUT the bus window, watching the landscape change. The bus rumbled over a bridge lined with street lamps, then onto a long road that cut through the forest where she and her classmates went on hikes. They liked to pluck cherries and plums or pause in pockets of green-black shadows to gaze at the towering pines.

  Now the trees were colored reddish brown. Dead sparrows and blackbirds littered the sides of the road. A breeze kicked up, ruffling the mulberry bushes, and Oksana saw their leaves were dotted with black spots. How far had the radiation already spread? And how much longer until they escaped from it?

  Valentina leaned close to her, whispering, “Do you see the birds? The radiation must have already killed them because their bodies are so small.”

  Radiation. Papa buried under the debris in the pumps room.

  Oksana pressed a hand to her roiling stomach. She felt as though she might get sick right here.

  “Did you bring your schoolbooks?” Valentina asked. “My mother made me. I don’t think we’ll have to bother about school, though, at least not for a long time.”

  Oksana couldn’t bear another word. “I don’t care about school. My father is dead.”

  Valentina blinked. Her mouth opened and closed. She didn’t say anything.

  Oksana turned away from her. She stared at the floor, which was covered with a jumble of suitcases and bags. She was suddenly aware of how noisy the bus had become: babies cried, children chattered, and grown-ups spoke to one another, their voices muffled. Somewhere, a mother warned her sons that if they didn’t stop poking each other this instant their father would whip them once they reached Kiev. A man scolded his wife for packing pickling jars instead of clothes, and she insisted he’d be glad of the jars once they got to her mother’s house and were able to fill them up.

  “I’m sorry about your papa,” Valentina said quietly.

  Oksana shrugged. She didn’t want to talk to Valentina. She didn’t want to talk to anyone except her mother.

  Through the dirty bus window, she could see they had emerged from the forest into farmlands. Late-afternoon sunlight slanted across fields where men in pairs swung scythes. Peasant huts stood in clearings where women in head kerchiefs weeded vegetable gardens. A small wooden building whose steeple was topped with a cross stood alongside the dirt road. The sight was so unexpected, Oksana had to look twice to be certain her eyes hadn’t played a trick on her.

  It was a church. Her mother had said there were still churches in some villages, where the old ways hadn’t been erased.

  She wished she could visit one, so she could sit in the silence and pray for her father. Perhaps, though, this way was better. If she went inside a church, she would have no idea how to talk to God.

  It was dark when they reached Kiev. The driver let them off at a bus station. For several minutes, the passengers milled about the street, unsure where to go or what to do. Oksana stood off to the side. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest.

  What should she do? Who would help her? She couldn’t stay with the Kaplans. Her father hated them.

  Only Papa wasn’t here anymore.

  She looked around desperately. The people from the bus milled about. Some she recognized from the shops or the streets of Pripyat, others she didn’t know at all. There was no one here who would take her with them. What was going to happen to her?

  “Isn’t there a shelter or someplace the government will send us?” a woman asked.

  “It looks as though we’ve been forgotten about,” a man replied.

  Tall buildings rose like sentinels in the night. Street lamps cast white pools of light onto the pavement, which was littered with strips of colored paper. Ticker tape, Oksana saw when she bent down to look. Had there been a parade? But it wasn’t May Day yet.

  “There was a bicycle race,” Valentina’s mother said. Beside her, Valentina peered into the darkness, her face white and anxious. “I heard about it on the radio this morning,” she went on. “There must have been thousands of people outside all day long. Breathing in the air . . .”

  She broke off, sending a wary look at the people standing around the bus. “I wasn’t criticizing the government,” she said quickly. “They have their reasons for keeping things quiet. Come along, girls. We’ll take the subway to my friend’s apartment.”

  Oksana didn’t understand. “Me, Galina Yurievna?”

  Valentina’s mother patted Oksana’s hand. “Of course, my dear. You must come with me and Valentina. We’ll get a good night’s sleep at my friend’s and sort everything out in the morning.”

  Stay with Jews. In the same room. Eat the same foods. Sleep under the same ceiling.

  She glanced at the dark sky. Her father’s soul might be up there somewhere, looking down. Watching.

  “I can’t.” She stepped away from Valentina’s mother. “I have some money. I’ll take a train to my mama’s hospital.”

  That was what she should have done in the first place. She’d been so stupid!

  “Minsk is more than five hundred kilometers from here,” Valentina’s mother said. “A child your age shouldn’t make such a long journey on her own. In the morning, I’ll call the hospitals in Minsk. We’ll find out your mother’s condition and figure out what to do next. I’m sure she’ll recover soon.”

  Oksana thought of the men in the dormitory at Pripyat Hospital. They had lain so still, their faces pale, their eyes feverish. Water, milk, cucumbers, and vodka hadn’t seemed to make any difference for them. What could the doctors in Minsk do to cure her mother? Or would they not be able to help her?

  Oksana’s heart sank. She was going to be alone in the world.

  “Look,” Valentina whispered, catching Oksana’s attention.

  Nearby, a couple of workmen in coveralls were hosing off the sides of the bus. Water cascaded down its sides, dripping onto the pavement. In the light from the street lamps, the puddles gleamed yellow and green, as though someone had poured paint in them. Oksana had never seen water shine with that strange luminescence before.

  A woman gasped. “Radiation!”

  “But we’re so far away from Pripyat!” a man objected.

  “It’s from the dust covering the bus,” another woman said, shuddering. “And the radiation will most likely get worse. There’s no telling how far the wind will carry radioactive clouds.”

  People let out cries of dismay. Oksana could barely breathe. They had carried the radiation with them! And it was floating on the air, poisoning everything it touched . . .

  “We must get inside,” Valentina’s mother said. She beckoned to Oksana and Valentina.

  All Oksana wanted was to get away. Alongside Valentina and her mother, she hurried into the darkness flooding the street, searching for the neon lights of a Metro station sign.

  * * *

  - - -

  They took the subway to Dimeezskaya Street, where Valentina’s mother’s friend from university, Masha Petrovna, lived. Valentina’s mother had met her when they were studying to become teachers.

  The avenue was dark and deserted. Oksana heard nothing except their footsteps echoing on the pavement.

  Masha Petrovna’s apartment was in a five-story brick building. There were several nameplates next to the front door buzzer. Valentina’s mother found one marked M. KRAVCHENKO and rang the bell.

  For several minutes, they waited. Although the April night was warm,
Oksana couldn’t stop shivering. When could they get inside, away from the contaminated air?

  At last the door opened to reveal a woman in a gray dressing gown. Blinking blearily at them, she pushed her disheveled blond hair out of her face.

  “Galina!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

  Before Valentina’s mother could reply, Masha Petrovna ushered them inside. The lobby smelled of turnips and cigarette smoke. Oksana put a hand over her nose.

  “What’s happened?” Masha Petrovna asked Valentina’s mother in a low voice.

  “There’s been an accident,” she whispered back. “We can’t discuss it here.”

  Masha Petrovna’s face tightened. “Upstairs,” she said, leading them to a concrete stairwell. “Quickly, before anyone sees you.”

  In the apartment, the women gave Valentina and Oksana buttered bread and milk and sent them to eat in the corner. There wasn’t anywhere else to go—the apartment was one room. The girls sat on the floor next to the refrigerator while the women perched on the sofa and spoke in hushed tones.

  Food had never tasted so good. Oksana gobbled her bread in seconds. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten. Maybe breakfast, which seemed like days ago.

  The back of Oksana’s shoulder ached so badly she had to bite the inside of her mouth so she wouldn’t whimper. She mustn’t think of the reason it hurt. If she did, she feared she would cry and never stop.

  Valentina’s mother told Masha Petrovna everything that had happened since yesterday morning.

  Masha Petrovna didn’t interrupt once. She listened with her head bowed, lamplight shining on her fair hair. When Valentina’s mother finished, she said, “My dear friend,” and opened up her arms. With a sob, Valentina’s mother went into them.

  Tears tightened Oksana’s throat. She had no one to hug her. No one to rescue her.

  No one but two Jews.

  13

  Valentina

  THE LONGER HER mother and Masha Petrovna talked, the more impatient Valentina became. They ought to be doing something, not sitting about, crying. Back home, Mama had made her throw out her clothes and take a shower to get rid of the contamination. Shouldn’t they do the same now? They needed to find solutions, not talk and fret.

  And still her mother and Masha Petrovna spoke in low, worried voices. Oksana sat quietly, fiddling with a loose thread on her sleeve. Valentina knew it was rude to interrupt an adult—she’d been smacked by teachers often enough for talking out of turn—but finally she couldn’t bear it anymore. She stood up.

  Her mother and friend stopped speaking and looked at her.

  “We need to wash,” Valentina said. She hesitated. She didn’t know if it was safe to talk about contamination in front of Masha Petrovna. “We’re dirty from traveling,” she added, looking at her mother.

  “Yes, we’re terribly dirty.” Her mother scrambled up. “Masha, I’m afraid our clothes are in a bad state. Do you have anything we can borrow?”

  Masha Petrovna stood, too. “I’ll find something. You girls go ahead and wash up first. I’ll get towels and soap.”

  “But we won’t have anything to wear.” Oksana clutched the front of her dress. “I don’t want anyone to see me without clothes.”

  Valentina rolled her eyes. Leave it to Oksana to complain. What a princess.

  “Better to be naked than to wear dirty dresses,” Valen-tina’s mother said quietly.

  Oksana nodded, swallowing hard.

  Then Masha Petrovna fetched soap and towels, and led the girls out of the apartment to the communal shower at the end of the corridor. Oksana trailed far behind, which made Valentina grit her teeth in annoyance.

  “Quickly,” Masha Petrovna chided, nudging Oksana into the washroom. Valentina followed and found herself in a green-tiled room with a single shower nozzle.

  “There aren’t any curtains.” Oksana sounded panicked.

  “For pity’s sake, this is hardly a time to be modest!” Masha Petrovna shoved the towels and a cake of soap at the girls. “Leave your clothes in the corridor. Your mother will take care of them.”

  “Thank you,” Valentina said. She expected Oksana to say thank you, too, but Oksana didn’t say anything.

  Masha Petrovna didn’t seem to notice. She slipped from the washroom, the door clicking shut behind her.

  Valentina avoided looking at Oksana. Hastily, she unbuttoned her blouse. The longer she waited, the more time the radiation had to sink into her skin. But washing ought to fix that.

  When she had finished undressing, she took Oksana’s clothes from her outstretched hands, balled them up with hers, and chucked them into the corridor.

  By the time she turned back, Oksana already stood under the spray, washing her hair.

  Thick, ugly black bruises scored Oksana’s bottom. A red patch of skin marred the back of her left shoulder. A few black dots lay scattered across the damaged flesh.

  Valentina gasped. “The radiation hurt you!”

  “No.” Oksana didn’t turn around. She kept washing her hair with rapid strokes. “It’s from before the accident. I’m fine.”

  Water beat down on her head, sending bubbles sliding down the strands of her hair onto her too-thin back. Valentina could see the knobs of her spine through her skin. What had happened to her?

  Her eyes trained on the floor, Oksana stepped out of the shower nozzle’s range and handed the soap to Valentina.

  Ducking under the shower spray, Valentina began scrubbing her skin hard. Should she tell her mother about Oksana’s back? If Oksana was ill from radiation and trying to hide it, she could be endangering them. She ought to be under quarantine at a hospital. If she had been hurt in another way, though, it wasn’t any of Valentina’s business. Or was it?

  “I’m fine,” Oksana said, as if sensing Valentina’s thoughts. Draped in a towel, she walked to the door. “Don’t tell anyone about my back.”

  There was a pleading note in her voice Valentina hadn’t heard before.

  “All right,” Valentina heard herself say. “I won’t.”

  Together, wrapped in towels, they left the washroom. Oksana clutched the front of hers, holding it up to her neck and hiding the red patch of skin on her shoulder.

  Valentina’s mother, also wrapped in a towel, was waiting in the corridor. “I burned all of our clothes in the incinerator in the cellar,” she whispered. “The clothes in our suitcases, too. I’m afraid they all might be contaminated. The suitcases themselves and our other things ought to be safe. We don’t wear them next to our skin, after all. Anyway, I told Masha Petrovna that our clothes were too badly stained to wear again. She’ll find new outfits for us tomorrow. In the meantime, we’ll have to wear her things.”

  Inside Masha Petrovna’s apartment, the girls found faded flowered dresses laid out for them on the sofa. No underthings—they’d have to do without slips or underpants or tights until she could lay her hands on some, Masha Petrovna told them. For now, the best thing they could do was go to sleep. They’d need their rest to deal with whatever came next.

  Straightaway Valentina changed into the dress, while Oksana waited until Masha Petrovna had gone into the kitchen area. Quick as lightning, she whipped off the towel and wriggled into the dress.

  “I’m afraid your accommodations will be a bit rough tonight,” Masha Petrovna said, coming to the sofa with her arms full of blankets. “You’ll have to sleep on the floor.”

  “Can we go home soon?” Oksana asked.

  Masha Petrovna handed them each a blanket. “Probably. That’s enough questions for now, girls. Go to sleep.”

  Valentina’s mother came into the apartment, padding across the room on bare feet. She kissed Valentina, wished Oksana a good night, and then joined Masha Petrovna on the sofa. The women curled up on opposite corners.

  After rolling the blanket around he
rself like a cocoon, Valentina lay on the floor. The curtains had been left open a crack. The nocturnal lights of the city showed through the gap, tracing gold and red lines on the ceiling. She closed her eyes.

  But sleep wouldn’t come. She remembered the dead birds on the side of the road and the forest of red-leafed trees. Could she and her parents ever go back home?

  There had to be ways to clean up Pripyat. Her father had never discussed them with her—after all, nuclear power was supposed to be clean and safe. That was what the government had said.

  They had been wrong, Valentina thought. And now Papa was sick. Anger rose within her, so red and hot that she had to sit up to catch her breath.

  Papa would be all right. The doctors in Moscow would fix him. And somehow the government would decontaminate Pripyat.

  To calm herself down, she decided to figure out decontamination methods. First, workers would have to put out the fire. Then they would have to wash everything off. What couldn’t be cleaned—like the dead birds—would have to be buried.

  She felt her heart rate slowing. Yes, there were always ways to fix problems. Even scary ones.

  She touched the glass face of her father’s watch. There was no reassuring tick as the minute hand made its revolution; the mechanism had broken long ago.

  She kissed the watch. Somehow she would fix it. And she would wear it every day until she could give it back to her father in person.

  14

  Oksana

  IN THE MORNING, Masha Petrovna was gone when Oksana woke up. Valentina and her mother were still asleep. The sun was shining; Oksana could see it had turned the yellow curtains white.

  She used the toilet down the hall, then wandered back into the apartment. She was hungry, but she didn’t dare help herself.