The Blackbird Girls

by Anne Blankman

  A note lay on the kitchen table. Rang a hospital in Minsk, it read. Masha Petrovna must have left it. Oksana kept reading. Receptionist couldn’t tell me much over the telephone, only that Oksana’s mother is a patient. I’ll be home in the evening, and we’ll decide our next step.

  Next step? Oksana wondered. What did that mean? Her mother would be well soon, and they would go home to Pripyat. The government had only let them take three days’ worth of clothing—even though Valentina’s mother had burned them—but the government must know the radiation wasn’t so bad, if they expected Pripyat residents to be gone for merely a few days. It was only Papa’s bad luck that walls had fallen in on him.

  Her heart began to race. She mustn’t think of her father. In a few days, she and Mama would be in Pripyat, and Mama would work at her job at the lawyer’s office and she would go to school, and everything could be almost normal.

  And she wouldn’t have to wonder all the time if she was going to make Papa angry. If he would take something she said the wrong way. If he would hit her.

  She let out a deep breath, feeling her muscles relax. With Papa gone, no one would hit her ever again. She wouldn’t have to be scared.

  No! She was a horrible girl for thinking such a thing! Weak and stupid and mean. Papa had been wonderful. Handsome and clever and quiet and laughing—

  She couldn’t breathe. Waves were crashing over her, again and again, and dragging her to the bottom of the ocean. She was drowning.

  “Steady,” said Valentina’s mother from behind her.

  Oksana felt strong arms holding her in place. “It’s all right,” Valentina’s mother said in her ear. “Breathe, Oksana. You’re safe.”

  Oksana concentrated on her breath whooshing in and out of her lungs. She imagined the photograph of lungs in her science textbook, pink, shaped like twin beans. If she painted them, she would use pink and white paints, swirling them together to make a softer shade. She would make the brush marks small and precise, to mirror the orderly way the lungs worked.

  Her heart slowed down. She sucked in a deep breath. She was a bad person. But she could make herself better. And she would never be so disloyal to Papa again.

  “Good,” Valentina’s mother praised. She eased Oksana into a chair, then sat down next to her. She smiled. “Are you all right now?”

  Oksana ducked her head. Her cheeks were on fire. “Yes,” she murmured.

  Valentina sat up, the blankets puddling in her lap. She rubbed her bleary eyes. “What’s wrong with Oksana?”

  “I’m bad,” Oksana said before she could stop herself. Her cheeks went even hotter.

  “Not bad.” Valentina’s mother looked startled. “Sad and worried, Oksana, but not bad. What on earth put that idea in your head?”

  Oksana didn’t know what to say. She shrugged.

  Valentina’s mother gave her a long look. “Let’s have breakfast,” she said at last. “Food ought to help.”

  But it didn’t. The buckwheat cereal felt like a stone in Oksana’s stomach. She forced each bite down while she, Valentina, and Valentina’s mother listened to the radio.

  The announcers didn’t say a word about the explosion.

  “If the news had been made public,” Valentina’s mother said, “it would have been the top story. The government is still keeping it a secret. They won’t help us, not if they’re trying to hide evidence of the accident. We’re on our own, girls.”

  “What about Oksana?” Valentina asked.

  “She must have relatives who can take her in.” Valentina’s mother stood up. “Now that we’re far from Pripyat, we have time to figure out what to do next.” She carried her bowl over to the sink. “Oksana, whom may I telephone for you? An aunt? A grandmother?”

  “My relatives live in a village near Pripyat.” Oksana hadn’t even thought of them. All she had wanted was her mother and to get away.

  She thought of her mother’s family. Her mother’s parents were dead, and she hadn’t seen her mother’s sisters and their families in years because her father didn’t like them. “They’re always trying to turn you against me,” he would say to her mother when she mentioned visiting them. As for her father’s parents . . . She couldn’t stay with them.

  “Oksana?” Valentina’s mother’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Shall we telephone your relatives for you?”

  Oksana pressed a hand to her stomach. She felt as though she was going to be sick. “Yes,” she managed to say. “Thank you.”

  “Valyushka, please clean up the kitchen,” Valentina’s mother said. “Oksana, come along.”

  Together, they went downstairs to use the communal telephone in the front hall. With each step, Oksana felt sicker. What was she going to do? She couldn’t stay with her father’s parents; she couldn’t.

  When her grandfather was sober, he was kind. He hadn’t even been annoyed when he’d been teaching her how to milk a cow and she’d dropped the pail.

  But when Dedulya drank, he became someone else. Someone cruel and angry. On those nights, she hid under the bedcovers, her hands over her ears. She could still hear him, though, cursing and breaking dishes. In the morning, her grandmother would bustle around the table, pouring coffee and smiling. Sometimes she had a black eye, sometimes a bruised cheek, once a missing tooth. Dedulya would pick wildflowers for her, and she would laugh and kiss him. And Oksana’s parents had always acted as though everything her grandparents did was perfectly ordinary.

  “Here we are,” Valentina’s mother said brightly as they reached the telephone. She picked up the receiver and held it out to Oksana.

  Oksana didn’t take it. She couldn’t. She couldn’t telephone Dedulya. He was too scary.

  Valentina’s mother gave her a strange look. “Don’t you want to talk to your family?”

  Oksana couldn’t tell her the truth. She forced herself to smile, even though her lips felt like rubber. “Yes, of course I do.”

  She took the telephone receiver. After the operator had connected her to the village where her grandparents lived, she listened to the phone ring and ring. Finally, she hung up.

  “Is there another telephone number to try?” Valentina’s mother asked.

  Oksana shook her head no. “There’s only one telephone in the village, in the post office.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. It was half past nine. “The postmistress should be there by now, and she always answers the telephone and takes messages.”

  “You said they live close to Pripyat?” Valentina’s mother asked.

  “Yes. About twenty kilometers.”

  “Perhaps they were evacuated, too. And if they were, then we have no way of knowing where they are now.”

  Relief flooded Oksana. Thank the stars! She wouldn’t have to stay with any of them, at least for the time being.

  “I’ll go to Minsk,” she said. “I can take the train.”

  “Certainly not.” Valentina’s mother looked thoughtful. “In Minsk, there wouldn’t be a soul to take care of you, for your mother can’t, not until she’s released from the hospital.” She squeezed Oksana’s hand. “We’ll figure something out.”

  Oksana nodded and tried to smile. She followed Valentina’s mother upstairs. What should she do next? She couldn’t stay with these Jews, not forever, and there was no one else she could go to.

  She was alone.

  * * *

  - - -

  The windows were deep blue, darkening to black, when Masha Petrovna returned. “Clothes,” she said triumphantly, dropping a parcel wrapped in brown paper on the table. “One of the other teachers gave me these castoffs of her daughter’s.”

  “How kind!” Valentina’s mother undid the brown paper, pulling forth skirts, blouses, and light wool coats. The buttons on one blouse were cracked, and the skirts’ hems had been let out and resewn again in mismatched thread. Dirt streaked the f
ront of the dove-gray coat, the other’s collar was ripped, and the third was missing all of its buttons. There were two pairs of battered children’s shoes and a pair of heeled pumps, along with a few sets of underwear that might have once been white but were now faded to gray.

  Oksana’s cheeks warmed. She had never worn such ragged clothing before. Although she didn’t have many dresses or blouses, the ones she had owned were neat and tidy. In these, she would look poor.

  “Thank you,” Valentina’s mother said, looking pointedly at Valentina and Oksana. “This is very generous of your friend.”

  “Yes, thank you,” the girls echoed.

  Waving a dismissive hand, Masha Petrovna dropped into a chair. She kicked off her high heels, sighing. “Ah, that’s better. That smells delicious,” she added, nodding at the dishes on the kitchen table.

  Oksana and Valentina and her mother had made supper. Masha Petrovna’s larder had been nearly empty, so they had made do with canned vegetables and soup.

  After they changed into their new clothes, they sat down to eat. Oksana’s skin itched. The blouse smelled musty, and the skirt was too short. She had to keep pulling on it to cover her knees. And she was wearing someone else’s underpants.

  “Any news about the accident on the radio?” Masha Petrovna asked.

  “No,” Valentina’s mother said.

  “Well, that’s hardly surprising, is it?” Masha Petrovna looked at the girls. “Can they keep their mouths shut?”

  “Of course,” Valentina’s mother said.

  “Good.” Masha Petrovna fiddled with the radio dials. A woman’s voice speaking in another language filled the room.

  Now Oksana understood Masha Petrovna’s question. Listening to foreign radio stations was illegal.

  “What’s she saying?” Valentina asked.

  Masha Petrovna’s eyebrows knitted together. “High levels of radiation were detected at a Swedish nuclear power plant this morning,” she translated. “Workers confirmed their plant wasn’t emitting radiation. They realized it had to come from another source.” She paused, listening. “Swedish nuclear experts traced the weekend’s wind currents and determined the radiation originated from the Soviet Union.”

  In her mind, Oksana pictured a map of Europe: the mass of the USSR and to the north, across the Baltic Sea, the slender raindrop of Sweden. The wind had carried radioactive clouds farther than she had imagined possible: thousands of kilometers and over water.

  “Our government denies it,” Masha Petrovna said. “Countries all over the world are demanding our leaders admit what has happened.”

  For a moment, the only sound was the announcer’s voice. Oksana’s thoughts whirled. With every breath she took, every bite she ate, every sip she drank, she was absorbing more radiation. Was she going to die? And what about her mother? What would happen to her?

  “My God,” Valentina’s mother said in a hollow voice. “All the way to Sweden . . . This is far worse than I thought.”

  Masha Petrovna gasped. “The radiation is so strong it went all the way to Sweden—it must be inside your bodies. You must be sick.”

  “The doctors checked us with dosimeters,” Valentina’s mother said. “They wouldn’t have let us go if we weren’t healthy.”

  But Masha Petrovna was shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she said in a choked voice. “But I must ask you to leave.”

  “Please, take pity on us,” Valentina’s mother begged. “We’ve lost our homes. We have nowhere to go.”

  “I wish I could let you stay.” Masha Petrovna’s eyes shone with tears. “But I can’t risk you getting me sick. Please, go.”

  Slowly, Oksana, Valentina, and Valentina’s mother went to the corner of the room, where they had left their suitcases. Oksana’s hands shook so badly it took her two tries to fasten the buckle on her bag. Where could they possibly go? Would she have to find her grandparents and live with them after all?

  “I’m sorry,” Masha Petrovna said softly, and opened the door. The three of them trudged through it. Oksana turned around in time to see it slam shut behind them.

  In the darkened corridor, they looked at one another. “What do we do?” Oksana asked.

  Valentina’s mother squared her shoulders. “We go far away from here. Then I’ll figure something out. Come, girls.”

  * * *

  - - -

  Gripping their suitcases, they descended the stairwell. The lobby was empty, the bulbs in the overhead lamp flickering. When they reached the street, the warm April breeze washed over them.

  “The weather’s lovely,” Valentina’s mother said. “We can spend the night outside, if we have to.”

  “Like vagrants?” Oksana had never slept outdoors before. She couldn’t imagine sleeping outside in a city.

  “We’ll be adventurers,” Valentina said.

  The stars hadn’t come out yet, and the sky was black velvet. By the glow of lighted windows, Oksana could see men in business suits and women in dark dresses walking the avenue, heading home after a long day at work or an evening at a restaurant. Some strolled arm in arm, chatting and smiling. Up ahead, boys played with a dog, and girls made their dolls march up and down a building’s front steps. Across the street, classical music spilled into the air through an open window. It was like a painting.

  Maybe sleeping outside wouldn’t be so bad, in a city that was as pretty as a piece of art. Oksana readjusted her grip on her suitcase and followed Valentina and her mother down the street.

  “Where are we going?” Valentina asked.

  “The train station,” Valentina’s mother said. “We’re going to Leningrad.”

  Leningrad was even farther away from Minsk than Kiev! How would Oksana ever get back to her mother?

  “We should go to Moscow,” Valentina objected. “And see Papa.”

  Her mother stopped walking and looked Valentina squarely in the face. “We can’t. You heard what the doctor said about Papa being contagious. I won’t risk you getting sick from him. Or you, Oksana,” she added. “I have to keep you both safe. So we’re going to Leningrad.”

  Oksana couldn’t catch her breath. Everything was happening too fast. She had never been there. She had heard it was one of the most beautiful places in the Soviet Union. It was a city of ice and palaces, a former swamp built on a series of canals. It was located in the republic of Russia, but that didn’t worry her: Like most Soviets who lived in Ukraine, she had learned to hop from one language to the other, speaking Russian at school or in the streets and Ukrainian at home. What frightened her was the distance. It lay on the edge of the Arctic Circle, over a thousand kilometers away.

  “Why are we going there?” Valentina asked.

  “Because the one person who might be willing to take the three of us in lives in Leningrad.” Valentina’s mother resumed walking, taking such long strides that the girls had to run to keep pace with her. She took a deep breath. “My mother.”

  Oksana couldn’t do it. Spending a night with Jews was one thing, but how long would she have to live with them once they got as far from home as Leningrad?

  “I can’t,” she said quickly as Valentina said, “But, Mama, you have nothing to do with your mother! I’ve never even met her!”

  “I’m not giving either of you girls a choice,” Valentina’s mother said shortly.

  The girls stopped walking. Valentina’s mother kept going. Left behind on the pavement, Valentina and Oksana stared at each other. Neither spoke.

  “Hurry, girls,” Valentina’s mother called over her shoulder. “It won’t do for us to be on the streets late at night.”

  Oksana wondered if the fear on Valentina’s face was mirrored on her own. They had nowhere to go. No one to rescue them, except for a stranger in a city one thousand kilometers away. They had no one else.

  “Come,” Valentina said, and together they foll
owed her mother into the encroaching darkness.

  15

  Valentina

  THEY SPENT THE night in a park. It wasn’t as bad as Valentina had expected: the air was soft, and the bench where they sat was sheltered by the branches of a chestnut tree. Her mother said the girls should sleep and she’d stay awake to act as their lookout. Valentina tried to rest, but her mind kept tickling her into wakefulness.

  What was her grandmother like? When Valentina had asked about her before, her mother had said sharply, “She does dangerous things. We can’t have anything to do with her or we’ll find ourselves in trouble.”

  Dangerous things . . . Was her grandmother a criminal? A political agitator? Whatever she did, it must have been terrible for Mama to cut her own mother out of their lives.

  And yet now they were going to her. Would they find themselves in trouble, too, as Mama had warned?

  Although the night was warm, Valentina shivered.

  Every time she woke, she looked up to see if it was day yet. Although her father’s watch was broken, she was able to keep track of the passing hours by watching the sky. At first, it was a black blanket. Later, it turned gray. The stars winked out one by one. Dawn had come.

  Her mother shook her and Oksana’s shoulders gently. “It’s time to leave for the train station,” she said.

  Oksana sat up, rubbing her bleary eyes. “I’ve only just gone to sleep.”

  “That was hours ago.” Valentina’s mother stood, casting a wary look around the park. It was still deserted; the hour must be too early for people to walk to work or school. Valentina heard the clanging of a trolley bell and the roar of far-off traffic. Kiev was waking up. Soon the first trains of the morning would depart the city.

  The central train station was a short walk from the park. It was a massive building of pale stone. Inside, arched ceilings soared high overhead, and dozens of people rode the escalators. In the middle of the cavernous space, small boys and girls sat on suitcases, eating sticky buns, and teenagers stood in clumps, talking. Babies cried in their mothers’ arms. A few men in business suits were kissing their children’s cheeks.