Chernobyl

blood to dry up, and perhaps to kill us. Is this true?'

'No, not that,' Kalychenko said. He hesitated, and then added, 'But it is true that there can be danger from fallout.'

'Fallout! Like from the Americans testing nuclear bombs! Then should we not be taken somewhere else until the danger is past? Please, Comrade. I have three children. Several of us have talked of these matters — I have hardly slept all night — we think we should go to the authorities and demand that the children, at least, should be taken to a place of safety. But we don't know how to explain this; none of us are scientists. So, please, come with us to the Party headquarters—'

'No! That is completely out of the question!'

Zakharin stepped back before the vehemence of Kalychenko's tone. His eyes blinked; without his cap, Kalychenko saw that the man was nearly bald. 'I must report in to the plant now,' Kalychenko added firmly. 'This is, after all, an emergency. I'm sorry I can't help you.'

'I will talk to the others again,' the man said stubbornly as Kalychenko closed the door on him.

Kalychenko did not, as it developed, 'report in.' He did seriously intend to. He actually had his hand on the telephone, not once but four times, and each time there was some confounded interruption that prevented him from making the call.

First there was the need to go to the toilet. Then there was a sudden noise outside and he had to go to the window', to look out on the courtyard, where at least thirty people were standing together, talking, arguing, pointing in the direction of the plant; it was out of Kalychenko's sight, but he knew that it was the distant drift of smoke they were pointing at.

Then, with his hand on the telephone, he said to himself, 'But they have this telephone number, if they simply take the trouble to look for it. They will call me if they need me. In any case, I should shave before I report for work.' And he did shave, with meticulous care, twice over, using the tube of shaving cream that his fiancee had given him for his birthday just days before.

Kalychenko was a tall, pale man and his beard was so fair that shaving more than twice a week was no more than an affectation; but he told himself that if things were really as bad as they had seemed the day before, it might be a long time before he had an opportunity to shave again. Then he put the sling back on his right arm (which he had used quite freely while shaving), and marched firmly to the phone for the fourth time, and there was the door again.

This time is was Raia, his fiancee. She squeezed in hastily, closing the door behind her. 'The man from the milk store,' she began, and Kalychenko groaned.

'What, has he been after you too?'

'But, Bohdan, isn't he right? Please! How many times have you told me how dangerous these radioactive chemicals can be? I am not concerned for the man in the milk store, or for you and me. Have you forgotten what I am carrying for you?' She spread the fingers of her hand over her still quite flat belly.

'I have not forgotten for one second, Raia,' he said sourly.

'Then listen to what Zakharin says! I really think you should help him. Make the authorities understand what must be done!'

'Raia,' he said patiently, 'it is not our responsibility to make such decisions. In any case, do you really want Pripyat evacuated? If they send everyone away, then what? Thousands of people must be moved in that case. There will be immense confusion. Suppose you are sent to Kiev and I to Kursk or some other place?'

'Surely we can find a way to stay together.'

He said seriously, 'Yes, perhaps, sooner or later. But it could take time, and what about our wedding? Can we make arrangements for a reception in a train station? Where will our friends be?'

'People get married everywhere, Bohdan! So we won't be able to have a reception in the Red Room at the plant; all right, we'll get married anyway and have the party another time, after we all come back to Pripyat—'

'Come back to Pripyat? With all this poison falling all over? And when would that be?' He started to say more, but checked himself as he saw her eyes widen at his words. 'All right,' he said reasonably. 'Let's think this out, step by step. I agree, perhaps you should leave, for the sake of our baby. The next question is, can I leave too? I don't know; perhaps they will want every hand on duty at the plant. But let us say I can. Very well. You leave now; I will follow when I can. Your parents in Donetsk will put us up if we marry there. So you can take a bus—'

'A bus! There aren't any buses, Bohdan. Even the streets are covered with white foam!'

'White foam?' Kalychenko disliked the sound of that. Foam on the streets meant that someone had decided the danger of fallout was quite real.

'Yes, foam, and no buses. Haven't you been outside at all? I went to the highway to see what was happening, and that's where the buses are, carrying militiamen and troops and firefighters. The highway is full of emergency traffic. No, please. The whole town must go or none of us will.'

'I do not think this is a good idea,' Kalychenko groaned uneasily. Raia sighed in exasperation, then held out a hand.

'At least let me see your arm,' she ordered. He assumed a stoic expression as she unwrapped the scarf and pulled up the sleeve of his tunic. 'Is it tender?' she asked, poking.

'No. Yes — there, a little.'

She worked the arm back and forth gently, and then sighed. 'Do you know,' she said, 'I think I have a sore throat this morning.'

'Because you smoke too much.'

'No, I don't think this is from smoking, dear Bohdan. Also my face — I can't describe it exactly — it tingles a bit. As though someone were poking tiny pins at it. I don't mean that it's painful. Simply strange.'

'Maybe all those cigarettes are cutting off your circulation.'

'But to my face? Well, if you don't think it's serious—'

She put the bandaged arm down. 'There's no bruise,' she said doubtfully. 'You should see a medic.'

'What, when there may be many people very much worse hurt?' He rose and said abruptly, 'Excuse me, I must go to the bathroom.' With the door closed behind him he felt better. These silly symptoms of Raia's were, of course, imaginary. He had never read of sore throat or pins in the face indicating exposure to radiation… but, of course, he told himself unhappily, he had never quite got around to reading all the stuff they threw at you when you came to work in a place like Chernobyl.

With Kalychenko out of the room Raia took out a Stewardess cigarette and inhaled the menthol smoke deeply. And at once she began to worry. Should she be smoking at all? Would it be bad for the baby? Her husband- to-be had informed her quite definitely that it was, but at the clinic they had only shrugged and talked about moderation.

She wished she had thought to ask at the clinic about radiation. But who could have imagined such questions were necessary? She touched her stomach hopefully, and worried. Until now the only questions seriously troubling had been whether her fiance would actually go through with the ceremony, and whether the child would have his blue eyes.

Now — would it have any eyes at all?

By the time Kalychenko came out of the bathroom, Raia had frightened herself into stubbornness. 'You must come to the Party headquarters,' she said firmly.

'And leave the telephone? What if I'm needed at the plant?'

She said reasonably, 'How would they find you here? As far as the plant knows, you're still at the hostel for single men, isn't that so?'

'I think I informed the plant that I would be staying here,' he said, although it was a lie. Actually, he had not thought it anyone's business if he temporarily borrowed this apartment from the friend who had followed his wife to Odessa, hoping to talk her out of a divorce. In any case, judging from some of the remarks Khrenov had made, even this telephone number was almost certainly somewhere in the Personnel and Security files.

'And in all this confusion will anyone remember that? No, really, Bohdan, if you're worried that the plant needs you, call them. But first come to the Party headquarters. There's nothing else to do, is there?'

Perhaps there wasn't. Kalychenko could think of no way out. He could not simply go on hiding in his friend's apartment as he had done all the previous day. In the long run he sighed, threw up his hands at his fiancee's gentle nagging and went reluctantly out to tell the man from the milk store that after careful consideration, he had decided that he would go along to talk to the people at the Party committee building. It was not that he thought it was a