Chernobyl

it to the people who had asked for it. Would they come back? Probably yes, he told himself, but would it be while he was still in a position to hand it over? And he would not consider giving it to either his wife or his younger son to pass on; what if they were caught with it?

Kolya, yes. Perhaps. It was at least a possibility; Kolya was a grown man and by now, after eleven months of shooting Moslem tribesmen in Afghanistan, a reasonably tough and resourceful one. But there was the worrisome thing Kolya had said. Would he, after all, be the right one to trust with such a letter?

Which left only Smin's mother.

Smin lay back, slipping the pad under his pillow, thinking about his mother. At this very moment, he knew, she was somewhere in the hospital, doing what Kolya was doing, namely having her breastbone pierced with a great sharp knife to take a sample of marrow. For him. Always for him. Since the first days he could remember, for him. He remembered his mother in the village, when he was in school, when he was a Young Pioneer, when he went off at twenty to do his military duty (an annoyance at most, really; who would dare attack the Soviet Union in 1940, when the only other powerful state in Europe had sworn an unbreakable treaty of non-aggression?) — and had the good sense, or good fortune, to choose to serve in tanks. So when Adolf Hitler broke the unbreakable treaty and shoved his irresistible armies across the border a year later, young Junior Lieutenant Simyon Smin was not poured with two million other green recruits into the first terrible meatgrinder, because he was studying advanced armored tactics four thousand kilometers away.

He shook himself awake, sweating and almost ready to scream aloud; he had been dreaming; flames had been licking over him and his T-34 had been hit.

He took a deep breath to calm himself. Perhaps he was dying now, but at least he had not died then. As so many others had. He had been given forty extra years of life, and so he was owed nothing at all.

He hadn't wasted those years. Out of them he had married two good women, and had two good sons to show for it. It was a pity that it should end badly, but it was still more than he could have hoped for as he tried to claw his way out of the burning tank.

It was then, in the hospital, that his mother had asked him if he would really mind if she were to marry again.

Such a possibility had never occurred to young Simyon Smin. He was aware that his mother was quite a good-looking woman still, though a bit over forty. But to marry? And to marry so high a Party official? For Vassilievitch Mishko was second only to Nikita Khrushchev in the Party organization of the Ukraine, now just being won back from the Fascists.

He had given his approval at once, however. He hadn't been selfish. He had even been pleased to think of his mother having a life of her own again, without him to raise or a war or a purge to make everyone's life a misery; and it would have happened if F. V. Mishko had not happened to displease J. V. Stalin and wound up shoveling gold ore in Siberia. It did not surprise Smin that his mother had elected to live very quietly for the rest of her life. She had seen what happened when a person became too public.

'Are you awake, then?' a voice called softly from the gap in the curtains.

Smin shook himself. 'Of course, Comrade Plumber,' he said, working to create another smile. 'What's the news outside?'

He was really glad to see Sheranchuk. He tried to listen while Sheranchuk told him his stories — the good news, his wife appearing unexpectedly at the hospital; the bad news, one of the Four Seasons dying, and another in delirium and pain. 'I'm surprised you didn't hear him,' Sheranchuk said. 'He was shouting quite loudly a little while ago, but now he is quieter.'

'Yes, yes,' Smin said absently.

'And your older son came to see you. That's good news, of course.'

'I suppose it is,' said Smin, and his tone made Sheranchuk look more closely at him.

'Is something wrong?' he asked worriedly.

'What should be wrong? — No, Leonid, it is a bit of a worry. Kolya said something. We were talking about what was wrong at the plant — I don't mean the accident, I mean the difficulties with materials and personnel. He became quite indignant. Then he said — I think he said—'It would be better to have Stalin back.' '

'I see,' said Sheranchuk.

Smin looked up at him. 'Do you?'

'Well, yes, I think so,' Sheranchuk said uncomfortably.

'He is a military man, after all. There are many who think the leadership has wasted too much time in Afghanistan.'

Smin said in sorrow, 'Are you saying that you, too, think Mikhail Gorbachev is too liberal?'

'No, no! Nothing like that. What do I know of such things, after all? I am merely saying that I have heard people say that sort of remark. There is, really, a great deal of waste and corruption.'

'But under Stalin we had the same kind of inefficiency, Leonid, only then it was called 'sabotage.' And also we had the purges.'

'I don't remember Stalin times very well,' Sheranchuk apologized.

'Unfortunately, my son Kolya doesn't either. He has never had to worry about a knock on the door at two a.m. Now they are much more considerate, the GehBehs. They come only during business hours. Leonid? Have you been questioned yet?'

'Well, yes, a little. I simply told them that I was not on duty at the time of the explosion and that, as far as I know, it was Chief Engineer Varazin who insisted on pushing the experiment through without safeguards. With the encouragement of Gorodot Khrenov, of course.' Sheranchuk paused, looking at Smin's face. 'What's the matter?'

'Leonid! What did you say about Khrenov?'

'Only that. I simply told the truth.'

'You told what you think is the truth. You told it about Khrenov,' Smin said patiendy. 'Khrenov is with the organs. Do you think the organs wish to report that one of their own was involved, even only to encourage?'

'They did seem quite concerned about that,' Sheranchuk admitted.

'Leonid, are you insane? Are you even right? How do you know what Khrenov did?'

'I know he hung around the Chief Engineer like a shadow,' Sheranchuk said doggedly.

'That is what he is paid to do, Leonid. Why do you say 'encourage'? Were you present when Khrenov 'encouraged' Varazin to go ahead?'

'No, but he did!'

'How do you know that? You were not present,' Smin insisted. 'Believe me, the organs know well what Khrenov did and Khrenov will answer for it to them. But not in public. So if there is a hearing, as there will be, and if you testify, as you must, you will simply speak the truth about what you saw and what you did. Not about what you think you know from some other person's reports.' He hesitated, and then said sofdy, 'All of these things are on the record.'

'And the record will remain forever in the files of the GehBehs,' Sheranchuk said bitterly, because suddenly he was afraid.

Smin paused. After a moment he said slowly, 'Not necessarily. Remember Khrushchev's speech on the excesses of the Stalin regime. It is possible that everything will come out in some way.' Then he shook his head and grinned, a woeful sight in that damaged face. 'In any case — wait, what's that?'

Sheranchuk heard it too. He said worriedly, 'I'm afraid Arkady Ponomorenko is shouting again. But what is it you were going to say?'

'Only that, in any case, perhaps we will all be lucky enough to die here in Hospital Number Six. But go to your friend; he sounds as though he needs someone.'

At the door of the pipefitter's room a nurse stopped Sheranchuk. 'Where are you going?' she scolded. 'Can't you see he's in no shape to have visitors?'

'But I am not a visitor but a fellow patient. In any case he needs someone.'

'And what good do you think you can do him now?' she asked bitterly. Behind her, 'Spring' had stopped screaming at least, but was now addressing sober, thoughtful remarks to the air above his bed. 'Well,' she said, softening, 'I suppose it can do no harm, at least until his cousin comes back.'

But if Volya Ponomorenko didn't come back soon, Sheranchuk was sure, he would not see his cousin alive.