ladder and the sound of her heartbeat.
Juli’s life, since the day she met Mihaly on the bus from the power station to Pripyat, flashed through her mind as it had flashed through her mind so many times. Small details of what had happened stood out. Other possibilities materialized-Mihaly’s parallel world; an island in the South Pacific to which the China Syndrome of Chernobyl has eaten a tunnel; Mihaly and Lazlo together in this other world, united-a seemingly small decision in the past could have prevented Mihaly’s death, perhaps even prevented the accident at Chernobyl.
If only she had married long ago, been a married woman with children like Nina when she and Mihaly met casually on the bus. If only she had listened to Mihaly’s concerns about the plant and done something, anything. If only she hadn’t met Lazlo and fallen in love with him. If only…
No! They were depending on her! Everyone up there in the world was depending on her! If Lazlo was willing to die for her and Nina and Mariska and the children, she should be willing to do something. Do something!
When the last rung of the ladder creaked, she crawled as quietly as she could to the side of the cellar where she knew the wine kegs rested on a wooden stand, which had felt like a squat table in the dark. She squeezed beneath the stand, spiderwebs settling across her face. It was a tight fit, one of the kegs in its cradle on the stand pressed against her back, another kept the side of her face on the dirt floor. She looked back at the shaft of light from the entrance and saw Komarov standing bent over. Then he disappeared, joining her in the darkness of the cellar.
It was so quiet in the yard Lazlo could hear birds singing down the hill. Juli! Why didn’t you fly away?
The seconds ticked by, Brovko and several other men standing around the hole, looking to one another. One man took out a flashlight, aimed it at the hole, but Brovko put his hand on the man’s arm and the man put the flashlight away.
The birds kept singing, and Lazlo looked down, trying to see through the earth and into the wine cellar. Then he prayed, first to his mother, then to his father, then to Mihaly. He even prayed to the Gypsy deserter on the Romanian border. He prayed that their spirits, knowing the difference between virtue and evil, would tunnel from their tombs. He prayed for them to go into the cellar and take Komarov with them.
Komarov followed the wall for a short distance before sitting on the floor against the wall. Because he held the knife in his right hand, he reached into his pocket with his left hand for the flashlight he had been given by one of the men. He listened for a moment, and when he could hear nothing, he aimed the flashlight straight ahead and switched it on.
She was wedged beneath a low platform holding a row of wine kegs off the floor. She covered her eyes with one hand and tried to squeeze farther beneath the platform.
“I didn’t think you had a gun,” he said quietly. “Otherwise you would have shot at me as I came down the ladder. This investigation has been a long, hard struggle for me. Even though you may think you are innocent, I know better. Just as I climbed down here on the ladder, I will climb to the top on your back and on the back of your lover. If others try to stop me or take credit for uncovering your conspiracy, I’ll climb atop the heap of their remains. I could capture you and say you confessed to me, but I’m afraid there are some who might believe your lies simply because you are a woman.”
Komarov switched the flashlight off and put it into his pocket.
Soon he would use it once more to look into her eyes the way he had looked into the eyes of Gretchen and Tamara. In his other hand, held down at his side, was the knife he would need to defend himself from an attack from behind.
When the glow of light filtering through her closed lids went out, she opened her eyes and, at the same time, struggled out from beneath the kegs. When she crawled free of her hiding place, she thought her ankles would be grasped at any moment. If she stood and ran to the ladder, he would see her and pull her down before she could climb halfway up.
She crawled slowly to the middle of the floor, pushing her fingers ahead through the surface dirt. She listened for him but could hear only her inhales and exhales. She opened her mouth wide in an attempt to quiet her breathing and crawled against the far wall, away from the entrance where her outline would be visible against the light from above. She crawled a circular path to the place he had been because she was certain he would have moved.
She paused and listened. She heard his breathing to one side.
Then she heard nothing and moved forward. Suddenly, her hand touched his shoe.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” he said, his voice seemingly calm, as if he did not really mean to hurt her.
In an instant his hand was at her head, clutching her hair and pulling. She swung out, hit his face. He stood, pulled her up with him, and threw her to the floor. She tried to roll away, but he had her by the arm, twisting her arm until she thought it would break.
Her other hand was on the dirt floor. She clutched a handful of dirt and flung it at his face. He coughed and spit, and she was able to pull free.
She ran to the back of the cellar, smashed her shin against a bench. Despite the pain, she picked up the bench, swung it around, and pushed it out in front of her. She hit him with it, but he was quickly back at her, ripping the bench from her grasp and pushing her against the wooden timbers on the wall.
A sharp pain at the back of her head was followed by dizziness.
She grasped at the wall, but it moved upward and away from her.
She was forced onto her back. She felt his weight on her. Then the flashlight burned in her eyes.
She could hear muted voices from above. Men arguing. They would come down into the cellar to help her. They would drag Komarov away. But Komarov’s hot breath blew on her face as he shouted, his voice enraged and insane.
“Don’t come down! That’s my order! If you do, you’ll be shot!
She’s armed!”
It was all happening too fast. Only seconds had gone by. The arguing from above continued. No one came.
He was behind the flashlight, breathing heavily. She could smell his foul breath. When she tried to push the flashlight away, she felt a sharp pain on her abdomen.
“Lie still.” His voice was calm again, a voice seemingly coming from a different person. “I have a knife. I’ll push it all the way in if you move.”
He turned and again shouted, “Fools! Don’t interfere! She’s armed!”
The knife was at her. Not inside yet, but pricking the skin of her abdomen. Her baby! What about her baby? She needed something to strike him with. She reached out slowly, not moving, not really.
The light stayed in her eyes until she stared above the light where she could now see his eyes in the dim light above the flashlight.
Dirt would be futile. She stretched her arm outward, and this seemed to draw him closer. Then she felt something. Cloth. Damp cloth. A soiled diaper from Mariska’s baby. She pulled it in with her fingertips, pulled it closer and dragged it to her side where he could not see it because his eyes were close to hers. He spoke.
“How young you are, and beautiful. I thought you would have reminded me of other Gypsy women. Your hair is lighter than I thought it would be. You are neither Barbara nor Tamara. I’m paying you a compliment when I say you remind me of Gretchen.”
She considered pleading with him. Maybe he had made a mistake. Maybe he was really after someone called Gretchen. Maybe if she reminded him she was not Gretchen. No! Reason would not do. He was insane. She could see it in his eyes. And if he was insane, maybe she could make him think she was Gretchen, if only for a moment.
She slowly moved the diaper closer and felt more pressure on the knife. When she opened her eyes wide, the pressure lessened.
She kept her eyes open wide and forced a smile. She said, “I am Gretchen. I have something for you.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and he moved his face back when she began unbuttoning her blouse with her free hand. The flashlight lowered, and she could see him looking at her breasts. The look on his face changed slightly. A smile began to appear. As she unbuttoned her blouse, she had his attention. But what would she do after this? And what would he do?
For the first time since he’d held her down, she felt a slight lifting of his weight. Then, when she felt the pressure of the knife at her abdomen ease even more, she pushed the soiled diaper into his face and rolled
