It was just 26 of April again. The date of the biggest nuclear disaster in human history, that took place 90 km from Kiev. And if not for the heroism of the regular Russian soldiers, the 50 years worth of graphite fuel that the scientists were made to load in instead of 5, would've erased half of Europe in those days.
My kids wonder why I get upset when they sing that "radioactive" song. People always ask me about Chernobyl. What happened, and what did we know about it then. For objective information I can only refer people to YouTube. This one, for example. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18o_X696dYw
But I also think, when people ask me, they don't want objective information. They want my story. So, here it is.
In the spring of 1986 I was 7, and finishing my first grade in a regular Kiev school. I remember that day very clearly. Whispers, rumors, phone calls, my mom was a math and physics teacher, after all, and she knew what the word "radiation" meant. Discussions of whether we should leave or not, performed in the bathroom with the water running, in case the KGB is listening. I kid you not. Names of people who left and those who stayed. A few days of whispers and tension. The cities of Prypyat and Chernobyl are being evacuated - but we don't know about that, not yet.
Then the 1st of may- the International Workers day. A parade with red flags in the center of Kiev. Me and mommy and daddy, eating ice-cream, and watching, and it's hot, and we spend the whole day outside. Then we drive to our dacha - a hut in a village, where my mom buried her health, trying to work like Ukrainian peasants. I'm raking last year's leaves, and picking up wild strawberries, and catching lizards and frogs, and running around barefoot. It's all poisoned. About 40 km away from us people are being loaded into lorries by force, made to abandon every last one of their possessions, every pot, doll and book, and driven away, because their town has become a nuclear desert. It looks the same, sounds the same, and yet - the very air is lethal. Only when those lorries unload the evacuees in the town center, my parents realize that something bad is going on, and we return to Kiev. 2 weeks after the explosion the government finally owns up. Evening news, the brisk drumming tune. I'm dozing off on the couch, when I hear the word "reactor" from the TV. I imagine a photo camera on a tripod. Like, what's the big deal? A fire? I start asking, but my parents hush me.
We must leave, for the air, the soil, the water, the food, are all contaminated with radiation.
The only way our senses can detect it is on old film. When you watch
films recorded in those days in the radioactive zone, there are flashes
on the screen. That's gamma-particles hitting the film and being recorded.
At exactly that time, hundreds of 18 year old soldiers were made to remove the
pieces of radioactive graphite from the roof of the reactor with their
bare hands, with no equipment other than a spade. They were given 20 seconds,
then ran back. They all died, of course. We had no idea.
Daddy goes to his Writers' Union and brings back the news that all roads out of Kiev are closed, except the one leading to Chernobyl, and a Geiger's counter to measure the radiation, bought for an obscene sum. The next day my parents are arguing over a big map, and daddy goes to bring the car closer to the house.
(A couple of words on our car. A Zhaporozhetz is basically a prematurely delivered "Volkswagen Beetle", which makes a noise like that aforesaid Beetle who's suffering from a terrible nasal congestion. Russians call Zhaporozhetz "The quietest car in the world - because when you're driving it, your ears are blocked by your knees".) I'm so excited - we are going away! I go to my shelf, and pack my most prized possessions - a set of markers and a notepad to keep a diary of our trip.
I have that diary in front of me right now.
I vaguely remember the scene by the road block, with my father waving his journalist's papers in front of the policeman, who refuses to let us out, and every car in the long queue is being turned back. Another road block, then another. On the fourth one we arrive just as the people have plowed through it with their cars, (Ukrainians were always less obedient than Russians, just as they are now, mind you), and we escape, in the direction of Belorussia.There are signs with skulls, warning us to stay on the road and under no circumstances to stray into the dusty hard shoulder. It's May, but he leaves on the trees are dark red, maroon, purple, in some places - black. We know it's the radiation. The radioactive cloud has passed here. The road is deserted, and my father squeezes all he can out of the poor engine. We fly though at 90 km/h, raising clouds of dust after us. Then spend a few hours sleeping on the road - parents in their seats, me across the back seat, then carry on at dawn. There is a feeling of urgency, to get out of this wasteland as soon as possible, then turn South, to the Black sea.
To be continued.
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