The Boy from Reactor 4

Afterward, she pedaled through the darkness toward the bright lights of Reactor 4.

CHAPTER 38

NADIA STRADDLED THE bicycle at the junction to the village center. A sign warned all unauthorized personnel to leave.

A barbed-wire fence surrounded the Chernobyl Power Station. Floodlights burst with light. The sarcophagus and chimneys loomed in the background. A guard smoked beside his booth at the entrance.

Nadia checked her watch: 9:25.

A monument beside the power station displayed six firefighters lugging a hose to put out the reactor fire. They were not wearing respirators or hazard suits. In the monument, a globe was fixed to the side of the reactor smokestack. It looked like a miniature replica of the New York City Unisphere from the World’s Fair.

A door crashed open. Raucous laughter. A hip-hop beat.

Nadia followed the sound. A hundred yards away was a small square building that resembled an emergency military barracks.

The café. Built for workers who still labored in the village and the power plants in the center of the Zone.

She waited until the guard turned to walk back to his booth and pedaled to the side of the café. Leaned her bicycle against the wall, set her cell phone to vibrate, and stepped inside.

She gagged. Cigarette smoke hung in the air as though fire were leaking from beyond its walls. Rap music pounded from small suspended speakers. The beat was American, but the words were Ukrainian. Laughter and conversation spilled from one clique to another and filled the room. She looked around for an older man, but there were a half dozen possible candidates.

Slicing her way into the far corner, she counted thirty to forty people, split evenly between the sexes. Most wore camouflage uniforms or warm-ups. One couple danced dirty in the center of the room, lips and hips mashed together.

Nadia ordered a beer from an agreeable bartender. As she sipped it, a series of men stood up at a long table and raised toasts to a pair of newlyweds. Champagne flowed from multiple bottles.

One of the men saw her and did a double take. Nadia cringed. She looked away and stepped to her left to try to hide behind a burly Cossack downing shots of horilka.

“Hey, you can’t drink alone,” he said, rushing up to her. He had Einstein hair, a spindly body, and a lovable nerd’s face fully equipped with black-rimmed Superman glasses. “Haven’t seen you here before, kotiku.” The literal translation of the popular Ukrainian endearment was “kitty.” “What’s your name? Where are you from? Where have you been all my life?”

Nadia smiled and nodded toward the table. “I think the party’s over there, not here.”

He grinned. “You won’t get rid of me that easy, kotiku. My name is Karel. What is yours?”

“My name is Nadia.”

“Nadia, Panya. My beauty. First time in the Zone?”

“How can you tell?”

He laughed and tapped his nose. “The Zone knows its own. Where are you from? Who are you with?”

Nadia followed the script she’d written with Hayder and Anton. “I’m a newspaper reporter from New York City.” The media had helped the Green Revolution succeed. They would respect and admire an American newspaper reporter.

His eyes lit up even more. “A reporter? From New York City? Your Ukrainian is excellent.” He grabbed Nadia by the crook of her elbow and dragged her to the table.

“Look, everyone,” he said, as though she were a major celebrity, “a friend from New York City.”

The table exploded with cheers. She searched the faces, looking for a welcoming smile on the face of an older man. An amiable fellow raised a toast to America, the bastion of freedom and free enterprise. Someone shoved a glass of champagne into Nadia’s hands. She sipped some, knowing it would be an insult to do otherwise.

Everyone drank to the bottom, set their glasses down, and looked expectantly at her.

Nadia felt herself blush. Glanced at Karel. “Should I raise a toast?” she whispered.

“Better you tell us a joke,” he said loudly, so that everyone could hear.

The table roared with approval. “A joke. A joke. Give us an American joke,” they said.

Nadia scoured her mind for something funny to say. Only one idea came to mind. “How many actors does it take to change a lightbulb?”

She waited a beat.

“Three,” she said. “One to change the bulb, and two to say, ‘That could be me up there.’”

For reasons beyond her comprehension, the translation from English didn’t work. She got a few chuckles, but no guffaws.

“That joke doesn’t work in the Zone,” Karel said with mock seriousness. “Because there is no electricity. So the lightbulb never goes on.”

The table exploded. Karel buckled with laughter.

Nadia waved good luck to the newlyweds as Karel pulled her back to a spot in the corner. He nestled her beer glass back in her hands and ordered a brandy from the bar.

“So what did you learn about the Zone today?” he said.

Nadia considered her answer. “I’m not sure. I saw a lynx in a condemned hotel today. A big, beautiful wild cat. You tell me what that means.”