Belly of the Beast (22 page)

Pytor ducked behind the door, his hand on the pistol. Niki wailed on the floor.

Babushka turned in the doorway, covering the canister with her long dress. “You cannot come in here,” she said to Malenkov. “This woman’s child just died.”

“I’ll go where I damn well please,” Malenkov said gruffly, looking past the woman with his unbandaged eye.

“Go where you want then, but I’d be careful. We’ve had a problem with tuberculosis.”

Malenkov stood staring into the dimly lit room for a moment, then said, “We’re looking for a woman, a dangerous American.”

Babushka gestured toward Niki, dressed in her peasant garb, doubled up on the floor. “Does this poor waif look like an American? Does this wretch sound like an American? We all know Americans have no feelings. Leave her alone with her grief.”

“There are tire tracks on the road and footprints to your door. Who else is here?”

“Just the precious children—but a man and a woman came by not long ago.”

“The American woman?”

“She didn’t speak. The man wanted to know about someone I’ve never heard of. I sent them away.”

“There were four sets of tracks,” said the man with Malenkov, “it looks like they came and left.”

“Shut up,” said Malenkov. “I don’t need a fucking driver to draw my conclusions.” He reached out and grabbed Babushka’s throat as best he could with his bandaged hand. “If you’re lying, I’ll slit the throats of your precious children while you watch. I’ll ask you once more. Is the American here?”

“No.”

Malenkov walked down the hall, kicked open several doors, and left.

Babushka waited while Pytor carefully peered out the window. “They’re driving off.”

Babushka nodded toward Niki. “She did say she was Canadian, didn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“Good. In that case, I did not lie.”

Pytor walked to Niki, knelt, and put his arm around her. “Why did you help us?” he asked Babushka.

“He was KGB. They’re the reason most of these children are here. I don’t do anything to help them. I’m sorry the woman’s father is dead.”

“I doubt it’s her father she’s mourning. Her son will die without a bone marrow transplant. Her father was her last real hope.”

“It has to do with being family?”

Pytor nodded.

“What about her brother?”

Niki stopped moaning. “Brother?”

“When I saw the records, I thought that’s how you knew to come here looking for your father. Joseph Trepov’s son is here.”

“I have a brother? This is perfect, Pytor. We can take him with us.”

“You don’t understand. Yakov is, well—I’ll take you to him.”

Pytor checked his watch on the way, but said nothing.

Niki trembled as Babushka opened a door.

Eyes wide, Niki scanned the room. Twelve boys lay, sat, or stood on iron beds so tightly packed there with hardly room to walk between them.

“We have so little money,” Babushka said apologetically, “and many need constant care. This is more like a hospital, but we are not doctors and there are only three of us. The boys have to spend most of their time on their beds.” One small boy stood at the head of his bed and stared blankly at the wall while slamming his scrawny chest back and forth against the iron head rail. Another pointed an invisible gun at Niki. “I’m going to get a Kalashnikov and shoot you,” he said. “Pow, pow, pow.”

“Yakov is down here,” said Babushka. She led the way to the far end of the room. “He’s quite a bit older than the other boys.”

Niki looked straight ahead as several goggle-eyed boys stared at her.

Yakov sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed, a tattered copy of
Bumbly Bear
in hand.

“Yakov, you have visitors.”

Yakov looked up, his ear-to-ear smile exposing dark teeth. Babushka leaned forward and wiped a string of saliva from his lower lip. He was small but had the beard stubble of a grown man.

Niki took a step backwards. “Are you sure—”

“Isn’t he beautiful?” asked Babushka. She reached out and smoothed Yakov’s blond hair.

Any wrinkles of self-pity Niki may have retained about her childhood were flattened by the realization of her brother’s condition. She stepped to the bedside and took Yakov’s hand.

“Yakov, I’m your sister.”

“Sister,” said Yakov.

Niki nodded. “My name is Niki.”

Yakov pulled his hand free and held out his book. “Yakov likes pictures.”

“Would you like me to read? It looks like a very good book.”

Another boy reached over and grabbed Yakov’s book.

Babushka swatted at the thief. Yakov started crying. “They pick on him. He’s different.”

“How old is he?” Niki asked softly.

“Four or five, thirty-one, some of each. He’s the oldest here.”

“Two years older than me,” said Niki. “Was his mother—”

“There was no mention. He was left at birth. Perhaps she died in childbirth, perhaps she was an unwed worker.”

“So we may not have the same mother. How do you know about his father?”

“Our records show that Joseph Trepov worked here at the orphanage from 1970 until he died eight years ago. A note in his file indicates that he claimed he was Yakov’s father.”

Niki looked back at Yakov, tears running down his cheek.

“He has your bones,” said Babushka.

Niki struggled with who Yakov was, who she was. “I wish we could take him with us.”

“He belongs here,” said Pytor. “I know you want to spend time with him, but we don’t have any.”

Niki looked at Babushka. “I know this is a lot to ask, but may I draw bone marrow? It’s like a very big shot, but it will be long and painful.”

The old woman looked Niki in the eye. “You’re his sister. You don’t have to ask me for permission.”

“I feel terrible, but—”

“We have to hurry,” said Pytor.

Babushka sat on the bed and hugged Yakov. “We have to give you a shot, sweetheart.”

Yakov eyes widened.

“I’m sorry, honeybun.”

Yakov returned to crying.

Niki pulled a small syringe from its case and filled it from a vial.

“That doesn’t look so bad,” said Babushka as she helped Niki roll Yakov over on his stomach.

Niki injected his lower back.

Babushka kissed Yakov’s head. “That’s a good boy. All done.”

Niki shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I’ve just begun. Usually they put the donor under general anesthesia for this. My only option is to deaden a local area as much as I can.” She injected several more places along the top of Yakov’s hip.

“You should have used some of that on your leg,” said Pytor.

“I couldn’t waste it on myself.” Niki put down the little syringe and pulled out an enormous one.

Yakov looked over at it, then started wailing in earnest. All eyes in the room were on the big needle at the end of the fat syringe.

Niki hesitated, then reached inside her coat and pulled out Katrina’s ski medal. “Yakov, this is for you, because you are a brave man. You are saving a little boy’s life. You are a first-place hero.”

Yakov clutched the medal, and his smile returned as Niki nervously palpated the iliac crest of her brother’s hip, inserted the big needle, and began to draw marrow. Slowly working the needle deeper, Niki drew the red bone marrow into the syringe. When it was finally full, she stuck the big needle into a rubber port on a sealed plastic bag and inserted the warm bone marrow. Once the syringe was empty, she started again with a new insertion in Yakov’s hip. Blood dripped down his side. He could not smile, but he did not cry.

“I’m half done,” said Niki as she withdrew the third insertion. “How much longer do I have?”

The tension in Pytor’s face was her answer.

“Alex is small. This will do.”

“I’ll clean up,” said Babushka.

 “He’ll need to rest for several days,” said Niki.

“He has nowhere to go,” replied Babushka.

“And he’ll be very sore.”

“We have to hurry,” said Pytor.

Niki put the sealed plastic sack of bone marrow into the steel cylinder. Tears filled her eyes. “I’ll try to come back.”

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep,” said Babushka.

“I’ll send money. I’ll—I’ll do what I can.”

The boy who had stolen the book handed it back to Yakov.

Pytor had to tear Niki away. “I’m sorry, but we have to catch that train.”

Outside, Pytor directed Niki to walk in the existing footprints as far as they could, then he led her two blocks away. Niki put the cylinder with the bone marrow in the oilskin bag and packed it with snow.

“I’m supposed to pack it in dry ice,” she said, “but this will have to do.”

Pytor looked about.

“Borya was supposed to meet us here. He’s gone.”

Pytor frantically looked up and down the road. “There are no tracks; maybe he didn’t understand, maybe—”

“You are ready now?” asked a voice behind them.

Pytor and Niki spun about. Borya stood beside a building, snow falling on his hat.

“I drove to the main road to confuse our tracks and came back on the other side of the creek.” Borya pointed across a small ravine. “Your car is over there. Hurry, we can still catch the train.”

Driving was slow. Borya kept wiping the inside of the windshield while the windshield wipers slapped away new snow on the outside. Pytor kneeled in the back where the fish had been, his head forward between Borya and Niki.

“How did you know how to draw bone marrow?” he asked Niki.

“I had some courses in practical nursing.”

“I’ve seen operations. You didn’t learn that from a textbook.”

“Remember I said I started this trip without any sleep? I was practicing. A doctor risked her license to teach me. She said I should pack the bone marrow in dry ice.”

“We’d have a better chance of finding Noah’s ark,” said Borya.

“At least it’s cold out,” said Pytor. “And it’s getting colder.”

“How are we doing on time?” asked Niki.

“Maria said we shouldn’t arrive early,” said Borya. “And we won’t, I think we’ll get there just in time.” Lights out, he turned off the highway and cautiously followed the hint of car tracks across a lake. In a drift, the tracks disappeared. Borya slowed. The car stalled. Borya slipped the transmission into reverse. The wheels spun. He put it in forward again. The wheels spun.

“Damn,” said Pytor. We didn’t need this. He got out and pushed, then Borya helped while Niki drove, but the car didn’t budge.

“Snow is packed under the frame,” said Borya. “The wheels are just hanging.”

Pytor, Niki, and Borya all dug frantically to pull hard-packed snow from under the car. Sweat beaded on Niki’s forehead, then froze.

After ten minutes, Pytor pulled himself from under the rear bumper. “Can we still catch the train?”

Niki kept digging, her hands in Malenkov’s big gloves.

Borya looked back from the left front tire and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“What if we drive to Verkhniy?”

“Maria says the train stops there for an hour or so, but you’d have to drive through Kasli to get there. There are three checkpoints.”

“I have to get back,” said Pytor. He looked at Borya. “After we get the car out, I’ll drop you two at Maria’s, then try to get to Verkhniy alone.”

 “I’m going with you,” said Niki.

“It would not be wise for either of you,” said Borya.

“I’ve still got vodka under the seat. I’ve got to get to my daughter.”

“I’m sorry about all this,” said Niki as she paused for breath. “I didn’t ever intend to get you both so involved.”

 Pytor started digging again. “I wanted to get into the plant. I should have known it was too easy. And if we hadn’t gotten stuck—”

“Fools live in the past,” said Borya. “Think about the next step forward.”

With most of the snow removed, the car suddenly dropped several inches, the wheels again on solid ice.

Twenty minutes later they were back at Maria’s.

Maria peeked out the window, then quickly opened the door. “What happened?”

“We got stuck on the ice,” said Borya. He stared at a bruise on covering the side of Maria’s face. “What happened?”

“Malenkov came by asking questions while you were gone. He seemed to notice all the footsteps in the snow. We’ve got to leave.”

“Pytor and Niki are going to try to drive back.”

Maria shook her bald head as she faced Pytor. “There is no way you will get through without passports. It would be suicide to—” Maria stopped herself. “But I could drive you.”

“Don’t be foolish, old woman, you don’t know the brake from the clutch.”

“What do you know, old man?” said Maria. “Every year the plant workers were sent to the fields to dig potatoes. I got to drive tractors.”

“A woman of privilege?”

“There is no time to question me now. Malenkov will be back, and it won’t be so pleasant next time. Niki, wash the sink. Pytor, grab blankets and a lantern. Borya, get my warm clothes and the box of vodka bottles under the cabinet. I’ll collect my valuables. We are not coming back.”

Niki stopped washing. “Then why—”

“I am not going to leave a dirty sink.”

Niki turned. “Maria, I’m sorry about all this.”

Maria took a second to hug Niki. “Sometimes we get too comfortable to do what’s really important. That is about to change.”

Borya shook his head. “I still do not see what difference it will make if you are driving.”

“I am a crazy woman. Trust me.”

Five minutes later, Maria slipped behind the wheel. Pytor and Niki sat in back on blankets.

Niki put Malenkov’s gloves back on her hands.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” said Maria. “We’re not going far.”

“The car still smells like fish,” said Borya.

“It won’t for long.” Maria eased out the clutch and immediately turned off the road.

“Where the hell—” yelled Borya, then covered his face with his hands.

Maria calmly followed the tracks to the barn where Pytor had parked.

“I used to drive his car, too. Did I ever mention my relationship with the director? Now we are going to load manure. People have garden plots in Sverdlovsk, they need fertilizer.”

“Horse manure?” Borya shook his head. “What good will that do? And your passport is restricted. It’s only good to Kasli. You are crazy.”

“Crazy like a fox,” said Maria. “The three of you will ride under a blanket covered with manure. Leave the rest to me.”

Nausea rose in Niki’s throat. “I can’t do that.”

“I’ll be beside you,” said Pytor.

Maria opened a bottle of vodka and handed it to Niki. “You drink; we’ll fix up the car.”

Niki stood in the lee of the barn, a bedraggled Russian peasant holding an open vodka bottle with clown gloves while she cradled a bag of snow like it was a newborn baby. She watched while Pytor kicked out the partition to the trunk, then laid out straw with two layers of blankets on top. Maria stashed the remaining vodka under the front seat, and Borya pitched horse manure from the top of the pile. Steam rose into the cold air.

“Thermophilic bacteria will keep you warm,” said Maria. “Good thing. We’ll have to drive with the window open. The bacteria also produce methane.”

“You are a plethora of knowledge for a crazy woman,” said Borya.

Maria poked him.

Niki recapped the bottle without having taken a drink and helped Borya.

When the blankets were covered with a thick layer of manure, Niki, Pytor, and Borya slid between them, only their heads sticking out just behind the front seats.

Maria got back in the driver’s seat, eased out the clutch, and drove back to the road without spinning a tire.

“Hang on,” said Maria as she turned off the road to avoid the first checkpoint.

“Slow down,” said Borya as the car bounced down the bank to the frozen lake.

“And get stuck in a snow drift? Haven’t you ever driven across a lake before?”

At the end of the lake, Maria bumped back onto the highway and stopped by the edge. “It’s time,” she announced. “We can’t avoid the rest of the checkpoints.”

Niki took a deep breath and ducked completely under the blanket with Pytor and Borya. Maria reached back and pulled manure over their heads, then drove through Kyshtym.

“Are you okay?” Pytor whispered to Niki.

“Okay considering where I am. Katrina will be okay, won’t she?”

Pytor hesitated. “If something happens to me, will you take care of her?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“I know, but if. Try to get her to my father.”

Niki felt for Pytor’s hand. It was on the pistol. She eased his fingers from it and held him. “He loved you,” she whispered.

“Father?”

“He told me he loved you.” Niki knew Yuri hadn’t quite said that, but she knew it was true.

 “Hush, now,” said Maria as she slowed down.

Pytor put his hand back on the pistol; Niki felt the satchel at her feet, calmed that the stainless steel cylinder was safely packed inside. She imagined Alex skiing down a pristine slope under blue Colorado sky. She willed herself to a better place, and closed her eyes. In her chrysalis state, she heard the windshield wipers rub back and forth, the squeak of the window handle turning, and the crunch of boots on cold snow.

“God, what is that smell?” said a young man’s voice.

“What smell?”

“What is this shit?”

“Fertilizer. People need fertilizer for their garden plots.”

“Not in winter, you crazy loon. You’ve ruined this car.”

“We’re living under different times. People grow tomatoes in their windows. My pension hasn’t been paid in months. I ate my last potato three days ago. Now I do what I must. ”

“Nobody drives on a night like this. Let me see your papers.”

“Papers? They are here somewhere.” Maria fumbled around, then held out her restricted passport and the car registration.

“God damn. They’re covered with shit. Look what you got on my glove. Stupid, stupid woman.”

“Sorry, I have something to wash it off.”

Niki heard Maria lean over.

“Oh my, all I have is vodka. Goodness, look at my manners. You’re being so polite standing out there in the cold, and I didn’t even offer you a drink to warm you up. Here, young man.” There was a pause, then she added. “Take the whole bottle.”

The next thing Niki knew, Maria was shifting through the gears.

“You’re amazing,” said Pytor as he poked his head out, “but what about gas?”

“There’s a farm co-op just past Tyubuk. They have gas. We have vodka. The director and I used to drive out there to get fresh vegetables. I wonder if those stupid signs are still up.”

“The ones that say
Close Your Windows?
” asked Pytor.

“It was the only thing the government did about the fallout. It troubled the director deeply.”

“You seemed to know him quite well,” mumbled Borya.

“Quite. We slept together for many years.”

Niki felt Borya squirm.

“He
was
my husband,” Maria finally added. “He died of cancer.”

“I’m truly sorry,” said Borya.

“It changed my life. I became a thief.”

“You hardly look the part,” said Pytor.

“Which made it all the easier. I told you I was bringing my valuables with me. Under the passenger seat is a summary of thirteen hundred medical records. Radiation deaths. Now I trust you enough to deliver them where they will do some good.”

“You have the records Irina talked about? I won’t let you down, Maria.”

“I couldn’t have done it without Borya. He got the file keys when he was being treated at the medical office. I tease him, but he is a very good man.”

Niki finally smiled. Like the down comforter at her little cabin in the Colorado mountains, Niki felt Maria’s warmth. Soon after, she slipped into a sound sleep. It was the last Niki remembered before being roused. Pytor and Borya pulled the manure-covered blankets from the car.

“We have one bottle of vodka left,” said Maria.

“You’d better keep it,” said Pytor. “You have a long way to go. Are you sure you don’t want to wait until my friend can make passports?”

“Now that we’re away from Mayak, we can bribe our way to Siberia,” said Borya. “The sight of two old gypsies without passports is not so strange.”

“And no one messes with a crazy old woman,” said Maria. “More tea?”

“I have some dollars,” said Niki. “I want you to have them.”