Free Voices From Chernobyl: The Oral History of a Nuclear Disaster by Svetlana Alexievich Page B

desk and yells:
    “When are you going back to Russia? This is our land!”
    I thought I’d go crazy. I jumped up at him.
    “Where's your coat from?”
    “Leningrad,” he said. He was surprised.
    “Take off that Russian coat, you son-of-a-bitch!" And I tore the coat off him. “Where’s your hat from? You bragged to me they sent it from Siberia! Off with it, you! And the shirt! The pants! Those were made in Moscow! They’re Russian, too!"
    I’d have stripped him to his underwear. He was a big guy, I came up to his shoulder, but I’d have torn everything off him. People were already gathering around. He’s crying: “Get away from me, you’re crazy!"
    “No, give me back everything that’s mine, that’s Russian! I’ll take it all!"
    I almost did go crazy.
    “Give me your socks! Your shoes!"
    We worked at night and during the day. Trains were leaving overfilled. People were running. Many Russians left— thousands, tens of thousands. There’s still one Russia. I see the Moscow train off at two in the morning, and there are still some kids in the hall from the town of Kurgan-Tyube, they didn’t make it to the train. I covered them up, I hid them. Two men come over to me, they’ve got automatics.
    “Oh, boys, what are you doing here?" Meanwhile my heart’s beating.
    “It’s your own fault, all your doors are wide open."
    “I was sending off a train. I didn’t get a chance to close them."
    “Who are those kids over there?"
    “Those are ours, from Dushanbe."
    “Maybe they’re from Kurgan? They’re Kulyabs?"
    “No, no. They’re ours."
    So they left. And if they’d opened the hall? They’d have . . . And me, too, while they were at it, a bullet to the head. There's only one government there—the man with the gun. In the morning I put the kids on the train to Astrakhan, I told the conductors to transport them like they do watermelons, to not open the door. [ Silent. Then cries for a long time.] Is there anything more frightening than people? [Silent again.]
    One time, when I was here already, I was walking down the street and I started looking back, because I thought someone was following me. Not a day went by there when I didn't think of death. I always left the house wearing clean clothes, a freshly laundered blouse, skirt, underthings. Just in case I got killed. Now I walk through the forest by myself and I'm not afraid of anyone. There aren't any people in the forest, not a soul. I walk and wonder whether all of that really happened to me or not? Sometimes I'll run into some hunters: they have rifles, a dog, and a dosimeter. They also have guns, but they’re not like the others, they don't hum people. [Silent.]
    I remember one guy, I saw him chasing this other guy. He was chasing another person! The way he was running, the way he was breathing, I could tell he wanted to kill him. But the other one got away. He hid. And this one comes back, he walks past me and says, “Ma'am, where do I get some water around here?” He's so casual about it, like nothing happened. We had a bucket of water at the station, I showed it to him. Then I looked him in the eye and I said: “Why are you chasing one another? Why are you killing?” And he looked like he felt ashamed. “All right, ma'am, not so loud." But when they're together, they’re different. If there'd been three of them, or even two, they'd have put me up against the wall. When you're one-on-one you can still talk to a person.
    We got to Tashkent from Dushanbe, but we had to go further, to Minsk. There weren’t any tickets—none! It's very clever the way they have it set up, until you've given someone a bribe and you're on the plane, there are endless problems: it's too heavy, or too much volume, you can't have this, you have to put that away. They made me put everything on the scale twice, until I realized what was happening and gave them some money. “Should have done that from the start, instead of arguing so much.” Everything’s so