el.angeleyes-第65节

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


ictorian　exterior　of　the　insane　asylum。
　''Is　that　so？''　Valeri　said。　''I　had　heard　the　story　differently。　I　had　heard　that　there　was　a　low…level　nuclear　event　at　the　plex；　but　that　it　was　under　control。〃　Kyshtym；　for　almost　fifty　years；　had　been　the　site　of　the　Soviet　Union's　main　military　atomic　reactors。　Three　years　ago；　a　massive　overhaul　of　the　aging　units　had　begun。　But　only　after　a　series　of　scrupulously　unreported　events…leaks；　explosions；　and　the　like…had　killed　one…third　of　the　people　who　worked　at　Kyshtym；　and　who　lived　in　a　nearby　city　so　secret　it　was　without　a　name。
　The　young　man　laughed。　〃Where　do　you　get　your　information；　rade？　Tass？''　He　chuckled；　shook　his　head　in　disbelief。　When　he　spoke　he　looked　ahead；　never　at　Valeri。　〃Really！　The　gullibility　of　some　people。〃
　He　seemed　to　have　drifted　off；　and　was　talking　to　himself；　and　Valeri　began　once　again　to　consider　the　enormous　miscalculation　the　president　made　when　he　began　to　replace　the　central　munist　party　with　his　own　handpicked　people。　Cults　were　dangerous。　If　anything　in　Russia's　recent　history　had　been　made　manifest　it　was　that。
　The　president　had　needed　some　form　of　stability　to　hold　the　center　together　while　he　gathered　his　cult　around　him；　and　he　had　most　unwisely　chosen　the　military　to　aid　him。　In　return　for　their　help；　he　had　promised…and　delivered…more　and　more　money　to　the　generals'　annual　budget。　This　had　created　a　serious　shortfall　in　the　other　national　sectors　in　dire　need　of　money。
　Now　the　president　was　paying　the　fearful　price　of　consolidating　his　power　in　the　form　of　strikes；　local　uprisings；　the　disintegration　of　the　economy；　the　appalling　Western　characteristic　of　the　polarization　of　the　classes；　and　the　conitant　rise　to　power　of　White　Star。
　Valeri　shivered；　trying　to　free　his　mind　from　its　turmoil。　He　slipped　his　hand　into　his　daughter's；　as　if　this　could　reassure　her　that　he　was　here　with　her。　He　wanted　so　much　to　see　even　the　slightest　hint　of　a　reaction；　a　sense　that　there　was　the　spark　of　consciousness　in　her　mind；　that　she　might　be　thinking；　I　know　you're　with　me；　Daddy；　and　it　makes　me　feel　better。
　But　then　the　young　man　spoke　directly　to　Valeri。　〃No；　no；　rade。　It　was　White　Star。　They　blew　apart　the　concrete　lake　prison　labor　helped　pour。　They　exposed　cracked　reactor　cores；　defective　rods　that　caused　partial　meltdowns；　and　enough　carelessly　dumped　plutonium　sludge　to　irradiate　all　of　Siberia。　I'm　told　the　entire　area　has　been　evacuated。　The　officials　won't　get　any　more　idiots　from　the　city　without　a　name　to　e　in　and　clean　up　like　they　did　after　the　disaster　of　'fifty…seven。　Within　two　years；　over　a　thousand　people　had　died　of　radiation　poisoning。　Within　ten　years；　twenty…seven　hundred　more　died　of　cancer；　almost　everyone　who　had　been　brought　in　the　for　the　cleanup　in　exchange　for　promises　of　extended　vacations。〃　The　young　man　laughed　again；　but　this　time　there　was　a　disturbing　edge　to　it。　〃The　workers　got　vacations；　all　right。　Only　they　were　a　bit　more　extended　than　they　had　bargained　for。''
　Valeri　gripped　the　white　hand　of　his　daughter　all　the　tighter。　The　tracery　of　blue　veins　beneath　the　translucent　surface　of　her　skin　reminded　him　of　the　skein　of　birch　branches；　bare；　traced　with　snow；　pale　against　the　dark　Ukrainian　sky　in　winter。
　〃The　stars；〃　Valeri's　father　had　said　during　the　last　nights　of　his　life。　〃Perhaps　our　salvation　lies　in　the　stars。　The　stars　look　cruel；　I　know；　but　Valeri　Denysovich；　I　know　they　are　not。　Here　is　where　the　cruelty　reigns；　in　Kiev；　in　the　captive　Ukraine。〃
　Valeri　had　stayed　with　his　father；　until　his　nights　became　hours；　then　minutes；　and　at　last　his　eyes　closed　for　the　final　time。　A　moment　later　the　red　sun　rose　over　the　snow…covered　roofs　to　the　east；　bloodying　their　tops。
　Valeri；　sitting　next　to　his　only　child　in　this　pastoral；　almost　peaceful　setting　near　Arkhangelskoe；　could　not　remember　his　father　without　also　conjuring　up　the　dreaded　specter　of　Solovki。
　In　the　late　1920s　and　early　thirties　the　Solovki　Islands　in　the　White　Sea　had　been　turned　into　one　of　the　most　infamous　of　the　Russian　death　camps。　Into　the　forbidding　universe　of　Solovki　had　been　thrown　the　so…called　〃anti…Soviet〃　elements；　chief　among　them　the　rebel　Ukrainian　kulaks…the　peasants。
　Valeri's　uncle　had　been　a　kulak；　but　after　he　had　been　shot　by　a　Russian　soldier　in　the　streets　of　Kiev　for　daring　to　speak　his　native　language；　Valeri's　father　decided　on　another　course　of　action。　He　joined　the　army。　Not　just　any　division；　mind　you；　but　the　fiercely　independent　First　Siberian　Cavalry　Corps。
　He　had　seen　that　as　his　revenge　against　the　Russians；　but　instead　it　proved　his　undoing。　Six　months　after　he　joined；　in　the　autumn　of　1931；　the　corps　was　overrun　by　Russian　〃loyalists；〃　who　were　sent　by　Moscow　to　punish　the　unit　for　spreading　anti…Soviet　propaganda。　The　truth　was　the　First　Siberian　had　gotten　too　powerful。　It　had　made　Moscow　nervous　in　a　nervous　time；　and　Moscow　had　acted　accordingly。
　Valeri's　father　was　imprisoned　for　a　short　time；　then　sent　summarily　to　Solovki。　There　was　no　trial；　no　chance　to　refute　the　charges。　In　fact；　charges　were　never　read　to　him；　he　never　knew　what　he　had　been　accused　of。　That　scarcely　mattered　to　Valeri's　father。　He　was　Ukrainian；　that　alone　was　enough　to　mark　him　as　a　potentially　dangerous　criminal。
　〃That's　just　what　the　Russians　had　made　me；〃　he　would　tell　Valeri　many　years　later。　〃A　dangerous　criminal。〃
　In　Solovki；　Valeri's　father　and　his　fellow　inmates　were　fed…　when　they　were　fed　at　all…on　nine　ounces　of　moldy　black　bread　and　a　bowl　of　something　akin　to　hot　water　with　a　lump　of　frost…blackened　turnip　floating　in　it。　Clothes　were　out　of　the　question；　as　was　any　form　of　heat；　save　the　occasional　fire。
　A　week　after　his　father　arrived　in　Solovki；　there　were　already　so　many　inmates　that　the　overcrowding　became　intolerable。　As　a　consequence；　inmates　were　herded　out　in　order　to　be　sent　to　another　camp。　Valeri's　father　watched　with　bleak　eyes　as　his　fellow　criminals　pushed；　shoved；　clawed；　and　fought　each　other　to　be　chosen。　Anyplace；　the　reasoning　went；　would　be　an　improvement　over　Solovki。
　His　father　was　chosen　in　the　last　batch　herded　out；　but　in　the　turmoil　he　managed　to　slip　away；　secrete　himself　beside　a　mother　and　child；　blue…skinned　and　stiff；　dead　for　a　day　and　a　half。　He　had　no　desire　to　be　trekked　to　another　place　he　knew　nothing　about。　Better　the　devil　you　know；　he　told　himself；　than　stepping　out　blindfolded　in　the　dark。
　It　was　two　months　before　he　received　word　through　the　camp　grapevine　as　to　the　fate　of　those　who　had　left　Solovki。　They　had　been　sent　to　Siberia。　Marched　up　the　narrow　ice…clogged　Vasyugan　stream；　they　had　been　left　on　the　ice　fields　and　the　barren　bogs　without　food　or　clothes。　All　of　them　had　died。
　His　father　spent　just　over　three　years　in　Solovki。　Though　he　lost　two　fingers　and　four　toes　to　frostbite；　though　he　lost　sixty　pounds；　he　was　a　survivor。　He　stole　food　from　the　dead；　ate　the　flesh　of　the　odd　guard　dog　that　died　of　exposure；　and　eventually　learned　how　to　snare　fish　from　the　icy　waters。
　He　escaped；　finally；　one　moonless　winter's　night；　with　the　snow　falling　eerily　on　the　water；　the　guard　dogs　barking　frantically；　the　darkness　aflame　with　automatic　gunfire。
　He　was　wounded　but　managed　to　escape。　It　took　him　six　weeks　to　make　his　way　back　to　Kiev；　and　by　that　time　he　had　lost　the　feeling　in　both　his　legs。
　In　order　to　save　his　life；　the　legs　had　to　be　amputated。　〃Do　it！　Do　it！〃　he　had　shouted　at　the　surgeons；　shaking　with　rage　at　the　indignity　of　what　was　about　to　happen。　〃What's　the　difference？　I　only　have　six　toes；　anyway。　That's　not　so　much　to　miss！''
　But　Solovki　had　done　more　than　take　his　legs；　it　had　dehumanized　him。　Living　with　the　dead；　eating　frozen　dog　meat；　watching　day　by　day　as　his　fellow　Ukrainians　wasted　away　or　were　shot　by　guards　bored；　drunk；　or　both；　had　scarred　his　soul。　He　could　never　again　think　about　his　country　in　the　same　way。　Just　as　the　murder　of　his　brother　had　caused　a　violent　reaction　in　him；　so　had　his　time　in　Solovki。　But　instead　of　turning　his　burning　rage　outward；　now　his　isolation　had　turned　it　inward。
　It　had　been　his　son；　Valeri；　who　had　saved　him　from　taking　a　pistol　and　putting　it　to　his　head。　Valeri　had　said　the　only　thing　that　would　make　his　father　want　to　keep　living：　''I　want　to　learn；　Father。　I　want　to　know　what　it　means　to　be　a　Ukrainian；　and　I　can　only　do　that　from　you。''
　Now　I　am　the　father；　Valeri　Bondasenko　thought；　sitting　beside　his　mute；　unthinking　daughter　on　the　wide　lawn　of　the　asylum　near　Arkhangelskoe。　I　want　to　teach　her　what　you　taught　me；　Father；　but　even　if　she　hears　me；　she　isn't　listening。
　Does　this　mean　they've　won；　Father？　The　Russians　who　systematically　beat　us；　stripped　us　of　our　culture；　our　past；　who　have　entangled　us　in　hopelessness；　who　have　tried　their　best　to　exterminate　us？　No；　no；　no！　I　haven't　forgotten　what　you　taught　me；　how　to　bury　my　hate　so　deeply　no　one　would　ever　find　out　what　was　in　my　heart。
　No。　They　haven't　won；　the　Russians；　but　they　haven't　lost。　Not　yet。　Not　yet。
　Another　day；　another　visit　to　the　man　who　would　be　God；　Mars　Volkov　thought　as　he　drove　up　to　the　Hero's　fortresslike　plex　within　Star　Town。
　He　did