Murmansk
The cyclist approaches the hill that
leads into the town perched at the top of a very long and steep grade. Pedaling
is difficult and slow but Petrov persists in his dogmatic pedaling at a dismal
speed. He knows he looks ridiculous to anyone observing as he is not a
professional rider. The distinct wobble of his upper torso alternately to the
left and right causes him to maintain his focus on presenting a more dignified
profile of a qualifying athlete in long distance training. Heaving with
exertion, Petrov luxuriates in the crisp, pristine Arctic air. The town
opens before him and appears deserted. What little is visible in the bright
moonlight presents an eerie and desolate vista of centuries old wooden
structures, ill-maintained with bare clapboards and trim and odd angles askew. Attention
to detail is evident in carvings and decorative lintels and doors and results
in a subdued and modest feeling of opulence and erudition.
“The
feel of the place is of a college town that for some reason is now abandoned,”
thought Petrov. The village is a mere four blocks of structures and
empty narrow cobbled streets built more for horse drawn carriages than for
modern automobiles. Petrov carefully navigates the crumbling granite curbstones
and cobbles.
The stranger had been told by the locals
in Murmansk that the town was abandoned many years ago. The reasons given were
varied; the water was bad, a deadly contagious disease was virulent, the
Communist government forcibly removed the citizens during the Stalinist era.
Petrov realizes that any or all these reasons are credible and accepts the
unknown.
“Considering the remoteness of this part
of Russia and the scarcity of building supplies, I am surprised the village
isn’t pillaged. There is no observable security force protecting this place and
no off-limit signs,” Petrov notices. Open to exploration, he decides to press
onward and brazenly navigates what passes for the main street of the village.
Two and three-story buildings line the widest part and open into a town square.
The trees are bare at this time of the year and look very ancient with thick
spiraling trunks and vaulting, twisted limbs. The diameter of the largest is at
least three meters. The snow has piled into drifts and the sidewalks are clear
in places due to the incessant Arctic wind. Other than the howl of the wind,
the village is strangely silent, as quiet as a graveyard and just as
foreboding.
“Anyone can hide in these
buildings,” Petrov worries, “I am a sitting duck if they decide to shoot.” His
sources told him that the village is uninhabited and all of them agreed that he
would not be confronted.
A warehouse at the edge of the village is
the only sign of human habitation as Petrov sees the interior lights. He
approaches unseen and unsure of what he will find in such a desolate setting
ten kilometers from Murmansk. He is surprised that electricity is even
available in the desolate village. He encircles the large wooden building that
apparently was used as a shipping point in the past due to the proximity of the
now rusted rails and decaying ties of a train line running adjacent to the
building. He approaches a window that is lit, careful not to let his presence
known. A large water-filled structure occupies a corner of the expansive interior,
and a group of people surround the waist high tank. The people are short in
stature and remind him of children in their mannerisms and the ways they interact
with each other. Petrov notices emotions of dread and fear splaying across
their faces, but he cannot hear speech from his vantage point outside the
building. He notices stainless steel, long narrow appendages where their
hands should be. Needle like curved claws flash in the fluorescent lighting as
attempts are made to grasp baseball size metal objects from the water that is
agitated and splashing. Petrov is not sure if these devices are tools being
used by the people surrounding the table or if they are replacements for their
hands.
A single thought enters Petrov’s
mind, “Get out of here.” The thought is almost audible to him, and he looks
around with trepidation that he may have been discovered as an
intruder.
“I need to come back here with
proper camera equipment for low light photography,” he decides as he mounts his
bicycle and skirts the central part of the village, hoping to remain unseen. He
quickly descends the hill leading from town and is grateful to be away from the
gloomy village and the strange activity in the warehouse. Bright streetlights
would not provide comfort in this village as the degree of deterioration is
advanced and a pervasive anxiety and feeling of insecurity motivate the rider
to press on tirelessly towards Murmansk.
1
The
leaden ocean churned with whitecaps as the storm continued in its ferocity.
Dmitri Khromov held fast to the rail as he made his way to the bridge to report
to the captain the condition of the cargo the ship carried. Fortunately, the
ship solidly held together against the hurricane force winds and the
eight-meter waves that punished the flotilla enroute to Murmansk. This storm
made Dmitri regret how he had cursed the blinding fog of the previous day. The
impermeable mist had surrounded the ships in the Bay of Biscay off the coast of
France and created an uneasy sense of foreboding that hung over the crew. The
feeling among the Russian sailors was ubiquitous and no amount of modern
navigational technology could assuage the sense of doom that followed the
flotilla, a perceptible uneasiness that had dogged them since entering the
Atlantic waters from the Mediterranean.
The ocean
was filled with whitecaps as the storm continued. Dmitri Khromov held onto the
rail as he moved toward the bridge to update the captain on the status of the
ship’s cargo. The ship remained intact in the strong winds and large waves
affecting the flotilla traveling to Murmansk. Earlier, the area had been
covered by dense fog off the coast of France in the Bay of Biscay, which
reduced visibility and impacted the crew's mood. The Russian sailors were
affected by the persistent unfavorable weather despite modern navigational
technology, experiencing unease since entering the Atlantic from the
Mediterranean.
This area of the ocean was fifty-seven kilometers due west from
the southwestern coast of Ireland where the Spanish Armada had met its demise
as the Spanish crown sought to engage the English navy. There were no unmapped
sandbanks or rock formations to hazard the flotilla, but the treacherous winds
played havoc with the best of sailors. If any one of the ships lost power here
and was set adrift, the current and tide would surely result in a harrowing
drift eastward to the Irish coast and the submerged rocks and sharp precipices
there.
Capt. Oleg Malyovich questioned Dmitri, “In what condition are the
cargo hold doors? Were there leaks of ocean water into the hold from the waves
breaking on the deck of the ship? Were the barrels in the cargo hold leaking
radioactive fluid?” The cargo on this passage consisted of spent fuel from
nuclear reactors in the Ukraine. The fuel had previously been stored at the
nuclear power plant in the Ukraine as it cooled and was afterwards transferred
to barrels lined with a thick layer of lead to help prevent radiation from
leaking out. The tossing of the ship had worried the captain as the barrels,
though securely fastened to the floor, had been known to leak low levels of
radiation through the seals at the tops of the barrels. The crew would sleep
restlessly that night. Captain Malyovich ordered the men to maintain two-hour
watches in the cargo hold. The ship churned onward in its difficult journey to the
waters north of Scotland.
2
Dawn broke eerily for the crew of the Novo. The notorious fogs of
these waters continued to blind the crew and the moisture was turning to snow.
The sun was hidden and only the grayness of the ocean immediately surrounding
the ship was visible. Dmitri cursed the wind. The blinding snow created great
difficulty for him and his fellow sailors as the Russian naval cargo ship
wended its way northeast around the coast of Scotland. Icebergs were rare in
these waters although not unheard of. Another week of dangerous conditions were
in store before the flotilla of both the destroyer escorts and the cargo ships
reached the port of Murmansk. This freak storm caught the naval squadron
unawares although not entirely without preparation. A Russian ice cutter was due
to meet them as they rounded the Norwegian coastline. Typically, the water was
ice free this time of year but with the cargo of radioactive waste products and
debris from decommissioned nuclear reactors, the flotilla could not be too
cautious. Preparations were made for any type of weather conditions the sailors
may encounter.
The journey had started in the Black Sea as several stops were
made at various ports around the Eastern bloc nations that were aligned with
the former USSR government. The federal government was in disarray, but the
treaties were being honored and the Russian navy continued to ship the detritus
from the nuclear operations through the Mediterranean, northward along the
coasts of Portugal and France and further north around Scotland and Norway. The
ultimate destination was Murmansk, Russia where spent nuclear fuel material had
been stored since the 1960s after nuclear programs in the military and civilian
sectors had commenced.
The Russian flotilla entered the Barents Sea thirty-five
kilometers north of the coast of Norway. They had refueled northeast of
Scotland when they were met by a Russian naval refueling tanker. The storm
subsided and they were able to successfully transfer the fuel without incident.
The tanker did have to rendezvous later than expected as the storm that
encountered the flotilla off the coast of Scotland took its toll on the
scheduled itinerary
Dmitri Khromov and his shipmates were very much relieved at last.
The stress of the sea voyage along the western coast of Europe weighed heavily
on the sailors and they turned their thoughts to their destination, Murmansk,
which was a day and a half journey away.
Dmitri gazed at the photographs Lena had given him. She did not
want to risk him forgetting her over a chance encounter in some faraway
seaport. She was photographed in the café where she is employed, and patrons
and fans are gazing at her with a mix of emotions revealed on their faces. The
young sailors look at her in awe of her beauty with hopeful and furtive,
wandering eyes. The older sailors have expressions of impatience as they wait
for their food orders or coffee refills.
Dmitri’s shipmate, Fyodor bemusedly asks, “Is this your girlfriend
you have been staring at for the last half hour?” He already knows the answer
as all the enlisted sailors pour over photographs and letters from their loved
ones when not on watch on deck or manning the engine rooms.
“Yes, these are her photographs. Look at how lovely her golden
hair shines in the light from the café window. Her eyes remind me of the ocean
farther south, a clear blue shade unlike the dark gray of the northern seas.
Dmitri carefully stored her photographs in the paperback he had borrowed from
the ship’s library. He enjoyed dreaming of her when taking a break from his
reading.
Fyodor continued, “I don’t have a girlfriend or fiancé, only
casual acquaintances that I date on occasion. I am not ready to settle down
like yourself. Congratulations, again, on your engagement. Have you decided
when the marriage is to take place?”
Dmitri was surprised that Fyodor would share such personal
information with him. They worked together on the ship but only knew each other
since the present assignment sailed a month ago from the port in Murmansk. The
general quarters for the sailors were little more than cramped bunk beds and
hammocks on the wall for storage. The sailors tried to stay out of each other’s
way and were somewhat successful because of the staggered work schedule. The
twelve-hour shifts allowed the sailors some personal time when not enjoying the
cooks grub or playing chess or ping pong ball in the recreation room. Dmitri
decided he could maintain his privacy by limiting his interactions with others
when unnecessary. The other sailors mistook this for shyness or disinterest,
but this was a family trait he had learned from his father, Sergei, who had
survived numerous years as a forced laborer under the Stalinist regime in the
old guard Communist Soviet Union.
“No, we have not set a date yet as our plans are tentative. The
Navy has us apart quite a bit because of my assignments with the Novo
shipments,” replied Dmitri.
“It is too bad Lena could not enlist with you and be assigned as
a couple on the same ship.” Fyodor was referring to the newly adopted practice
in the Russian Navy of allowing husbands and wives to serve their enlisted
assignments together as a team on the same ships. The practice was experimental
and difficult to implement as there is limited space for privacy onboard the
ships. All the enlisted men were in favor of the rule change but the officers
feared debauchery and jealous emotions that might interfere with the ship's
discipline.
3
Capt. Malyovich looked very concerned as he hung up the
satellite phone on the bridge. He ordered his assistant to convey a general
order to gather the crew of twenty-seven together on the deck. He had received
bad news from the Russian naval base at Severomorsk. The flotilla had been
ordered to reroute to a location forty-two kilometers northeast. A Russian
nuclear-powered submarine had been forced to surface unexpectedly due to a fire
on board. The ships in the flotilla were to help evacuate the crew of the
submarine. Lives were lost due to the fire and resultant smoke inhalation. Some
of the crew had evacuated to lifeboats while others worked to secure the
nuclear reactor on board the submarine as well as the torpedoes and warheads
that the vessel carried.
This was a very dangerous assignment. The cargo vessel was to
bring the victims on board and a destroyer escort was to attempt to haul the
submarine to port at Severomorsk in Russia. The fire had started when a torpedo
misfired during a Russian naval training exercise seventy kilometers north of
the Norwegian coast. The propellant exploded in the torpedo bay and caused
damage to electrical cables and caused a subsequent fire to break out. The fire
suppression system activated, however five sailors suffocated as the oxygen was
depleted. Several were burned beyond recognition. The submarine surfaced within
twenty minutes of the accident, and the remaining crewmen were evacuated to
inflatable lifeboats. Time was of the essence in the rescue effort as the water
temperature was three degrees centigrade. The naval flotilla and a fishing
vessel churned towards the stricken submarine in hopes of finding
survivors.
Captain Malyovich ordered Dmitri and the others to assemble life
jackets and blankets on the deck of the Novo. A small speedboat was ready to be
lowered into the water to ferry survivors of the mishap to safety onboard the
Novo. All the ships in the flotilla neared the rescue site and maintained a
half kilometer distance between each vessel. The Novo sat lowest in the water,
so it was ordered to maintain its first responder status. There was plenty of
space in the cargo hold for the survivors to bunk until the flotilla arrived in
Severomorsk the following day. The temporary quarters were well away from the
radioactive cargo and numerous lead-lined bulkhead doors offered further
protection.
Malyovich looked out to sea as he spoke to the crewmen, “This is
an unexpected change in our itinerary, but we have orders to follow. We are to
deliver as much help as possible to the stricken crew of the Ural. The rescued
sailors will stay in the forward hold away from the cargo area. They will be
safe there and out of harm’s way. See to your stations,” the captain ordered.
Dmitri wondered about the truthfulness of the captain’s words. He
did not like the way the man refused to look the sailors in the eye when he
spoke of the cargo. Dmitri spoke to Fyodor, his shipmate, “Can we trust what
the captain is saying? My instinct tells me no.”
Fyodor replied, “What can we do? Malyovich has his orders from
Severomorsk and the commanders there.”
The flotilla was very fortunate as the weather had calmed, and the
ocean was tranquil with minimal half meter waves. The rescue attempt was successful,
and the sailors and officers safely boarded Novo. They were able to negotiate
the disturbance caused by the sinking of the Ural as the submarine listed and
then disappeared under the surface of the ocean. Tensions were heightened,
however as the captain and officers of the Ural did not know what to expect
from the nuclear reactor that had powered the Ural. The bulkheads isolating
that part of the submarine were watertight so there would be a delay before a
reaction to the salt water were to occur if at all. The officers successfully
powered down the reactor yet there was spent nuclear fuel and the reactor cores
to consider. The flotilla hurriedly turned and continued their return voyage to
Murmansk. The Russian naval commanders at Severomorsk ordered their fleets to
avoid a perimeter of one hundred and fifty kilometers from where the Ural had
sunk to the ocean floor. The depth where the Ural rested was two hundred and
twenty-seven meters, which was relatively shallow for an open ocean. The
Barents Sea was classified as a shelf sea and a continental shelf extended
outward from Scandinavia and Russia for quite a way before yielding to the
depths of the Arctic Ocean.
Dmitri helped to secure the sailors and officers in their
makeshift quarters on the Novo. Several of the sailors had received burns from
the fire on the stricken sub and the remainder considered themselves lucky to
have escaped at all. Five sailors had been trapped in a forward compartment and
their fate was unknown although it was assumed that they had succumbed to the
flash fire that had initially occurred when the torpedo malfunctioned.
4
Several of the rescued sailors gathered on deck and were
enjoying the salty air and the light breeze. Flasks of vodka were passed around
as Capt. Malyovich generously helped to celebrate the successful rescue. The
cries of the seagulls were welcome indeed as the flotilla neared the coast of
Murmansk Oblast in Russia. Dmitri joined the sailors and was quite happy and
relieved that the shipment of the irradiated reactor equipment and the spent
nuclear fuel was arriving to port without incident. He was extremely agitated
during the rescue of the crew of the Ural as he did not know what to expect
from the wreckage and the spent nuclear reactor onboard. Dmitri looked older
than his years as his beard leant a darkened appearance to his facial
complexion. His piercing black eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep but the
excitement of nearing the flotilla’s destination and his coveted rendezvous
with his beloved Lena prevented him from sleep. Tomorrow he would be safely
ashore and in the arms of his girl.
The wind caught Dmitri’s hair and whipped it away from his face.
This trip from Odessa and the lack of sleep and the anxiety and worry took its
toll on his youthful face. Already he had dark circles under his eyes, and it
gave him a haggard, raffish appearance that belied his young age of
twenty-three. This was only his second voyage with the Novo on this sea route.
Dmitri knew that the Soviets had been reckless with their treatment of the
spent nuclear fuel and the radioactive assemblies from the nuclear reactors.
There were over five hundred decommissioned reactors in the Kola peninsula from
naval vessels as well as from domestic energy production in the former USSR.
Other materials were simply deposited into the ocean in the Kara Sea to the
north of Siberia. Everyone on this ship knew of the Soviet government’s
disregard for safety. The travesty made Dmitri want to strike out at those
responsible for the debacle. He knew that many in the former Communist
government were still public servants, and this knowledge did not sit well with
Dmitri.
"This sickens me. I am afraid I might throw up any
minute," thought Dmitri as he fought to keep that from happening around
his shipmates.
The fight or flight instinct was in play when Dmitri thought about
the radioactive pollution in the Kara Sea. Adding salt to the wound, the
present government wanted to exploit the Kara Sea as prime fishing ground. That
part of the ocean was only ice free for two or three months out of the year.
"What were these people thinking when they decided to dump
the spent nuclear fuel into the open ocean? Where does it go, and does it harm
the sea life and what about the danger to humans if they eat the fish from that
area?" Dmitri had many unanswered questions and wanted to research the
topic further when he returned to Murmansk.
5
The Murmansk peninsula is a wasteland where mining and
manufacturing activities took place since the late 1800s. Unmaintained dump
sites for toxic waste were ubiquitous. The sky was dark and dingy not only from
the winter weather but also because of the toxic clouds of pollutants emitted
by the factories and processing plants on the peninsula. Rainbow hued patterns
festooned the bay leading to the Arctic Ocean as the runoff from the toxic
dumps poisoned the local waters that fed into the pristine Arctic. This had
been going on for a long time.
The port of Murmansk was built during World War I to bring
supplies, armaments and troops to the north of Russia in the winter. The port
was ice free due to the warm currents of the Atlantic influencing the water
temperatures in the vicinity. Still, winter storms menaced the area, and
Murmansk boasted an extreme climate as the largest city north of the Arctic
Circle. Nuclear warhead tests on Arctic islands farther to the east also served
to increase the importance of the military installation at Severomorsk,
twenty-five kilometers northeast of Murmansk.
Dmitri's father was a supervisor in the naval port facility.
Sergei Romanev Khromov was a former prisoner of one of Josef Stalin’s Communist
Party purges and had been exiled to Murmansk from Moscow. He and the other
prisoners were tasked with helping to build the city and the shipping facility
or face the prospects of the dreaded gulags. The arctic environment was brutal
for them as the housing facilities for the prisoners provided only simple
shelter from the wind. The walls were bare, unpainted slats of wood with an
improvised layer of tar paper insulation beneath that. The roof was corrugated
tin and leaked everywhere as the nails securing the tin had not been properly
sealed to prevent moisture from getting through. The public latrine outside the
structure overflowed constantly and serviced over one hundred prisoners. The
dormitory featured bunks stacked three high with thin mattresses that looked as
if rats nested there as well. The prisoners suffered from lice, scabies and
bedbugs and their skin boasted continuous weeping lesions that never healed,
that would crust over until the itching became so unbearable that the prisoners
would scratch until they bled, then the healing process would start all over
again.
The prisoners were forced to work on the construction of the
buildings to house the future city dwellers and the administrative centers as
well as the facilities in the military base and port. They toiled year-round
for meager rations, often only a loaf of Russian peasant bread, some potatoes
and, mercifully, a measure of vodka. It was homemade quality and lacked
robustness and flavor, but it helped the prisoners to make it through the long
hours of Arctic darkness as they continued to labor at the construction sites.
The heating at all the jobsites was provided by kettles of kerosene that were
set on fire with a small smokestack above each kettle to radiate the heat and
provide protection from the flames in the windy workspace. Many of the
prisoners helped to transport toxic waste from manufacturing and mining
operations in Murmansk. Nickle was mined and refined at several locations and
iron was smelted as well. The prisoners all returned to their barracks
blackened by the smoke that they had breathed all day. Coughing filled the air
throughout the night and not a few passed away from advanced lung diseases
because of the pollution and poor diet.
Sergei Khromov, Dmitri's father was fortunate, indeed. He had been
trained as an accountant with the government housing office in Moscow before he
was arrested during a purge. His accounting and math skills were highly sought
in this remote area and his mental acuity helped to provide a buffer against
the severe physical labor that alone killed numerous prisoners. He was tasked
with helping to run the accounting office for the port at Severomorsk. The
British Air Force had also formerly used the facilities there and in Murmansk
during World War II to maintain its fighter squadron that had protected the
Allied forces’ Arctic convoys that had operated in these waters during the war
effort.
Khromov's civil service position was not without rewards. His
rations were greater and the housing facilities much more adequate than the
prisoners’ barracks. He worked in the inventory office, and he helped to
inspect the cargo, the men, and the machinery that arrived at the port. His job
took on a very mysterious and onerous quality when the Soviet government began
to establish nuclear waste storage facilities outside of Murmansk. Andreyeva Bay
was only fifty-five kilometers from the border with Norway and one hundred
seven kilometers north of Murmansk. Spent rods, used nuclear fuel, plutonium
and other radioactive waste products from nuclear reactors around the former
USSR were interred at Andreyeva Bay in shoddy conditions, often in steel pipes
encased in dubious quality concrete. The science of radioactivity was either
entirely lost on the storage facility operators, or they simply did not value
the lives of the personnel that were tasked with the operation of maintaining
the warehouses.
The federal government had broken up in 1991 and various provinces
of the former USSR were declaring their independence. The workers in Murmansk
and Andreyeva Bay, already used to trifling pay scales, were desolate as their
paychecks stopped altogether. Khromov was desperate. The nuclear waste products
could not be left unattended. The facilities were nearly full, and he did not
want a repetition of the disaster of 1982 when radioactive water leaked into
the bay from Building 5. Years were spent cleaning up afterwards and the effort
continued yet. Fortunately, no one died in that debacle, however many laborers
and cleanup personnel received high doses of radiation and were beginning to
show signs of poisoning.
Khromov had to decide whether to accept further lucrative
shipments of nuclear waste products from around Eastern Europe or operate the
facilities without a budget at all. "Why did not the Soviet comrades plan
for situations like this? Who could have foreseen the breakup of the USSR in
this manner?" argued Khromov with himself but his perplexed expression
belied his inner turmoil.
The high defense budgets, costs of military and political
incursions around the world, as well as the simple northern and Arctic
geography of the country incurred a high cost. The industrial complex was inefficient,
and the oil industry was not profit motivated, so the federal coffers
suffered.
6
Lena Raijia Olafson anxiously waited for words from her
young fiancé, Dmitri. He had deployed over three months ago for another
assignment with the Russian Navy to procure and transport the nuclear waste
products from various ports around southeastern Europe. The transport was low
key but everyone in Murmansk was aware of the movement of the material. All
that they did was receive, process and transport the various radioactive
materials to the storage unit at Andreyeva Bay. The port just to the north at
Severomorsk serviced the Russian Navy as well.
Lena pondered, "I hope all goes well with Dmitri, he has been gone
for so long. So proud of him with his recent promotion! He is
self-conscious and feels inferior because he is the son of a former prisoner.
His Navy buddies have fathers who are officers in the Navy. Why does he feel
this way over the past that he cannot change? Look at how much they have
done!"
Lena was shocked by Dmitri’s unexpected desire to marry her. They
had been dating occasionally when he was in port. With the recent chaos and deprivation,
they were experiencing, she did not think this was an opportune time to plan a
wedding and a family.
"My love seemed so philosophical and unexpectedly spiritual when he
told me about his thoughts on marriage. Such a very traditional belief that
marriage is a commitment and union that is for eternity despite what may happen
here on this earth." Lena continued to disbelieve this dream had come true
and anxiously waited for a moment of awakening to deliver her from her present
turmoil as well as the unexpected turn of events with Dmitri.
He explained to her that even if they faced death, their union would continue
afterwards though in a different form Dmitri had described. This belief was
somewhat alien to her as her background was the traditional Sami nature
folkway. To them the cycle of birth, life and death was inescapable. Death
simply returned to the earth what was hers to begin with. The Samis believe in
animism, spirit forms inhabit nature and are to be respected and honored. Lena
was careful not to attract attention to her native beliefs for fear of
repercussions. The old ways were resisted by the government. The former
Communist Party had marginalized the Samis to a miniscule territory near the
Norwegian border. They were forced to live in the collective and not allowed to
practice their native ways. Some were allowed to continue the traditional
herding of the reindeer and these nomadic tribesmen travelled between Norway,
Sweden and Finland where many other Samis had been somewhat assimilated into
the local cultures. However, many had fled to America in the early 1900s to
escape the effects of the popular racial segregation that had prospered in
Scandinavia. Though blonde and blue-eyed, the Samis were not considered
Scandinavian and were hampered by much discrimination and suspicion. Many
passed themselves off as Nordic and went underground with their traditional
culture and native beliefs and they did not mention their background to anyone
in America.
7
Lena prepared to meet her father, a community leader
of the Saamis, in that part of the Murmansk Province or Oblast as it was known.
The Murmansk city officials and representatives of the Russian Navy had
negotiated with the Sami leadership as well as the governments of Norway,
Finland and Sweden to begin a food procurement pipeline to provide much needed
relief to the local population. The town had lost a third of its citizenry as
freedom of movement had been restored and many decided to seek opportunity
elsewhere in St. Petersburg or Moscow while others returned to their native
villages where they still had family in rural parts of Russia. The commodities
and foodstuffs brought into the port by the Russian government proved
inadequate although even at their zenith the distribution system was riddled
with inefficiency, corruption and outright hijacking and theft of shipments
intended for the Russian Navy and the local population of Murmansk.
Unfortunately, due to unbridled pollution from the mining and manufacturing
infrastructure in the Murmansk Oblast, the local waters were very polluted. One
ate from the local streams and rivers as well as the local waters of the Arctic
Ocean at one’s own risk.
Storehouses and commissaries had been stocked and supplied at one
time after the decimation from World War II. The stock was not maintained well
nor replenished as often as it should have been. As a result, one suffered from
possible food poisoning from botulism, spoilage of goods as well as a
disgusting array of maggots and other vermin that invaded the ill-attended
warehouses. Vegetable cultivation was possible with the aid of greenhouses,
however the permafrost north of the Arctic Circle prevented large scale farming
cooperatives. Numerous fresh shipments of relief supply from Norway, Sweden and
Finland and the Samis had already reached Murmansk, and the citizenry and navy
personnel clamored for more. The relief efforts also helped to restore faith
and trust that had been allowed to perish. The area of Murmansk was exceedingly
remote and had been neglected by the Soviet government except for the bare
necessities that the military needed to service its fleet there.
Large festive gatherings occurred when the Samis and others
arrived in town with their supplies and the vodka flowed. These celebrations
reminded Lena of the Sami’s traditional seasonal equinox and solstice
gatherings. Huge bonfires were lit and home wrought music and dancing were
everywhere! Occasional glimpses of the Aurora Borealis added to the
festivities. It was during one of these gatherings last winter that Dmitri had
proposed to her, Lena reminisced. At times she wrote it all off to the effects
of the firelight and the vodka. They had continued their relationship all
summer while Dmitri was in port and the work on the ships commenced to maintain
seaworthiness. The cargo ships were lifted by large cranes and work began to
secure the structure of the hull and finished with good cleaning and a fresh
coat of marine paint.
8
Sergei enters his office and slams the door shut as his son
abruptly runs down the street. He mutters excitedly to himself and then goes
berserk in the room overturning chairs, tables and breaking a window in the
process. The wind sends snow into the room and the cool breeze helps to calm
him. He reaches his desk and pours a stiff glass of vodka. He upturns the glass
with quick gulps and helps himself to another. “What does he see in that woman,
this Lena?” Sergei ruminates. “He is young, handsome, and a professional
sailor. He has a future in the military if he keeps his nose to the grindstone.
A foreigner as a wife will complicate things and bring suspicion on him from
his superiors. His security clearance is not jeopardized yet but why take chances?
Sergei Khromov had invited his son, Dmitri, in for a drink as
work wound down for the day. Dmitri spent the day on duty at the Naval port in
Severomorsk where the Russian northern fleet is based. The ocean waters in this
part of northern Russia are ice free in winter due to the presence of Gulf
Stream waters that reach across the Atlantic and help to keep the ocean
temperature above freezing. The base is home to nuclear powered submarines as
well as other ships that are retrofitted to a nuclear reactor configuration. A
multitude of piers and docks extend into the water and everything from large
destroyers, submarines, and other fleet operatives as well as civilian ships
and boats line the water’s edge. Severomorsk is an important asset to the
Russian military and saw action during World War II servicing Allied planes to
help the Russians defeat the Nazi forces that invaded from the west. This part
of the Kola peninsula suffered extreme bombing and destruction from Hitler’s
forces but was quickly rebuilt, it was that important to the Navy. In addition,
Murmansk is a shipping hub that accepts supplies and produce and from which
metal ores and oil are exported.
Sergei adds more coal to the makeshift stove fashioned from a recycled
oil drum. The interior of the office already feels like a sauna, and this
always causes Dmitri to be concerned that the wood paneling would burst into
flame at some point. The office has a low ceiling as well and the rising heat
from the stove must be carefully tended. The sulfur fumes from the coal fire
are highly offensive and both men throw open the windows to help dissipate the
odor. This is not the highest quality coal.
“How are you, Father?” Dmitri inquires. Always the dutiful son, Dmitri,
has mixed emotions toward his father related to past career choices the senior
Khromov made. Their relationship is strained due to Dmitri’s decision to date
Lena Olafson who is a Swedish woman employed in a café in Murmansk near the
waterfront.
“I am fine, son. Will you be at the celebration tonight? You know
the townsfolk always celebrate when the sailors are in port and the supplies of
fresh reindeer meat have arrived from the Saami tribe. Will Lena’s father be
there do you think?” inquired Sergei.
Dmitri replied, “The tradition is to always welcome the herdsmen
as honored guests. There may be other family members as well. The work is
usually tended to by the entire family.”
Sergei did not know how to react to this. He knew the guests were
honored by the townsfolk, but he did not want his son involved with them on a
personal level.
Dmitri continued, “Lena’s family are Saamis, traditional reindeer
herders who are permitted to graze their charges across the borders in the
Scandinavian northern regions as well as in the northern part of the Kola
Peninsula where Murmansk and Severomorsk are located. The entire region is
traditional grazing land for the reindeer who must migrate incessantly to
prevent overgrazing and ruination of the tundra from taking place. The Saamis
follow the reindeer to protect them from animal predators as well as poachers
who could easily decimate the herd.”
Sergei listens politely but does not reply. “I do not want
my son to spend a lot of time discussing his girlfriend’s family. I want him to
be rid of the relationship and the sooner the better,” Sergei thinks to
himself.
“I am sorry that I have not spoken with you since our fleet
arrived from Odessa,” Dmitri states.
“You will be accompanying the nuclear material to Andreyeva Bay?”
asks Sergei. He appears somewhat agitated and looks away as he says this.
“I have my orders to assist the transportation to the storage
facility,” replies Dmitri. He guesses his father’s dread and remorse as to the
situation at Andreyeva Bay. Since the early 1980s, material from the improperly
stored nuclear waste had leaked into the pristine waters of the bay and even
further into the open Arctic waters. Cleanup efforts were progressing as the
Naval personnel were tasked with this Herculean and dangerous effort. Material
had been stored in concrete filled metal tubes that had since corroded from the
original installation in the late 1950s and 1960s. The metal was rusted and broken,
and the concrete was inferior and fell apart. The highly radioactive wastewater
has poisoned the waters around the storage facility. Fish kills are becoming
more common as thousands of the dead float on the still waters of the bay and
foul the shoreline. The stench of decay is sickening and horrific. The seagulls
are poisoned as they feast on easy catch.
Dmitri thought, “You knew the storage facility at Andreyeva was
falling apart yet you continued to add more nuclear waste material to the
place. How could anyone in his right mind allow this to happen?” Dmitri does
not allow his resentment to show. It is incredulous that the material had been
so carelessly handled, and a myriad of questions floated through his mind.
Dmitri does not elaborate. “We are to leave tomorrow at ten in
the morning. The material transport can’t wait.”
No, indeed, the shipment must be disposed of properly as soon as
possible,” Sergei replies. He walks across the room and rifles through a stack
of shipping invoices on his desk. His hands tremor slightly, and Dmitri
pretends not to notice. The snow is lightly falling again.
Neither want to jeopardize their employment, Dmitri as a sailor
and Sergei as a civilian government representative in Murmansk. The tension is
thick in the room and both men walk outdoors to escape the smothering
undercurrent of emotion as well as the uncomfortable heat from the coal stove.
Dmitri feels as if he was being drawn into a vortex, a feeling of utter
hopelessness pervades his psyche. This emotion is new to him, its source he
cannot identify and can only guess at. He tries to brush off the feeling as he
sweeps snow away from his uniform.
Sergei is fretting that his son is assigned to the
Andreyeva Bay transport. He knows that in earlier times, nuclear waste disposal
was not much of a concern. Some material was disposed of in the Karel Sea to
the east of Murmansk. That area of the Arctic is frozen solid a good ten months
out of the year. There are not many people living in that region, so the
disposal was a non-issue to the government at that time.
Sergei’s worst fear is that a deranged cadre of government
officials are deliberately attempting to thaw polar ice by using the
radioactive material in the hopes of clearing a northwest passage that would
provide open shipping lanes along the northern coast of Siberia and Russia.
These types of thoughts cause Sergei to breathe heavily to avert a panicked
state. His eyes widen, his nostrils flare in and out quickly, his fists clench
and he careens around the room as a surplus of adrenalin takes over. Sergei
knows a jogging regimen would help him to stay centered but the idea of running
in the snow and biting Arctic winds is not appealing.
“Lena will be at the celebration this evening,” Dmitri announces
struggling to maintain a sense of normality in the conversation. The silent
lull is awkward, and he seeks composure. His fiancé wants to spend time alone
with Dmitri, but he knows his own family and professional duties will not
excuse him. Dreading his father’s reaction to his engagement, he has yet to
announce the betrothal to him.
Sergei does not respond. He disapproves of the relationship with
a Swede and the daughter of a reindeer herder, no less. He hopes his son will
outgrow this infatuation. His shoulders hunch over in defeat as he tries to
hide his reaction of disdain and revulsion. “How has she been,” Sergei inquires
in an emotionless manner. “She is such a lovely woman to grace the tables of
the sailors at port,” he adds.
Dmitri ventures, “Soon she and I will marry, and she won’t have
to work there anymore.” He looks at his father for a reaction either of
dismissal, approval, anything that would clue him into what tack to take.
Sergei is long used to hiding his emotions. He had survived an
internment in his youth when he had been sent with others during a Stalinist
purge in Moscow in the late 1940s. The prisoners were given the choice of
forced labor in a Siberian gulag camp, from which few ever return, or forced
labor helping to rebuild the bombed out remains of Murmansk and Severomorsk.
Sergei decides to take a concerned fatherly approach. “You must
not do something you will later regret. You have only been dating for less than
a year and primarily this past summer when you were in port. I think you will
outgrow these feelings as time passes.”
Dmitri is greatly offended by this. “I have already matured into
a man, man enough for the Russian navy. We have already made up our minds and
hoped you would give us your blessing. Won’t you please not use marriage as a
chess piece for career advancement and consider our feelings!”
Sergei responds by wagging his finger at Dmitri the way a father
would discipline a disobedient toddler. Dmitri is disgusted at this and leaves
without saying a word. He knows his father wants him to marry someone who may
help to advance his career, but Dmitri finds this to be cold and calculating
and dismisses the thought. Politically arranged marriages are passé, and the
custom is a relic of a century prior. “Who are we, the Romanovs?” mocks Dmitri.
His father’s attitude of insincerity maddens his son who does not want to
retaliate nor engage in a verbal battle.
“That is his problem,” Dmitri thinks to himself as he gulps the
icy air to cool his heated emotions. His eyes moisten and he stifles his hurt
emotions as he returns to his barracks to prepare to meet his girl that evening
for the bonfire.
Dmitri decides to work out in the gym to get rid of the tension
he is carrying from his father’s discussion. He changes into workout sweats and
proceeds across the street from the barracks to the enlisted men’s gymnasium.
Several sailors are playing basketball and others can be heard on the
racquetball courts. No amount of money is spared to furnish the recreational
facilities as the winters are long and dark, and the men need to stay active
with the bitter polar blasts taking over.
Dmitri spends the next hour pumping iron in a very aggressive and
loud manner. His physique is like his father’s, over six feet tall with broad
shoulders, slender hips and large paws for hands that could seriously damage an
opponent if necessary. He quickly showers afterwards and is careful to apply
antibiotic to the sores on his legs that have been plaguing him since the
middle of this last tour of duty on the heavily laden military cargo vessel,
the Novo, and its cargo of nuclear waste and material destined for Andreev Bay
for long term storage. At last, he is ready to meet his girl, Lena. He and
several shipmates meet up in Murmansk for a round of drinks then Dmitri hastens
to Lena’s apartment several blocks away.
Lena quickly answers the door. They embrace lovingly and
longingly. Lena is tantalized by Dmitri’s firm muscles and caresses his back
and neck. Dmitri grasps Lena’s locks of corn silk blonde tresses and plays with
them, twirling them around his fingers and splaying the fine gold strands in
the light. He is mesmerized by her soft blue irises and invitingly full lips.
They kiss and Dmitri grasps Lena’s head with both hands. The fresh ginger scent
of her perfume fills his nostrils, and he softly flicks his tongue around her
earlobe and down the nape of her neck. Lena reluctantly pulls away. She knows
they are expected soon by the others at the bonfire. She and Dmitri have
started a fire of desire themselves but must wait until later. With eyes
overladen with love, they depart for the celebration.
9
Dmitri and Lena met up with his father as they gathered for
celebration at the latest bonfire. The snowstorm had cleared, and the stars
shone brilliantly in the November sky. Everyone was in a jovial mood as the
relief shipments had arrived, and the local sailors were back who had deployed
for the nuclear material transport from the Black Sea.
Lena and Dmitri joined the celebration in the town square where
the crowd had gathered around the bonfires. Dmitri’s father feigned a smile as
the couple surrounded him and embraced. They had yet to announce their
engagement. No nuptial plans were in place as the couple had to consider
important decisions to be made such as where to live and did, they want to have
children as well as career directions.
Earlier, Lena asked Dmitri, “What can we do or explain to Father
about your family. They are Russian and he resents what they did to his family
and community?”
Dmitri replied, “I have several shipmates who have encountered the
same problem. They decided to simply tell the truth. Our fathers were
imprisoned by Stalin and forced to come to Murmansk or go to the gulag where
they would die. Yes, they are Russian, but they were punished by the same
leaders who punished your own people. My father did not do this and neither did
my ancestors.” Lena relented but wasn’t entirely convinced that her father
would accept this reprisal to his own prejudices. Life for his family on the
collective was very difficult. Over two thousand Saami natives had been forced
into the collective which boasted horrible, ghetto-like conditions. Vile filth
was everywhere as there was no running water; the natives were dependent on
snow melt and what they could haul from a stream in the summer. Food sources
were unreliable, and the Communist leaders were meager in their permissions to
allow the Samis to hunt and fish and gather from the forests as was their
tradition for thousands of years. As a result, malnutrition flourished in this
land of plenty and many died. Lena’s own grandparents died of starvation in the
winter of 1944 as they unselfishly sought to ensure the survival of their
children with what little they could find. Those were heartless times, the
government maintained the collective as if it were a prison.
Saamis depend on traditional husbandry of the reindeer herds for
much of their own livelihood. The animals provide fur and meat for the
community. The women meticulously sew skallers, the traditional Saami boots as
well as outerwear with the fur and hides. The weaving and sewing skills bring
the women of the community great honor and influence as the families live far
from modern clothing outlets. Sami society is changing as the Norwegian,
Swedish and Finnish governments subsidize their housing and health care needs.
The Saami community in the Kola Peninsula where Murmansk is located were at a
deplorable disadvantage due to the prior policy of segregation to enforced
collectives and the regulation of the reindeer herding. Elsewhere in
Scandinavia, ATVs were in use to herd the animals from place to place in search
of productive grazing areas. Those who herded reindeer in the Russian Kola
Peninsula are dependent on their own physical resources to tend the animals due
to fuel rationing and lack of modern transportation. They simply walk on foot
as they tend to the animals. The reindeer move at a fast pace and the herdsmen
are challenged to keep up with them.
Lena’s father, Bjorn Olafson, was born in the Saami community of
Häggsjönäs, Jämtland, Sweden. The traditional Saami house consisted of tree
trunks arranged in a conical shape that imitated the more portable teepee like
tents that the migratory Saami herdsmen carried with them. Modern conveniences
are rare in these traditional structures although many of the community did opt
for government housing as attempts were made to modernize the community in this
way. The herdsmen and their families follow the reindeer, and the entire family
is active in this time-honored occupation. The parents relay to the children
the intricacies of herding and branding. The ears of the reindeer sport the
marks of the various families who own the animals. A deft wielder of the knife
could place the mark on the ear without drawing blood. The traditional ways
were returning as the Saamis sought to reestablish their former way of life and
culture. There was conflict as in any society when the past and future collided.
Lena and Dmitri sought solid ground as they navigated the traditions their
parents accepted as the norm and their own career responsibilities and plans.
The couple excused themselves and went for a walk along the
waterfront. They clutched each other as if to prevent the world from stealing
them away as well as their hopes for the future. It felt wonderful to be in
Dmitri's arms again. Dmitri spun Lena around, tightly embraced her and planted
a long-awaited kiss on Lena’s lips and upturned face. He kissed away her tears
of joy on his return. They continued their moonlight meandering.
