"Raising Samuel" scene: Chernobyl
Nov. 15th, 2011 10:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
violetcheetahNote: In the first scene of the novel, we learn that for years, Meg (the mother) and her older brother Larry refer to particularly vivid sunsets as "a Chernobyl sky." From the time he was a preschooler, Sam parrots them, hearing it as "sure noble sky," which makes perfect sense. In the scene below, he's 10.
I was editing a neurochemistry PhD thesis in my bedroom, and it was taking all my mental focus to wade through unfamiliar nouns and verbs and jargon. When I looked at the clock, it was somehow after 3:30; Sam should have been home nearly an hour ago, but I never heard him burst through the door, drop his books, call out to me. The panic was still just forming when I got to the bottom of the stairs and heard the stereo, so quiet I couldn't make out the tune.
He was just sitting cross-legged on the couch, his head back but his eyes open. He must have been able to see me in the doorway, but he never moved his gaze from a spot on the ceiling. The music was something with a violin, plaintive, then maudlin.
"Hey. Didn't hear you come in." He stayed motionless. "Bad day at school?"
"Nope." It came out both flat and light. Finally he turned to face me, with an icy smile. "I learned a lot today. You know what about?" Now I was the one frozen, scared of this stranger. "Chernobyl! Ever heard of it?"
I don't ever remember hearing my blood beat in my ears before, but this was a new shame, bright and queasy. I took one step toward the couch, and he stood and backed away, and I was rooted again. He stopped the music with the remote, never looking away from me.
"Did you know that all these years later, everybody's still arguing over just how many people died of cancer: 30 thousand, 200 thousand, a million." He recited the numbers with sarcastic cheer; his eyes glittered with tears. "And nobody agrees about birth defects, either. And a whole forest turned red and died. All the trees just — You just, you and Larry both, and I did it, too, all the sunsets, I —"
That unfroze me, his self-shame. I didn't dare touch him, but I took a step and knelt at his feet, and it was a relief to let him tower over me like he should. "Don't even think you're at fault, Sam. This is all me, all Larry. We're the assholes."
"But you're not! Not about other stuff, you're always so, everybody says you're too nice, but then you, you laugh at them, all the people, and the babies, and everything was poisoned." He shrugged wearily and sat back down on the couch, staring at his dangling feet.
I moved slowly from kneeling to sitting, still on the floor. "I was never thinking about the people. That sounds horrible when I say it. But I was too busy thinking about the people who caused it, the know-it-alls running their country who thought they had all the answers, and had everything under control, and it seems stupid now, but they were our sworn enemy back then, and you get so caught up in, in fear. We were terrified of them, we thought they wanted to kill us all, and with that same poison, nuclear stuff, only worse, and of course it wasn't the people's fault, they were just people, but when you're scared —"
He glanced up for a second. "Clyde."
Absolution. I didn't deserve it, but he was offering. I didn't cry and throw my arms around him. "Yes. That's what it was like. But, no, I don't get off that easy, because their government was Clyde."
"No, their government was Clyde's mom. It wasn't ever really Clyde's fault."
My hand went to my chest, below my collarbone. I tried to exhale. Alarmed, he put his hand over mine. "Mom?"
I could breathe out, almost laughing, as we both lowered our hands. "Sam, you astound me."
"What? Why?"
"You're just, you're so freaking wise. Kids aren't supposed to be wiser than their parents. It's disconcerting."
"I don't understand."
"That's part of your wisdom: it's effortless."
"Doesn't feel effortless sometimes."
"Maybe it just looks that way to me. Like music." He glanced back at the stereo. "Should I leave you alone with what you were listening to?"
"You can stay if you want." I might have read more of an invitation into his words than he intended, but he made room on the couch and started the track over.
It began well, sad but deep, but then the pitch rose and swooped and became overwrought, making me think of Byron's poetry, making my teeth hurt with sweetness and angst. I picked up the CD case: Tchaikovsky, Sérénade Mélancolique. Aptly named. And it would last a second shy of ten minutes; I was only halfway through. But Sam was leaning forward, eyes closed tight, and I tried to hear what he heard. The darkness returned to save me, the same repeated phrase as before, and I had to admit it compelled me, made me ache and then miss it and hope for its return when the strident part took control again. But there it was, under the higher notes. Had it been there earlier without my noticing? Then I was so busy searching for it that I was surprised when the track ended and silence fell.
Sam frowned at a spot in the air, his head tilted. "I still can't decide if I like it or not. It's kinda cheesy." I held back a triumphant smile. "But I keep listening to it. It's like poking at a loose tooth."
"See, that's the effortless wisdom I'm talking about." He rolled his eyes and got up to change the disc.
I was editing a neurochemistry PhD thesis in my bedroom, and it was taking all my mental focus to wade through unfamiliar nouns and verbs and jargon. When I looked at the clock, it was somehow after 3:30; Sam should have been home nearly an hour ago, but I never heard him burst through the door, drop his books, call out to me. The panic was still just forming when I got to the bottom of the stairs and heard the stereo, so quiet I couldn't make out the tune.
He was just sitting cross-legged on the couch, his head back but his eyes open. He must have been able to see me in the doorway, but he never moved his gaze from a spot on the ceiling. The music was something with a violin, plaintive, then maudlin.
"Hey. Didn't hear you come in." He stayed motionless. "Bad day at school?"
"Nope." It came out both flat and light. Finally he turned to face me, with an icy smile. "I learned a lot today. You know what about?" Now I was the one frozen, scared of this stranger. "Chernobyl! Ever heard of it?"
I don't ever remember hearing my blood beat in my ears before, but this was a new shame, bright and queasy. I took one step toward the couch, and he stood and backed away, and I was rooted again. He stopped the music with the remote, never looking away from me.
"Did you know that all these years later, everybody's still arguing over just how many people died of cancer: 30 thousand, 200 thousand, a million." He recited the numbers with sarcastic cheer; his eyes glittered with tears. "And nobody agrees about birth defects, either. And a whole forest turned red and died. All the trees just — You just, you and Larry both, and I did it, too, all the sunsets, I —"
That unfroze me, his self-shame. I didn't dare touch him, but I took a step and knelt at his feet, and it was a relief to let him tower over me like he should. "Don't even think you're at fault, Sam. This is all me, all Larry. We're the assholes."
"But you're not! Not about other stuff, you're always so, everybody says you're too nice, but then you, you laugh at them, all the people, and the babies, and everything was poisoned." He shrugged wearily and sat back down on the couch, staring at his dangling feet.
I moved slowly from kneeling to sitting, still on the floor. "I was never thinking about the people. That sounds horrible when I say it. But I was too busy thinking about the people who caused it, the know-it-alls running their country who thought they had all the answers, and had everything under control, and it seems stupid now, but they were our sworn enemy back then, and you get so caught up in, in fear. We were terrified of them, we thought they wanted to kill us all, and with that same poison, nuclear stuff, only worse, and of course it wasn't the people's fault, they were just people, but when you're scared —"
He glanced up for a second. "Clyde."
Absolution. I didn't deserve it, but he was offering. I didn't cry and throw my arms around him. "Yes. That's what it was like. But, no, I don't get off that easy, because their government was Clyde."
"No, their government was Clyde's mom. It wasn't ever really Clyde's fault."
My hand went to my chest, below my collarbone. I tried to exhale. Alarmed, he put his hand over mine. "Mom?"
I could breathe out, almost laughing, as we both lowered our hands. "Sam, you astound me."
"What? Why?"
"You're just, you're so freaking wise. Kids aren't supposed to be wiser than their parents. It's disconcerting."
"I don't understand."
"That's part of your wisdom: it's effortless."
"Doesn't feel effortless sometimes."
"Maybe it just looks that way to me. Like music." He glanced back at the stereo. "Should I leave you alone with what you were listening to?"
"You can stay if you want." I might have read more of an invitation into his words than he intended, but he made room on the couch and started the track over.
It began well, sad but deep, but then the pitch rose and swooped and became overwrought, making me think of Byron's poetry, making my teeth hurt with sweetness and angst. I picked up the CD case: Tchaikovsky, Sérénade Mélancolique. Aptly named. And it would last a second shy of ten minutes; I was only halfway through. But Sam was leaning forward, eyes closed tight, and I tried to hear what he heard. The darkness returned to save me, the same repeated phrase as before, and I had to admit it compelled me, made me ache and then miss it and hope for its return when the strident part took control again. But there it was, under the higher notes. Had it been there earlier without my noticing? Then I was so busy searching for it that I was surprised when the track ended and silence fell.
Sam frowned at a spot in the air, his head tilted. "I still can't decide if I like it or not. It's kinda cheesy." I held back a triumphant smile. "But I keep listening to it. It's like poking at a loose tooth."
"See, that's the effortless wisdom I'm talking about." He rolled his eyes and got up to change the disc.