Magnitogorsk
February 1934
“I can’t believe my eyes,” Aurora said. “What are you doing here?”
Dr. Oleksandr Fizmatov smiled, leaned back against his hard wooden chair, and cast his eyes briefly toward the ceiling of the room. As even Aurora knew, this was him reminding her that, even though it was just the two of them in this little chamber, they were being listened to. “I brought you some food, Comrade Battleship,” he said. “Warm clothes. Some hygienic supplies. Women are not ordinarily detained in this facility and so I thought those might be lacking. The guards are inspecting these things. I trust they will be handed over to you in good order.”
All of which was good to hear and warmly appreciated. But during the last part of Fizmatov’s answer Aurora was staring openly at the ceiling and making broad gestures in all directions, attempting to draw her visitor’s attention to the fact that they were having this conversation in an OGPU interrogation cell. What was going on here? Was Fizmatov actually an OGPU agent, living undercover as a political prisoner? How dare he set foot in this place otherwise?
“You don’t understand,” he said gently. “That is okay. You are assuming a more Western paradigm of crime and punishment. Oh, that does exist here—for ordinary crimes like burglary and assault. But I’m not living in the Corrective Labor Colony because I robbed a bank. This is the outcome of a deal of sorts. I must pay a debt to the Revolution. I do this by applying my skills as a scientist toward the building of socialism. The best place for me to do so is here. For what is a steel mill but a scientific experiment on a grand scale? I have no secrets from the OGPU. Nor would I wish to. Merely visiting a friend who is assisting Comrade Shpak with his inquiries is not going to get me in trouble or place me under suspicion. More the opposite. My family and I are eager to be of assistance in learning all there is to know about your fascinating story.”
“Your family?”
“Oh, it so happens that Proton and Elektron have come down from Moscow for a few days to visit their old man.”
“That’s lovely, but . . . how would your boys enter into it?”
“Well, they are physicists!” Fizmatov said, as if it were self-evident. “There aren’t many of those around here. When they came into town, Comrade Shpak had tea with them and asked them some questions.”
Aurora’s eyes went wide.
“Of a purely technical and abstract nature about recent developments in their field,” Fizmatov continued, smiling and making a gesture with one hand as if patting her gently on the arm. “From the nature of these questions it became obvious that he was becoming acquainted with you and your story. That’s how I knew you were here.”
“Would it be indiscreet for me to ask what topics—what possible connection could exist between my story and recent advances in physics?”
“It sounds as though there are several connections. Niels Bohr. High-altitude balloon experiments. And X-rays. Does any of that ring a bell?”
“Those are all things I mentioned to Comrade Shpak in the telling of my story,” Aurora said. She angled her face up toward the light fixture, now basically talking directly to Shpak. “I am impressed by how thoroughly he goes into these things.”
“Well, of course, I have nothing more than third-hand accounts of what topics might have been discussed. But there is one detail that caused me to feel a little bit concerned about you, Aurora. About your health and well-being.”
“What is that, pray tell?”
“Please forgive me for prying into matters of a personal nature. But has there ever been a time in your life when you might have been exposed to X-rays?”
“Well, they used them to treat my mother. But more recently, last year, I was exposed to X-rays all the time.” She explained the fluoroscope and its use in checking the fit of shoes.
It took some doing to get Fizmatov to accept the reality of this. He simply couldn’t believe that X-rays were being used in this way. But once she had explained the device in detail, he finally accepted that it must be real.
“And,” he said, “once again, forgive me—am I to infer that you might have experienced some kind of unfortunate symptoms relating to your organs of reproduction?”
“How on earth would you know that?”
“Shpak asked Proton to look some things up. Proton sent a telegram to Moscow, and received a telegram back. There is recent research in this area, only published in scientific journals in the last year or two, suggesting that X-rays, as they pass through the body, can interact with reproductive tissue in a manner that can produce unfortunate symptoms.”
She wasn’t sure how long she sat silent. When she came out of it, though, she knew she had been weeping for a while. Fizmatov had made no move to come around to her side of the table and comfort her. But his eyes were red and he was blowing his nose.
“I really am terribly sorry,” he said, when he judged her fit for conversation.
“The sorrow is all in the past!” she said, shaking her head and smiling through the last deluge of tears. “I’m happy now. Happy that I understand. The doctor in Fort Sickles told me I had given birth to a monster. They filled my mind with crazy superstitions and they filled my veins with drugs. I half believed them. But when the whole thing is viewed through the instruments of science, it all makes sense.”
A day passed before she was brought into the interrogation room again. As usual, they sat her down and made her wait for a while. It wasn’t clear to her whether this was some kind of psychological tactic or mere incompetence. This wait was longer than usual. After at least two hours, she heard cars pulling up outside, car doors slamming. Some men entered the building, soldiers’ boots thumping and men’s dress shoes clicking on the wooden floor above her head. Some minutes later Shpak came downstairs, talking to another man. He spoke in a mild tone. Calmly submissive. The other man said very little—just a “hmm” or “da” here or there to indicate he was paying attention. They paused outside the door while the jailer jingled his keys and turned the lock. Shpak entered the room. The other man remained in the hallway. He was not a tall man and so Aurora didn’t glimpse him until Shpak stepped out of the way. Built like a fireplug. Well dressed after the Soviet fashion. Round face, receding hairline, eyeglasses with circular lenses and heavy frames. Hands in the pockets of his overcoat until he took one out to grab the edge of the door. With a warning look at the guard, he adjusted this until there was only a narrow gap between it and the jamb, through which he peered at Aurora.
Shpak sat down across from her, kicked her under the table, made a V with two fingers, and pointed to his eyes. Look at me. Not him.
“I know that you talked to Comrade Fizmatov yesterday,” Shpak began. “He shared with you some of the recent findings about X-rays.”
“Yes.”
“I believe that this new information places us in a position to conclude that part of the investigation concerning the monstrosity you said came out of your womb in”—he consulted his notes—“Fort Sickles, North Dakota.”
“That’s correct.”
“When you first alluded to this during your interview with Dr. Stasova, it naturally aroused concerns that you were suffering from a psychiatric disorder.”
“Yes, I regret that I mentioned it in an offhanded manner.”
“On the contrary, you should always be as forthcoming as possible.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Fascinated as I am by your descriptions of the Midget Village and the Pirate Cabaret and so on, today I would like to skip ahead to”—more shuffling of notes—“August of last year, and focus on this aspect of your story. Later on I will have more questions about what happened earlier in the summer, while you were still in Chicago.”
“Understood.”
“When did you make the decision to leave Chicago, and why did you leave when you did?”
“I had begun experiencing symptoms of pregnancy during the month of July. As I became more and more certain that I was pregnant, I came up with a plan to take the train to eastern Montana and stay with my relatives there.”
“To have an abortion or . . .”
“I didn’t have a clear plan in mind, I just felt a strong compulsion to get out of town before the pregnancy began to show.”
“So you left immediately.”
“No, I stayed in Chicago until August fifth.”
“Why that specific date?”
“Dick—the boy who impregnated me—had been telling me all about this balloon launch. I wanted to see it. It was a big scientific experiment. As soon as that was over, I got on the train.”