FIFTEEN

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We continue through the tree line of the forest and circle around some other tall buildings, including the stands of the stadium that we had visited on the Guided Tour. It was much easier to navigate the city when walking the roads with the tour group, but that wasn’t safe for us with all the security, so we’ve done our best to stick to the woods. Based on what I remembered of the tour though, I had a hunch of our next stop. I’m proven correct, as we round another bend of overgrown forest and the Ferris Wheel appears, just above the canopies.

Lex immediately rushes past me as we near the Ferris Wheel, posing a question to Mikey that I can’t hear clearly. They go back and forth in Romanian and Ukrainian for a little bit before Mikey seems to give into Lex’s demand, removing his gloves and handing them over before ushering Lex away. 

Lex hangs back a moment to let me catch up before saying, “Ready for that climb, Vulpiță?”

“But I just–” I stop my poor excuse before it can fully materialize on my mouth, because I should have known better that climbing a diving board was not sufficient for Lex’s adrenaline seeking ways. Though I did have to wonder if I should question his sanity one more time because the Ferris Wheel gave me the impression that it would fall apart with a gentle breeze.

“We won’t be going back this way, too much security after the tours start. This will be our only chance.” When he reads my apprehension, he hands over Mikey’s gloves and reminds me, “I said I wouldn’t let you fall.”

I want to point out that his promise meant slightly less now that I knew he’d been lying about never falling himself, but I want to trust him. I did trust him, like I’d said, despite myself.

I don’t agree, I can’t bring myself to say the words, but I put the gloves on and when he turns to jog to the Ferris Wheel, I follow, already a bit winded from having to almost sprint just to keep up with him.

There’s a rusty ladder on the main structure, which leads up to the center of the wheel. He’s like a monkey and makes it look easy. Before I can even think how to tackle the climbing, he’s a few feet up already. He leans back, braced with only one hand, and waits on me to take his lead.

I shift my camera around my shoulder so it hangs on my back, then take the first step up to the base of the machine and onto the ladder after him, trying to pretend it’s just the same as the diving board I’d scaled only a while previous. It’s not so bad, the metal still feels solid and stable, but my body is already warning me of my weakness. 

He waits for me in the center, where there’s a small space to rest on the middle bar. Helping me up next to him, I take the second he allows to catch my breath and assess the rest of the way; each spoke of the wheel has a few bars horizontally across, and between each of them, a diagonal bar. I imagine the rest of the way will be a bit like climbing the ladder, but tricker since the gaps are wider and half the rungs are slanted. 

Lex tells me to go first this time, and hangs back to assist by showing me where to put my feet, until I’m at least a few feet higher than him. He follows just under me, then guides my steps by tapping my ankles and then the spot on the next bar where it should go. I have to shimmy up each diagonal bar just to reach the next horizontal one, and I don’t dare to have more than a single limb moving at a time. I feel my legs trembling, and I know if I was smart I would say something, but I’m also too proud. I’d do this without complaint, even if it killed me.

 I hate that I can’t see Lex anymore without looking down, because the distance to the ground is quickly becoming uncomfortable to see. I stop checking, so he starts verbalizing where my foot goes next, maybe to remind me that he’s right behind me. 

It doesn’t take too long to get to the top carriage we’re aiming for, but once we’re there I crawl desperately in and throw myself onto the sheet metal floor, forgetting entirely my prior concern about the Ferris Wheel looking like it wouldn’t even hold our weight. My legs are jello with all the effort and nerves, and I desperately needed to feel a flat surface below me.

He’s right there after me, but he has enough strength left to settle himself in one of the benches, looking down at me with squinted eyes. “You did it.” He at least sounds winded when he praises me.

I can’t help but laugh, a ghost of the adrenaline outburst I’d had the day before. It certainly was a rush but, I didn’t know if it was one I appreciated like he did yet. I’d never considered myself an adrenaline junkie, but then again, was it not adrenaline that tickled through my body, my arms, my fingers, when I aimed a rifle? Or, these days, even when snapping a perfect photograph? 

I finally sit up a little to peek over the benches out to our view, and I lose some of my breath again. It’s gorgeous up here. We’re above the trees again, but maybe not quite as high as the roof of our apartment building. Still, suspended in the air by little more than rusty metal has a different feeling than standing on flat concrete or on the familiar bounce of a diving board. It’s more precarious, but a part of me knows that it’s only my lack of trust in myself keeping me from feeling safe up here. Millions of animals made homes in the protection of the forest, in the branches of the tallest trees. There’s no reason I couldn’t also be a creature of the trees. After all, as Lex had said, sometimes the safest places are where others aren’t willing to go.

The carriage we’re in sways when I move to sit on the opposite bench from him. I pull my camera to my front again and aim it at him, and he actually offers me a wink to capture. It feels like a blessing, just for me, especially when he’s been so elusive. The difference between a hunter and a photographer. I’d noticed that, when I stopped hunting with my father and moved to photography. After a while without a rifle, the animals started recognizing me as no longer a threat, and I got to capture moments of life instead of death. 

That’s what Chernobyl feels like also. The tour showed me death, destruction, decomposition. Don’t touch, don’t linger, don’t feel. But the Stalkers were showing me the life still here. Thriving. I could feel it in the soles of my feet, through my fingertips of everything I touched.

He turns from me, thinking I’m finished, but I take one more sneakily as he looks out to the horizon, facing the wind as it gusts past us and sways the carriage again.

Satisfied with the shots, I switch my focus out to the view also, but he interrupts by leaning over to gesture for the camera himself. I give him a warning look before handing it over, but he doesn’t have any slick ideas. He just aims it at me instead, and catches a candid shot before I can think about posing. 

I find myself embarrassed to be the sudden subject of the photograph. I don’t like much showing my face in my photographs, I’ve always been behind the lens, behind the gun, in control.

But maybe that was the problem. Having control had built me into a comfortable life that I found myself now a bit disillusioned with. Relinquishing that control had brought me here, with him, seeing things from a perspective very few have the privilege and bravery to experience. 

He snaps another photograph, the shudder pulling me back from my moment of contemplation and making me feel vulnerable under his attention. “Get the view, please,” I scold, but it’s weak. Closer to a plea.

“I am,” he responds cheekily, and I scowl, but it’s not much of a threat because I can’t fight my smile. He proves his point though, leaning forward to show me the screen with a preview of the photos he took, with me framed to the right and the skyline captured center.