It was the summer of 1942, and the Russian steamer "Ob" was pushing her way eastward across the Arctic Ocean. Of bare 3,100 ton capacity, she was making a slow voyage from Yokang, a Russian submarine base on the Northern shore of the Kola peninsula, to Narjan Mar on the Pechora River. Her journey took her to that part of the Arctic Ocean which, being almost even with the island of Novaya Zemlya, forms the dividing line between the Barents and Kara Seas. At Narjan Mar, the "Ob" was to take on board yet another cargo of coal, with which she would return to the submarine base. Her orders at this time called for three consecutive deliveries. One had already been completed.

It was wartime, and the "Ob" sailed with her normal complement of crew but with more officers than usual. Besides the deck officers personnel — master, three navigating officers, radio officer, and the political officer — the ship carried this time a naval pilot and a gunnery officer. Both of these new officers were commissioned in the Navy of the USSR and on the active service roster. The first of these two was apparently on board to keep his eye on the ability and behaviour of local pilots; the ship had from time to time to use men, as advisors in navigation, who were familiar with local conditions when entering and leaving port. The danger of potential sabotage was uppermost in the minds of the authorities in wartime USSR. Subconsciously (and, quite likely, with some ground) they suspected a vast number of their own people being hidden saboteurs. It was well known that there was little loyalty to the state in the minds of the people, except, of course, among those who were privileged through their political positions or those who worked in the burgeoning civil service. Consequently, the gold-braided naval pilot could, if not actually able to be of much direct help to the ship, at least be counted on to induce fear in the hearts of local river and harbour pilots.

The other new officer on the board was supposed to know everything there was to know about armament on ships, and the strategic use of such weapons as were available on board. At that time, German submarines and aircraft had occasionally been detected in the Arctic Ocean, and so, for safety purposes, the "Ob" had been instructed to proceed in coastal waters, as close to the shore as prudently possible. Each week scheduled times had been set aside for gunnery instructions by the new officer. Two rifles, which formed the only armament on board, were dutifully brought out and displayed to the crew and officers, with detailed instructions of their use. Some halfhearted attempts were also made to explain the use of small calibre machineguns — but, as there were no such weapons on board, no one took really much interests in these, including the gunnery officer himself. While formal and precise during his lectures, the gunnery officer proved to be a pleasant and sociable man outside of his duties. He was a heavy drinker and a reasonably good chess player, although tended to abuse his abilities regarding the latter by the presence of the former. Oftentimes his opponent in chess was the ship's Second Officer, one of two non-Russians on board, to whom he frequently lost in prolonged games because he could not keep himself sober.

This was the only ground, the chessboard, where these two met: the Second officer had obtained military training in United Kingdom under the wartime scheme of 'Defensively Equipped Merchantships', and was therefore excused from further lectures on board the "Ob". His very being on the "Ob" was an anomaly. He was an Estonian citizen and had been at sea when, in 1940, the Soviet Union invaded his homeland. In the following year he had inadvertently fallen into the hands of the Soviets. Since then all his attempts to return to England had been frustrated by the Russians, who were intent upon making him a communist; or, at least, a silent and obedient member of their working-class. Now he was serving on the "Ob" only grudgingly, having been sent there under compulsion.

Having arrived at her destination the "Ob" was busily loading her cargo of coal in the customary manner — that is, she was anchored in midstream while barges with coal were towed alongside the vessel by tugs. Prisoners, under guard, had been brought on board from the nearest detention centre to transfer coal from the barges into the holds of the ship. In the constant daylight above the Arctic Circle in the summer, the work continued around the clock. The prisoners worked in two shifts of 12 hours each. Any member of ship's personnel who wanted to go ashore had to use either the tug that was moving the barges, or hire local fishermen to take them ashore in their rowboats. There were always one or two of them hanging around the ship, waiting for handouts — food or tobacco.

The Second Officer had never visited places in Northern Russia, and took this opportunity to broaden his outlook and satisfy his curiosity. He noticed that the only street dividing Narjan Mar in this bare arctic expanse was long but unpaved and without sidewalks. On both sides were poorly maintained wooden houses with low picket fences, all of the same design, in front of them, a clear indication that these were state built communal dwellings. People were still moving about although it was already late in the evening. His visit, however was cut short by the hordes of mosquitoes that greedily attacked every exposed part of his skin, and soon forced him to abandon further attempts on sightseeing. Local people who went out of doors seemed to be wearing helmets made with wire netting, and had covered their hands and arms with long-sleeved gloves. The Second Officers also found that he could not converse with the local people. In several parts of Northern Russia the inhabitants belong to various ethnic groups; those, on the banks of Petchora, are called the Nenets, who speak only in their own dialect. Though some of them knew a little Russian, the Second Officer himself only knew it poorly.

Within a few days the vessel was fully loaded, and soon after that departed from her anchorage. Narjan Mar situated some 40 miles upstream from the mouth of the Petchora River, and heading outbound with a pilot took the "Ob" normally about five hours steaming to clear the river. At that time, the current was not abnormally strong for the early navigating season, contrary to that in the spring, when thawing snow often raised the level of water and flooded the riverbanks. In fact, the level of the river had been noticeably higher a few weeks earlier, when the "Ob" had made her first voyage with coals along this route.

It was normally expected that the contours of a riverbed would change somewhat from year to year. However, this spring all warning signs, light and spar buoys, had been placed — as the pilot explained — for the most part identically to the same positions as in the year before. Since the "Ob" was carrying the same amount of coal as she had last time and was floating at the same draft, the river pilot was confident of a safe passage. Therefore, no extra precautions were deemed necessary; only the normal lookout was maintained.

Shortly after midnight, about half an hour after the Second Officer had taken over his watch, the ship began to gently rub the muddy river bottom. This went on so smoothly that nobody on the navigation bridge noticed anything at all different in the ship's movements. As the ship was moving toward a progressively shallowing patch in the fairwater, the heavy hull of the ship began to grind itself deeper and deeper into the mud until, eventually, it came to a soft rest. At the time of stranding the sky was cloudy, and a slight haze covered the low lying banks of the river, off in the distance. On the navigable part of the river, light buoys were all dimmed according to wartime requirements. As a result, there was nothing to immediately indicate that the ship had ceased to move ahead, especially as the buoys, although only dimly visible, showed that she was on her right course.

Slowly, the rhythm of the main engine had changed from the normal background growl into a forced throbbing and it was the master, Captain Lebedev, who first noticed it. He rushed to the end of the navigating bridge, looked over the low bulwark and saw that the vessel was no longer moving through the water. Almost simultaneously, a whistle sounded on the engine-room speaking tube (there was no internal telephone system on the "Ob") and the engineers excitedly reported that the main engine was labouring under an unknown stress. Now, everyone on the bridge rushed to the bulwarks to peer into the water outside. Small bubbles were emerging from the muddy water close to the ship's hull, and yellowish-brown river water was foaming at the stern, where the propeller was churning up a mixture of mud and sand.

"Stop the engines!" shouted Captain Lebedev, and the engine-room telegraph came ringing to the STOP position under the hand of the Second Officer, who then quickly took compass bearings on the nearest visible lightbuoys and plotted these on the chart — the "Ob" appeared to be on the vaguely indicated safe fairwater. Both he, and the Armament Officer who seldom went to bed early and had now wandered on the bridge, were then looking on as the master, the river pilot and the naval pilot had an excited conversation between them. Suddenly, the hunched shape of the political commissar — officially titled the 'Assistant to the Master in Political Affairs' — appeared on the bridge. Although habitually un-friendly and distrustful towards everyone on board, and as a result despised by almost everyone in return, he was nevertheless regarded an influential and authoritative figure in the ship's hierarchy. Flashlight in hand, he waddled from one corner of the narrow bridge to the other and looked everyone in the face, as though seeking an unknown and hostile culprit among the officers around him. The master obligingly acquainted him with the situation, after which this insidious official began firing questions at the river pilot. It soon appeared as if on the political commissar the full responsibility for the accident, and the unavoidable consequences to follow, would fall — which, taking into consideration the often unpredictable habits of the communist administration, may well have been the case.

Meanwhile, soundings were taken of the double-bottom ballast tanks which, as they proved dry, showed that the ship's bottom had not been punctured. The depth of water all around the outside of the ship was also measured; this indicated that the vessel was lying almost uniformly level on the river bottom, and that she had surreptitiously nestled herself in the soft sediment. Since the stranding had occurred at near the high tide period, it was estimated that the "Ob" would by no means be able to extricate herself from the shoal by her own power. And so remained with a bow anchor lowered to the bottom; there ought to have been another anchor lowered from the after-end of the ship to hold her against an unexpected rise of water, but the "Ob" was not provided with a stern anchor. Next, explanatory messages were sent by radio to the State Shipping Administration at Archangel and to the Narjan Mar Port Authority.

Via a barrage of radio messages sent and received during the rest of the night, it was finally decided that the cargo on board the ship had to be lightened in order to get her off the shallows. To do that, the coal was to be discharged into barges until the ship had floated off the mud. Even if there had been a salvage vessel stationed at an easy reach, it would have been doubtful if her powerful pull on the "Ob" would have overcome the heavy resistance created by suction between the ship's bottom and the wide area of silt and sand. Consequently, there remained nothing else to do but to wait for the barges which were expected to arrive later in the day.

In the meantime, however, there was a very important function to be attended to: the entire ship's company was to be gathered for a meeting on the status of the vessel. This procedure constitutes an inviolable part of the Soviet industrial practices, and always strongly enforced by the political branch of the State Shipping Administration. Strictly adhering to these instructions, then, the ship's political commissar convened (that being his jealously guarded field of responsibility) the ship's personnel on the poop deck on the after end of the vessel, where there was room enough for the entire company.

To the motley crowd of deck-hands, firemen, female catering staff, engineers and deck officers Captain Lebedev made a detailed report about the stranding of the vessel. After his elaborate speech the river pilot told the same story from his point of view, following which the naval pilot did the same. The political commissar himself made no report, but kept a watchful eye on everybody present and made some scribbling notes in a book on his knees. When the speeches were over the crew was encouraged to put forward questions on the subject. A few of them posed questions, but all these were simple-minded and irrelevant. These sailors and firemen listened to the dull and long-winded speeches with obvious aversion and indifference, and would have rather been anywhere else than at this meaningless performance. But, as almost everywhere, one could find someone anxious to demonstrate his political acumen, these were the ones who presented questions and showed their hypocritical watchfulness.

Before the meeting ended, Captain Lebedev asked the Second Officer to make his report on the accident as he too was on the bridge at the material time. The Estonian Second Officer asked to be excused because of his inability to speak fluent Russian. The master acquiesced, and the meeting came to an end.

When the crew had been dismissed and everybody was walking off the poop deck, some to their interrupted work, some to their quarters, the Second Officer indicated to the master that he wanted to have a talk with him. Since the Second Officer had joined the vessel he and the master had between themselves conversed in English; this had been on the captain's request, as he wanted to improve his abilities in the language. Now, as they drew aside from the others who were walking towards the amidships, the Second Officer came to the point:

"Sir, I would like to apologize for not attempting to make a report at the meeting. The real reason was not my lack of words in your language, but that making a report would have been a violation of my principles. I have been trained to be responsible in matters concerning my duties to the master and the owners of my ship, but never to the crew. And I intend to maintain these principles."

Captain Lebedev listened carefully to this vehement declaration, and appeared to be slightly amused. Finally, when the Second Officer was finished, he said: "Citizen Second Officer, you are still not quite familiar with our way of life."

It should be noted here that in the USSR, where there exist no 'sirs, misters or ladies', courteous addressing one another is 'comrade'. Any alien or known non-communist is addressed discriminatingly, and a little disdainfully, as 'citizen'.

"I do appreciate your devotion to duty and your principles of behaviour", the master continued, "but you overlook one basic aspect of our ideology. All those present on the poop deck, from the lowest rating of seamen to the highest ranking of officers, are owners of this ship. In fact, they are owners of everything found in this country; everything in our land belongs to the people."

The Second Officer could not dispute the nobility of Captain Lebedev's argument. To be sure, he had heard similar statements before; but he had been unable to reconcile such high-flown dogma to the very real conditions in which an ordinary labourer, factory worker or stevedore earned his living. During his relatively short stay in Russia, the Second Officer's eyes had already noticed how these self-same exalted "owners of everything in the country" were coerced into obedience by the servants of the omnipotent Communist Party. Not only that, but they were denied freedom of speech, and many of the material requisites of life that were, in contrary, enjoyed in plenty by the privileged few who sat in the higher chairs of the Party, or in military or propaganda — generally referred to as political education — service. Confronted with the day-to-day evidence in front of his eyes, there came to light an ever increasing disparity between the 'official' reality — lettered slogans on red background displayed everywhere on pro-claming happy life under Party rule — and the dejected faces and deprived aspirations that he met, seldom openly exhibited, but smouldering nevertheless.

After several barges had been filled with coal that had been discharged from the grounded steamer, a slight movement was noticed by all on board and, almost suddenly, the "Ob" began slowly to turn under the pressure of the current. Soon after that the ship was fully afloat. Then, under her own power, she was moved to a deeper part of the river, where her cargo was reloaded. Only a week later the submarine base at Yokang received the second load of its coal allocation.

Two voyages with coal were now completed, and the "Ob" returned to the river port for her third and last cargo. Everybody on board was already familiar with the procedures in the port and work there commenced without delays. Then, one morning, a commotion broke loose on deck. The ship's female cook had discovered that the store-room for provisions had been broken into during the night. Of its contents, most of the loaves of rye bread had been stolen, also the entire supply of sunflower seed oil. The latter was a particularly indispensable item in the ship's supply as it substituted for butter, fat and meat, all in very short supply and not infrequently unobtainable for weeks. Bread, on the other hand, could always be replaced as there was no shortage of flour — baking of bread was always done on board.

There was no doubt that some among the thirty or forty prisoners on board were the thieves. A quick search in their clothing brought to light some half-eaten chunks of bread. Two large carboys, which had contained the oil, were found empty outside the storeroom; obviously, the oil had been consumed on the spot. The overworked and undernourished prisoners must have indeed been desperate when they took the risk of stealing the food, knowing that their deed would be immediately discovered — one could not deny that they looked unquestionably starved in their torn rags.

After a short questioning by the guards, several of the prisoners were separated from the rest and were taken ashore before the end of their shift at eight o'clock. When the suspects had been taken away, the corporal of the guards requested that an officer from the ship accompany him and be present during the impending investigation at the prison camp. The Third Officer was sent by the master to represent the vessel, and he promptly left with the corporal.

On returning to the vessel a few hours later, the young and idealistic Third Officer, a graduate of the reputable Frunze Nautical Academy, was shaking and pale in the face. At first he rushed, retching, into the common bathroom, and staggered then directly into his cabin. He was not seen outside until the beginning of his seawatch at eight o'clock. By that time he was apparently recovered from whatever had earlier upset him. After reporting to the master, he approached the Second Officer.

These two had always liked each other company when off duty, although their conversation was conducted in slow and halting Russian to make it easier for the Second Officer to understand his collegue. As an intelligent man the young Russian was much interested in nautical science, such as was taught in western navigational establishments, and liked to discuss on other maritime subjects. They also understood and respected each other's points of view, and therefore the younger man felt now that he had to reveal to his older fellow employee his reactions to what he had witnessed that morning — events that, until now, had been to him beyond belief.

In describing the atmosphere and manner in which the investigation had been conducted in the guard-room of the prison camp he emphasized the shock and revulsion in seeing how the suspects had been mercilessly beaten for not revealing the leaders of the break-in on board the steamer. The ill-treatment of the prisoners, the Third Officer admitted while still shivering, had been so inhuman that by no stretch of imagination could he associate it with the incessantly promulgated dignity and justice that was uniformly regarded the prerogative of all men under the protection of the Communist Party. Everything he had seen there had been so contradictory to his sense of fairness that, again, reviewing this morning's events, he almost had doubts in his own valuation of right and wrong. In consternation, he certainly looked now with new eyes upon the proclamation of justice made by those who were the leaders of his homeland.

The Third Officer's striking ignorance of corruption in his own country made the Second Officer, an alien amongst these people and with an upbringing widely different from theirs, acutely aware once again of the serious discrepancy between the widely claimed equality of status, supposedly shared by the entire population, and cold facts. To his eye, there was no other explanation for it but an intentional deceit, knowingly imposed. He pondered that this could one day, quite conceivably, bring about the collapse of the system, and a deserved end to its ruthless leaders.

As the time went by all three cargoes had been delivered to the submarine base, and the "Ob" was steaming towards Narjan Mar for another cargo of coal. This additional cargo, the fourth, was to be carried to Archangel, the largest port on the White Sea. Everybody rejoiced at this opportunity, as to most of the crew Archangel was their home. On arrival at the loading port at Narjan Mar, the ship was ordered to anchor in the river to await the arrival of her cargo from an inland mine. Barges would bring it down along the Petshora river.

While the ship lay thus at anchor, the Second Officer decided to take a short walk in the bush on the east bank of the river. A sailor on deck-watch rowed him ashore on the ship's jolly-boat, and promised to meet him on the same spot when he wished to return to the vessel; he only need to wave his arms as a signal to the ship. Besides wishing to stretch his legs by walking through the thickly growing clusters of pine trees, the Second Officer hoped to find some wild berries. Memories of summers in his home country brought an agreeable taste of succulent fruits to his mouth; moreover, his appetite for the berries was aggravated by the annoying lack of vitamins in his present diet. Although prepared in different ways, the fare on board the vessel consisted, besides bread, only of cereals, severly rationed salted fish, and a mockery of meat. The last time he had tasted fresh vegetables had been three months earlier, when he was having meals at the "Intourist" hotel at Archangel.

He took now great pleasure in strolling aimlessly between the sweet-smelling conifers, enjoying the springy softness of pine needles that formed a thick carpet under his feet. Rambling along, he presently sighted before him a high, solidly built wooden construction, resembling a parapet or a huge fence. On top of this erection he saw watch-towers, grey and ominous. He could not see anyone outside this weather-beaten rampart, but heard dogs barking inside. Surprised at having unexpectedly stumbled onto this sinister-looking edifice in the middle of what he thought was deserted woods, he quickly deduced without much trouble that this could only be none other than the prison camp where the ship's erstwhile coal handlers were detained and where his collegue, the Third Officer, had been treated to a sudden shock. Not wishing to come across any of the guards or be scented by the dogs, he slowly drew away from the hideous place and continued his walk in a different direction. He had occasionally read reports about numerous prison camps stealthily situated in the bleak Northern regions of the USSR and, combining these reports with what he had recently heard from his fellow officer about the tortures in such places, he gingerly increased distance between himself and the fearsome spot. Soon the dark silhouette was hidden by the trees and out of his sight.

He found no wild berries along the way and, in his disturbed frame of mind, he no longer had any desire for them. Without venturing any further he turned around and went back to the river bank, and was soon back on board his ship. In his troubled state of mind he did not even relate of his findings to the Third Officer.

The next day found the "Ob" still at anchor, and the early morning haze gave way to a clear and beautiful summery weather. Wanting to make use of the pleasant weather, the master instructed the Second Officer to visit some of the collective farms known to be situated a few miles upstream alongside the river. Being a good shipmaster, the Captain wanted to improve the vessel's food supply, which, everyone knew, was grossly inadequate. He gave the Second Officer some roubles and an official written request, with numerous stamps on it, indicating in detail that the bearer purchase milk, cheese, butter and fish for ship's use. He probably did not expect anything else to be obtainable. It was obvious that in the bleak semi-arctic climate grain could hardly ripen, but open grassland could adequately support dairy husbandry.

The Second Officer called two sailors and the boatswain to man the lifeboat, and the journey to upriver began. The river above Narjan Mar was apparently deeper than near the estuary and the current notably weaker. That assisted their progress in rowing against current. In brilliant sunlight the boat moved vigorously forward with two sailors on the oars and the boatswain holding the tiller of the rudder. Along the western bank of the river they saw odd villages with houses badly in need of repair. These apparently were inhabited by fishermen, if to judge by the numerous blunt-nosed rowing boats tied to the bank. The eastern bank of the river seemed wooded and marshy.

The seamen visited three collective farms, and all they could buy was fresh milk. The managers of the farms complained that they were as badly off with food as everyone else. The country, having been at war no longer than a year, was already short of almost everything. This was noticeable from the fact that not only food, but almost any other item was in short supply or consummately unobtainable. This could also be read in the urgency of speeches and broadcast reports, which daily accused the western Allies of deliberately deceiving the USSR by leaving them at the mercy of the invading Germans instead of opening a second front in western continent.

On the advice of a collective farm manager the Second Officer decided not to go any further upstream, as prospects there were said to be as hopeless as in the farms already visited. Before returning to the vessel with the four large containers of milk which they had been able to buy, the boatswain suggested that there existed an opportunity of their obtaining a sheep if the Second Officer shared in the purchase price. The boatswain was aware that the master had not given them authority to buy meat for the ship, but would probably not object if they did it privately for the two of them. It seemed that the boatswain had already come to an agreement with one of the local farm-hands, who had a few well-fed animals to sell. The Second Officer promptly agreed, and the bargain was closed within minutes. The purchase price was paid out their own pockets, without touching the cash that the master had trusted in their care. Without delay, the feet of the bleating sheep were tied and the struggling beast lifted into the boat.

Late in the afternoon the boat arrived back to the ship. A report was made to the master, and the unspent money returned to him. The cook took hold of the milk supply, but the sheep was taken to the boatswain's workroom in the forward part of the steamer. Here, he was to slaughter the sheep, retaining the hide for his work.

They had paid for the sheep in equal portions, and had also agreed to divide the carcass on the same terms, except that a smaller share was to be offered to the First Officer, who was old and similarly undernourished but seemed to be suffering more from the scarcity of food than the younger men. He was the other non-Russian, a Finn from the Karelia province of Finland, whose present status was that of a compulsorily resettled Russian, following the capture and annexation of Karelia by the USSR two years earlier.

Although he was exuberantly pleased when the offer was made to him, he cautiously approached the Estonian Second Officer later in the evening and, regrettably, declined the offer. It appeared, that the master had hinted to him that those who do not share the meat in an accepted communistic manner with everyone on board, would be prosecuted, and he was not prepared to face the undesirable implications of these hints if he were to ignore them. He advised the Estonian also to abandon this, otherwise so tempting, undertaking. He added, that there existed already a deep distrust between them and the Russians on board. By that time the carcass was already dressed and hanging in all its fresh, mouthwatering beauty in the boatswain's locker.

The boatswain himself, however, when told of the threatening attitude of the master, was unperturbed. He boasted of being able to apply some stinging pressure to Captain Lebedev if the latter dared to make any unfriendly gesture in his direction. These remarks reassured the Second Officer who, however, could not for the life of him imagine what mysterious power gave a boatswain such influence over the master of the ship. He was nevertheless adequately heartened not to imitate the First Officer's example. But he could not erase from his mind the boatswain's enigmatic utterances. Perhaps these alluded to a knowledge of some shady episodes in Captain Lebedev's past; or perhaps he wielded some strange and secret political power over the master — and, in that case, over everybody on board. Intrigues and counter intrigues were, as they still are, well-known and rampant in the USSR. At any rate, the boatswain's intrepid courage had sufficiently bolstered the Second Officer's own resoluteness. It must be admited, however, that a weighty contribution to his decisionmaking was made by a steadily increasing desire to sink his teeth into the freshly roasted lamb.

Within a few days, the "Ob" had obtained her cargo and set her course for Archangel. Late in the evening of the first day at sea, when the ship was slowly rolling on the sleepy Arctic Ocean, pleasant, mouthwatering aromas began to spread over the amidships area of the vessel. The female catering staff were busy cooking that half of the carcass of the lately slaughtered sheep which belonged to the Second Officer. The boatswain had salted his half of the valuable meat, and was going to take it to Archangel instead, where his family was also suffering from food shortage.

Before going to his watch at midnight, the smiling Second Officer was carving chunks of roasted meat for every cook and stewardess on board, also for some of the deck-hands. Almost every one of the engineers and officers was given a piece — including his partner at the chess board. The old Karelian First Officer could not resist this newly made offer, and, surreptitiously pushing the greasy chunk of lamb into his pocket, hurried off to his cabin, secretly rejoicing that he had hoodwinked the master. Among those who did not share in his generosity was, deservedly, the eel-like political commissar of the ship.

Now, the sea voyage had come to its end, and the "Ob" was lying at Archangel. Contrary to slight misgivings, no punitive action was taken against the Second Officer or the boatswain when the vessel docked. Instead, the ship's master happily announced that he had received instructions that the Second Officer be relieved from his duties. Arrangements in principle had been concluded by the His Majesty's Government for his return to the United Kingdom. Captain Lebedev successfully concealed any spite or grudge he might have had against the Second Officer at this point. With a smile, he volubly wished a good journey to his discharged officer, and thanked him for helping to improve his English.

As the Second Officer disembarked from the ship that had been his temporary home for the last three months, he concealed in his pocket the document that Captain Lebedev had given him on the day when he had been sent to purchase additional provisions for the crew. Although now he was clear of the ship and anxious to shake forever all unpleasant memoirs of events connected with the "Ob", he carefully preserved the paper in a safe enough place. Why? Because, whatever accusations and proceedings might be initiated against him in the future, he wanted to be able to vindicate himself with this document. He would need to prove that the master instructed him to buy milk, cheese, butter and fish, and had nowhere mentioned meat.

He had, after all, done his homework on learning and interpreting the way of life in the Soviet Union.

Stephanie Bergman

Copyrighted material; do not reprint without permission.

 

View all articles by Stephanie Bergman