crew change coming and the
Aurora
had a steering-gear problem. Since we’dstopped fishing for the night and since we’re about to go to Dutch Harbor, they decided to leave for port early. We only had two boats at the dance, the same two we have now.”
“You have a good band?”
Carefully Slava said, “Not the worst.”
The forward deck was divided between a volleyball court on one side and a loading deck, which they walked across. Netting covered the court. Despite this, sometimes a ball escaped into the water; then the captain would turn the
Polar Star
around right to the bobbing dot, a task equivalent to steering a giant sow through heavy mud. Volleyballs were scarce in the Bering Sea.
The Americans on board lived in the forward house, on the deck below the officers’ cabins and the bridge. Susan had yet to arrive, but the three others had assembled in her cabin. Bernie was the freckled boy Arkady had met outside the cafeteria with Volovoi. His friend Day wore steel-rimmed glasses that emphasized a scholar’s doll-like earnestness. Both reps wore jeans and sweaters that were at once shabby and superior to any Russian clothing. Lantz was a National Fisheries observer charged with making sure the
Polar Star
didn’t take fish of an illegal type, sex or size. As he was about to go on duty, he wore oiled coveralls, a plaid shirt with rubber sleeves, a rubber glove on one hand and a surgical one hanging like a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. Acting half asleep, he lounged on the built-in bench, curling up because he was so tall, a cigarette stuck in his mouth. While they waited for Susan, Slava talked with the three of them in Russian with the enthusiastic ease of friends, contemporaries, soulmates.
Susan’s cabin was no great step up from crew quarters. Two bunks instead of four, which she had to herself as the lone American woman. There was a waist-high ZIL refrigerator and the metallic aroma of instant coffee. A typewriter and manuscript boxes on the upper bunk and,stacked in cartons, books—Pasternak, Nabokov, Blok. Arkady saw Russian-language editions that would have sold in seconds at any Soviet bookstore or for hundreds of rubles on a Moscow back street. It was like coming upon cartons of gold. Susan could read these?
“Explain again, please,” Day asked Slava. “Who is he?”
“Our workers have many talents. Seaman Renko is a worker from the factory, but he has experience with the investigation of accidents.”
“It’s terrible about Zina,” Bernie said. “She was great.”
Lantz blew a ring of smoke and asked lazily in English, “How would you know?”
“What happened to her?” Day asked.
Arkady groaned inwardly as Slava answered, “It seems Zina became ill, went out on deck and perhaps lost her balance.”
“And perhaps came up in the net?” Lantz asked.
“Exactly.”
“Did anyone see her fall over?” Bernie asked.
“No,” Slava said. This was the primal error of first-time investigators, the tendency to answer questions rather than ask them. “It was dark, you know, and foggy after the dance and she was alone. These things happen at sea. This is the information we have so far, but if you know anything …”
Assisting Slava was like following a lemming. The three Americans shrugged and said in unison, “No.”
“We were supposed to wait for Susan, but I don’t think we have any more questions,” Slava told Arkady.
“I don’t have any,” Arkady said, and then switched to English. “I am impressed with your Russian.”
“We’re all graduate students,” Day said. “We signed on to improve our Russian.”
“And I’m struck by how well you knew our crew.”
“Everyone knew Zina,” Bernie said.
Day said, “She was a popular girl.”
Arkady could see Slava mentally translating, trying to keep up.
“She worked in the crew’s galley,” Arkady said to Day. “She served you food?”
“No, we eat in the officers’ mess. She worked there at the start
Aurora
had a steering-gear problem. Since we’dstopped fishing for the night and since we’re about to go to Dutch Harbor, they decided to leave for port early. We only had two boats at the dance, the same two we have now.”
“You have a good band?”
Carefully Slava said, “Not the worst.”
The forward deck was divided between a volleyball court on one side and a loading deck, which they walked across. Netting covered the court. Despite this, sometimes a ball escaped into the water; then the captain would turn the
Polar Star
around right to the bobbing dot, a task equivalent to steering a giant sow through heavy mud. Volleyballs were scarce in the Bering Sea.
The Americans on board lived in the forward house, on the deck below the officers’ cabins and the bridge. Susan had yet to arrive, but the three others had assembled in her cabin. Bernie was the freckled boy Arkady had met outside the cafeteria with Volovoi. His friend Day wore steel-rimmed glasses that emphasized a scholar’s doll-like earnestness. Both reps wore jeans and sweaters that were at once shabby and superior to any Russian clothing. Lantz was a National Fisheries observer charged with making sure the
Polar Star
didn’t take fish of an illegal type, sex or size. As he was about to go on duty, he wore oiled coveralls, a plaid shirt with rubber sleeves, a rubber glove on one hand and a surgical one hanging like a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. Acting half asleep, he lounged on the built-in bench, curling up because he was so tall, a cigarette stuck in his mouth. While they waited for Susan, Slava talked with the three of them in Russian with the enthusiastic ease of friends, contemporaries, soulmates.
Susan’s cabin was no great step up from crew quarters. Two bunks instead of four, which she had to herself as the lone American woman. There was a waist-high ZIL refrigerator and the metallic aroma of instant coffee. A typewriter and manuscript boxes on the upper bunk and,stacked in cartons, books—Pasternak, Nabokov, Blok. Arkady saw Russian-language editions that would have sold in seconds at any Soviet bookstore or for hundreds of rubles on a Moscow back street. It was like coming upon cartons of gold. Susan could read these?
“Explain again, please,” Day asked Slava. “Who is he?”
“Our workers have many talents. Seaman Renko is a worker from the factory, but he has experience with the investigation of accidents.”
“It’s terrible about Zina,” Bernie said. “She was great.”
Lantz blew a ring of smoke and asked lazily in English, “How would you know?”
“What happened to her?” Day asked.
Arkady groaned inwardly as Slava answered, “It seems Zina became ill, went out on deck and perhaps lost her balance.”
“And perhaps came up in the net?” Lantz asked.
“Exactly.”
“Did anyone see her fall over?” Bernie asked.
“No,” Slava said. This was the primal error of first-time investigators, the tendency to answer questions rather than ask them. “It was dark, you know, and foggy after the dance and she was alone. These things happen at sea. This is the information we have so far, but if you know anything …”
Assisting Slava was like following a lemming. The three Americans shrugged and said in unison, “No.”
“We were supposed to wait for Susan, but I don’t think we have any more questions,” Slava told Arkady.
“I don’t have any,” Arkady said, and then switched to English. “I am impressed with your Russian.”
“We’re all graduate students,” Day said. “We signed on to improve our Russian.”
“And I’m struck by how well you knew our crew.”
“Everyone knew Zina,” Bernie said.
Day said, “She was a popular girl.”
Arkady could see Slava mentally translating, trying to keep up.
“She worked in the crew’s galley,” Arkady said to Day. “She served you food?”
“No, we eat in the officers’ mess. She worked there at the start
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