Heads You Win

“Then let’s hope that they’re a bit more friendly than the English passengers on board, because if they aren’t, we’re about to find out the true meaning of the word ‘standoffish.’”

“The chef’s also English,” said Elena, “and he couldn’t have been kinder. He even apologized for not being able to act as one of my sponsors.”

“He daren’t risk it,” said Sasha. “There’s a warrant out for his arrest. Whenever the ship docks in Southampton, he has to remain on board. Fergal tells me he locks himself in the kitchen and doesn’t reappear until they’ve left the harbor.”

“Poor man,” said Elena.

Sasha decided not to tell his mother the reason the British police wanted to arrest Eddie.

* * *

Elena and Sasha joined Mr. Moretti on the passenger deck the following morning, but not before Sasha had vacuumed the dining room, and Elena had left the kitchen spotless.

“Magnifico,” said Moretti, when he saw Elena in her new dress. “When did you find time to go shopping?” he teased.

“The crew have been so generous,” said Elena. “But don’t say anything about Sasha’s jeans,” she whispered. “Fergal isn’t quite as tall as him, and he’s still growing.”

Mr. Moretti smiled as Sasha leaned over the railings and watched two dockers winding one of the ship’s heavy ropes around a bollard and tying it fast.

“Let’s hope the immigration authorities are equally understanding,” said Moretti, as he picked up his bags and headed for the gangway with Elena and Sasha in his wake. “But you have one thing going for you—the British hate the communists every bit as much as you do.”

“Do you think they’ll let us in?” asked Elena anxiously as they stepped onto the dockside.

“Thanks to the purser, we can be confident that all the necessary forms have been correctly filled in, so we’ll just have to cross our fingers.”

“Cross our fingers?” repeated Sasha.

“Hope we get lucky,” said Moretti. “Now remember, Sasha, don’t speak unless you’re spoken to, and if the immigration officer asks you a question, just say ‘yes, sir,’ ‘no, sir,’ ‘three bags full, sir.’”

Elena burst out laughing. Sasha couldn’t stop looking around him as they walked along the dockside. Some buildings looked as if they’d been built quite recently, while others had just about survived the war. The locals appeared to be relaxed, and no one had their head bowed, while the women were dressed in colorful clothes and chatted to the men as if they were equals. Sasha had already decided he wanted to live in this country.

Mr. Moretti headed toward a large brick building with the single word ALIENS chiseled in stone above the door.

When they entered, they were greeted by two signs: BRITISH and NON UK CITIZENS. Elena crossed her fingers as they joined the longer queue, and couldn’t help wondering if they would be back on the ship bound for Leningrad long before the sun set on what was left of the British Empire.

Sasha watched as those holding British passports received a cursory inspection, followed by a smile. Even tourists were not kept waiting more than a few moments. The Karpenkos were about to find out how the British treated those people who didn’t have a passport.

“Next!” said a voice.

Mr. Moretti stepped forward and gave his passport to the immigration officer, who checked it carefully before passing it back. Moretti then handed over several sheets of paper along with two photographs, before turning to acknowledge his wards. The official didn’t smile as he slowly turned each page, and finally checked that the photographs matched the two applicants standing in front of him. Moretti felt confident that everything was in, to quote the purser, “apple pie” order, but couldn’t help wondering if that would be enough.

Elena became more nervous by the minute, while Sasha just seemed impatient to find out what lay beyond the barrier. Eventually the officer looked up and beckoned the two would-be immigrants to step forward. Elena was only thankful that they weren’t dressed in their old clothes.

“Do you speak English?” the officer asked Elena.

“A little, sir,” she replied nervously.

“And are you in possession of a passport, Mrs. Karpenko?”

“No, sir. The communists don’t allow anyone to travel outside the country, even to visit relatives, so my son and I escaped without any papers.”

“I’m sorry to say,” began the officer—Elena’s heart sank—“that given the circumstances I can only authorize a temporary visa, while you apply to the Home Office for refugee status, and I can’t guarantee that will be granted.” Elena bowed her head. “And,” the officer continued, “you will be subject to several conditions while your application for citizenship is being processed. Should you fail to comply with any of them, you will be deported back to”—he looked down at the form—“Leningrad.”

“Where they would be locked up for the rest of their lives,” said Moretti. “Or worse.”

“Be assured,” said the officer, “that will be taken into consideration when their applications come before the Home Office.” He smiled at Elena and Sasha for the first time, and said, “Welcome to Britain.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Moretti before Elena could respond. “But may we know what those conditions are?”