Heads You Win
“Mrs. Karpenko and her son will have to report to the nearest police station once a week for the next six months. Should they fail to do so, an arrest warrant will be issued, and when they are apprehended they will be placed in a detention center. They can then expect their applications for citizenship to be refused. I should add, Mr. Moretti, that as their sponsor, you will be responsible for them at all times, and if either of them should attempt to abscond, you would not only have to pay a heavy fine, but would also face the possibility of a term of imprisonment of not less than six months.”
“I fully understand,” said Moretti.
“And if anything claimed on their application form should prove to be bogus…”
“Bogus?” said Elena.
“Inaccurate. If that should be the case, your application will automatically be declined.”
“But I have only told the truth,” protested Elena.
“Then you have nothing to fear, Mrs. Karpenko.” He handed Moretti a small booklet. “You’ll find everything you need to know in there.”
Elena shuddered, and couldn’t help wondering if they had climbed into the right crate.
“I can assure you, officer,” said Moretti, “Mrs. Karpenko and her son will be model citizens.”
“Will the young man also be working in your restaurant, Mr. Moretti?” asked the officer, not even looking at Sasha.
“No, sir,” said Elena firmly. “I want him to continue with his education.”
“Then you will have to register the boy at the nearest local authority school.” Elena nodded, even though she had no idea what he was talking about. The officer turned his attention to Sasha for the first time, looking down at his ankles. “I see you’re growing fast,” he said. Sasha remembered Mr. Moretti’s advice, and remained silent. “You’ll have to work hard when you go to your new school if you hope to succeed in this country,” said the officer, giving the young immigrant a warm smile.
Sasha returned the smile and said, “Yes, sir; no, sir; three bags full, sir.”
7
ALEX
En route to New York
Alex stared out at endless miles of flat, uninterrupted sea, and could only wonder if he’d ever see land again, while his mother just continued to get on with her job. The menu didn’t vary from one day to the next, so Elena quickly mastered the simple routine, and began to take on more and more responsibility while Strelnikov’s siestas became longer and longer.
She and Alex looked forward to being released each evening, when Dimitri would join them on deck and tell them more about life in “the Big Apple,” and his small flat in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn.
Elena told Dimitri about her husband and her brother
, Kolya, and why Major Polyakov had been the reason they’d had to escape. Alex watched Dimitri carefully, and couldn’t help feeling that the friendly Russian knew exactly who Polyakov was, and even wondered if they’d put his uncle in danger. But the subject that continued to occupy them was how Elena and Alex would get off the ship once they’d docked in New York. Alex reluctantly accepted that without Dimitri’s help they were never going to make it.
“What will we do if Strelnikov locks us in the galley while the ship’s cargo is being unloaded?” asked Elena.
“There are still a couple of bottles of vodka left over that he doesn’t know about,” said Dimitri, “and they might just mysteriously appear in the galley the day before we’re due to arrive in New York. With a bit of luck, by the time he wakes up you’ll be on your way to Brooklyn.”
* * *
For the next week, Elena and Alex worked endless hours, never once complaining, even though the chef rarely left his chair.
With only a couple of days to go, Strelnikov ran out of vodka, which meant he didn’t fall asleep quite as easily, and they both had to suffer his wrath.
As Dimitri had promised, another couple of bottles appeared while Strelnikov was taking his siesta on the afternoon before they were due to arrive in New York. Elena had to take over cooking lunch, because the moment Strelnikov woke and saw the bottles by his side, he opened one of them immediately and had taken several gulps before he demanded, “Where did these come from?”
Mr. Ling shrugged his shoulders and continued to slice the potatoes, while Elena checked the soup. Strelnikov showed more interest in finishing off the first bottle than in preparing lunch. Elena could only marvel at how much the man could consume without collapsing, and it wasn’t until after dinner that he finally slumped in his chair and fell into a deep sleep.
Elena and Alex crept out of the galley and made their way up onto the deck, but couldn’t sleep as they gazed out across the open sea, willing Manhattan to appear on the skyline, becoming more confident by the minute that Dimitri’s plan would work. But just as the sun peeped over the horizon, a voice behind them bellowed, “Thought you’d get away with it, did you?”
They turned to see Strelnikov standing over them brandishing a meat cleaver. Alex leaped up and glared at him defiantly.
“Be my guest,” said the cook. “You wouldn’t be the first, and after the gulls have picked your bones I can assure you no one will miss you, other than your mother.”