“Pass me the kippers and let me take care of it. Sue, you go with Walter.”
Walter sputtered something but obeyed. Jack took his friend’s place in the line and whispered something into Sue’s ear. Then he slung the kippers over his shoulder, gripped the passport between his teeth, and with a determined stride, pulled on the trunk that contained his belongings.
“Come on! Keep moving!” yelled the policeman checking documents.
Jack strode up to him, and after laying the trunk on the floor, he took out his ticket with his free hand. When he held it out, the uniformed cop fixed his eyes on Jack’s and narrowed them.
“Your passport,” he demanded.
“Huh? Oh, sure, my passport . . . ,” Jack stammered through his teeth, keeping the document in his mouth.
At that moment, Sue stumbled into Jack, making him drop the kippers, which fell onto the ground along with the passport.
“Oh shit! I’m sorry, officer,” said Jack as he knelt to pick up the fish and the passport. “Excuse my wife. It’s the first time she’s been on a ship, and she’s nervous. Here you go.” He handed the policeman the document opened to the page with his photograph. The cop took it from him and studied Jack, showing little sympathy. Jack felt his heart thump in his chest. He disguised his nerves as he knelt to finish picking up the kippers. The cop frowned.
“Nice way to ruin a new passport,” the officer finally said, brushing off some fish remnants that had stuck to the fake stamp. “Your wife should be more careful if she wants to stay married. Here you go. Now move on, please.”
Once on board, Jack finished cleaning off the kipper he had pressed against the stamp when he’d bent down to pick it up from the ground.
“You dirty crook! You did it on purpose?” Walter exclaimed. “The stumble . . . the kippers . . .”
“And I was his accomplice,” boasted Sue, taking Jack’s arm. “Clearly, Walter, this young man’s worth his weight in gold. You should take note.”
Walter’s smile froze on his lips.
“Oh I should, should I?” He dragged the luggage to the place where the rest of the passengers were congregating.
An impeccably uniformed American Scantic Line officer led the group to its quarters belowdecks. On the way, the officer informed them that the SS Cliffwood had been used as a freighter by the navy during the Great War, and that, after the armistice, it was acquired by the Moore & McCormack shipping company, which fitted it out as a combined cargo and passenger ship. That was why it had only a limited number of individual cabins, reserved for the most well-to-do passengers, and a communal sleeping area for the second-class passengers.
“Your attention, please,” said the officer. “As you know, weather permitting, we will arrive in Helsinki in five days. During the crossing, you will be able to go on deck whenever you wish. Up top, near the bridge, you will find a small canteen selling cigarettes, food, and beverages. The latrines are at the rear of the hold.”
“Compared to the Aquitania, this rust bucket’s what a donkey is to a mustang,” said a passenger, spitting on the floor.
“I heard you, sir,” said the officer, unruffled. “This ship may not be a luxurious ocean liner like the one you mention, but neither do the jockeys that ride Thoroughbred racehorses resemble the rustlers who ride donkeys.” He tipped his hat by way of a good-bye and turned to return to the deck. “Access to the hold is strictly forbidden. Anyone found contravening this order will be punished.”
At two o’clock in the afternoon, gripping the handrail on deck, Jack listened to the whistle that announced the departure of the SS Cliffwood. He looked around at the other passengers as they waved good-bye to the friends and relatives who’d come to see them off. Some cried; others gazed vacantly at the huge buildings they might never see again. Jack contemplated them, too, while the cold East River wind stung his eyes. As the ship left the wharf, Jack remembered what Walter had given as his reason for staying belowdecks. Sue and I are staying down here to watch the luggage, Jack. You should do the same. Stay on guard and keep your most valuable things with you if you don’t want them to be stolen. And that was what he’d done: gone up on deck to imprint in his mind the image of New York and keep it with him so that nobody could ever steal it.
6
The third day of the crossing was the worst.
Shortly after the ship weighed anchor, Jack had begun to feel unwell, but he stayed on deck long enough to flush out the memories that tormented him. But the constant heave of the rough sea, foreshadowing the imminent storm, had made the passengers seek refuge on the mattresses of their bunk beds. Sue and Walter passed the time in the communal dormitory, fantasizing endlessly about their future lives. She imagined herself in her little Soviet house with a garden and swings for their little ones, while Walter saw himself as a future representative of the American workers. However, his friends’ dreams excited Jack about as much as watching paint dry. In Russia, there would be no luxury cars to own, no elegant suits to wear, no jazz clubs in which to have a good time. With luck, his greatest achievement would be having the opportunity to work like hell for a miserable salary for the rest of his days. He took a deep breath and rolled over on his bed. The ship’s constant heaving was making him queasy. Finally, he got up to wander around the dormitory and stretch his legs.
As he strolled, he noticed that one of the portholes that looked into the hold had been left ajar, so he approached it to get a better view. He was trying to make out what was inside the containers stacked on the other side of the bulkhead, when an arm pulled him unceremoniously away from the window.
“May I ask what you are looking at?”
Jack gave a start when he found himself face-to-face with an angry, white-bearded man. He was one of the Russian workers who appeared every now and then to go down into the hold to check on the cargo.
“Oh, I was just being nosy,” Jack explained.
“Yes . . . well, in Soviet Union, we don’t like nosy people,” the man said with a strong Russian accent.
Jack guessed that the furrowed face in front of him did not belong to a simple workman. He didn’t want any trouble, but neither would he let some stranger bully him.
“As far as I’m aware, this ship doesn’t belong to the Soviet Union.”
“Maybe ship, no, but cars in hold, yes.” The Russian’s voice sounded authoritative.
Jack tensed his muscles. He was about to respond, when Walter came up behind him and pulled him back toward the bunks. As he retreated, the white-haired Russian challenged Jack with his eyes.