“Now! All together!” he ordered.
At his command, the workers grabbed hold of the section that still crushed the man’s arm, tensed their muscles, and, with a Herculean effort, tried to lift it. But the machine didn’t budge. Jack kept trying until he felt faint.
“It’s useless!” Sergei complained. “We couldn’t lift it with a hoist. Vasil, fetch the saw.”
Jack looked at the injured man as he tried to get his breath back. He felt for him. He was starting to walk away so that he wouldn’t have to witness the butchery, when suddenly he stopped.
“Wait! How many cars like this are there in the hold?” Jack pointed at a black automobile lashed to a bulkhead.
“Twelve,” the injured man said in a tiny voice.
“That’ll do,” said Jack, and he dashed off toward the vehicles. A few moments later, he ran back, carrying six car jacks. “Quickly! Get them under. Find firm resting points. There,” he said, pointing, “and under that plate, there.”
A group of workers positioned the devices as instructed, and on Jack’s command, they began to operate them simultaneously, while the rest of the men kept the machine from tipping over. Jack told the men to get ready. He warned them that they would have only a couple of seconds to get the injured man out before the machine came straight down again.
“Now!” he yelled.
As one, the workers pulled the man out from under the machine, just before another wave made the machine lose its support and smash to the ground.
When Jack had recovered his breath, he rubbed his bruised hands, then turned to see what state the man he had just saved was in. He couldn’t: the medic had already taken him away.
7
At breakfast, the conversation among the passengers revolved around the damage caused by the storm, and Jack’s heroics. While some were amazed at the willowy young man who, it was rumored, had lifted up a steel machine using only his bare hands, others wondered what kind of person spoke perfect Russian and was able to dismantle such a complex industrial contraption. A few branded him a fool for having entered the hold despite the explicit orders not to do so.
Walter chatted merrily with the passengers, offering details on what had happened as if he had been involved himself, celebrating the feat as he shared the bottles of vodka that a Soviet officer had given them as a reward for Jack’s help. When Walter didn’t know what else to add to the story, he stashed the cigarettes he’d sweet-talked from his audience, finished off the bottle, commandeered another bottle that was half full, and returned to where Jack was savoring the second of the cookies that constituted his breakfast. He took out a cigarette and offered it to his friend. Then he waited for Jack to have his first puff before asking him who the injured man had been.
“I have no idea,” he insisted as he enjoyed the feel of the warm smoke. “But he was American. Of that I’m sure.”
Hearing this, Walter let out his frustration with a kick to his bunk. For a moment he had thought the man Jack had saved might have been an important Russian official who could reward them with some kind of plum position.
“American . . . ,” he grumbled, and he took a long swig. “Well, those chumps took the bait.” He showed Jack the handful of cigarettes he’d coaxed from the group of passengers. “Can you imagine the headlines we could’ve got in Pravda, Jack?” He traced an arch over his head with both hands: “‘American immigrant saves Soviet dignitary.’ Now that would have been a good way to make our entry into the Soviet Union!”
“Truthfully, I’m more worried about arriving with a pair of healthy hands,” Jack said, rubbing his bruises. Then he looked at Walter and saw just how intoxicated his friend had become, his halfway-closed eyelids barely concealing his glazed eyes. “And you’d do well to go easy on the vodka. You’re swaying more than you were yesterday in the storm.”
“It must be someone important, or those Russians wouldn’t have gone out of their way to help him,” Walter insisted.
Jack was surprised by the comment. After all, if the Russians were as egalitarian as Walter proclaimed, they would have made the same effort to save the man had he been a lowly peasant.
Noticing Jack’s expression, Walter tried to defend his words. “Of course, all I mean is, he must be an influential figure, that guy. Not necessarily a rich man, but a journalist who sympathizes with the regime, or maybe an important American Communist. We should make the most of this.” He took another swig of vodka and gave Jack a slap on the back.
Jack raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know whether the man he’d saved was really someone important. But even if he was, Jack was wary enough of these people to know that it was best to keep his distance.
He was about to sip his coffee, when Sue appeared. She’d been up on deck for some fresh air. Walter offered her the bottle, but she refused. She sat between the two of them and put her arms around them to bring them closer.
“You won’t believe this.”
“Believe what?” answered Jack and Walter, almost in unison.
“The man you saved, Jack. I’ve found out who he is,” she boasted with an anxious smile.
“He’s Russian, right?” Walter put in.
“No! Much better than that. He’s Wilbur Hewitt, the general manager of the factory we’re going to!”
“Are you sure? It can’t be!” A nervous smile spread across Jack’s face.
“Hear that, Jack? I told you. We’ve struck gold! You saved our future boss’s ass.” Walter’s little eyes were bright under his spectacles, as if he’d just unwrapped his birthday present.
“But that’s not all,” Sue announced.
“It’s not? What else is there? Come on, out with it!” Jack pressed her.
Sue paused for dramatic effect, aware she had the full attention of the two young men.
“All right.” She looked at Walter, and then Jack. “Are you ready? Mr. Hewitt has invited Jack to join him for lunch on the bridge today!”
“What do you mean?” Jack thought she was joking.
“Ha! Didn’t you hear her?” Walter stood and attempted a series of ridiculous dance steps as he tried to drink from the empty bottle. “This is incredible news, Jack! You have to win him over! Tell him about us. We have to make the most of this.” He slapped Jack on the back again. “No. Even better: ask him for a reward for saving him! One for you, and one for us for bringing you here!”
Jack burst into laughter at Walter’s outlandish behavior. He was clearly drunk. When he’d managed to control his emotions, Jack asked Sue how she’d found out about it. The young woman explained that she’d overheard a white-bearded Soviet talking to the ship’s captain. Apparently, he wasn’t just an ordinary worker—he was some kind of official that the Soviets had assigned to Mr. Hewitt to escort him during his stay in Russia.