“Why, it’s a submarine!” Galina exclaimed as Nikolai eagerly placed its conical hull into his toothless mouth.
“Don’t worry, the people at Pushkin’s say that it’s supposedly child-proof,” Valenko said.
“It’s even guaranteed to crash dive in the bathtub, or your money back.”
“She doesn’t look like one of ours. Skipper,” Kuzmin reflected.
“It better not be,” the captain retorted.
“Only the greedy Americans would be so foolish as to allow the Japanese to make representations of their latest nuclear craft for children to play with.”
“Now, that’s enough submarine talk!” Galina said forcefully.
“Tonight I would like nothing better than to keep the conversation as far away from your duty as possible. Have you tried the pickled beets as yet?
Ivana prepared them from our mother’s own recipe.”
Taking the hint, Valenko picked up a cocktail fork, speared one of the beets, and chewed it down.
“Very tasty. Tell me, ladies, is your mother a good cook?”
“The best,” Ivana answered.
“Even with her limited supply and budget. Mother could put together a week’s meals and never serve you the same thing twice.”
Galina continued.
“It’s a wonder we’re both not tat as hogs. Breads and pastries were her specialty.”
Suddenly reminded, Valenko reached forward and picked up his cotton sack.
“Earlier in the day, I’m afraid I got carried away in the local bakery.
Do you think that you could put these loaves to use? With me, they’ll only go stale.”
He handed the bread to Galina, who checked their composition and beamed.
“This is an absolute treasure!
Are you certain that you want to give them up?”
Valenko waved away her objection.
“Believe it or not, all I wanted was an oatmeal cookie anyway. You know, the clerk there didn’t even want to take my money. Since when are naval personnel treated so specially here?”
“You must have gotten lucky,” observed Galina.
“Most of the townspeople only want our rubles. Half of the time, all we hear is their constant grumbling that we are the cause of the city’s pollution and traffic problems. As if Petropavlovsk would be the city it is without the navy’s presence. Why, it would just be a backward Siberian outpost without us.”
The captain consumed another sip of champagne before answering.
“You are probably right. I have been here for several years longer than yourselves and I have watched the city grow as the navy’s presence has continually increased. Yet, I could have sworn that I was picking up a new spirit here today. I’ve never encountered so many friendly strangers before.”
“Perhaps they’re on their best behavior because of the General Secretary’s visit,” Galina reckoned.
“One thing we know is that the cleaning crews have sure been out in force.”
“I couldn’t help but notice such crews at the base, also,” Kuzmin reflected.
“They’re painting everything that doesn’t move.”
“You know, Galina may have hit upon something,” Ivana said.
“Viktor Rodin’s visit here may have opened the townspeople’s eyes.
Surely they realize how important the navy is to them now. The eyes of the entire world will be focused on Petropavlovsk solely because of this facility’s existence. By the way as members of the armed forces, what do you think of the upcoming summit meeting?”
Kuzmin looked blankly at his captain; it was obvious that neither of them knew what she was talking about. Ivana realized this and continued.
“I’ve forgotten where you’ve been for the last two months! In a nutshell, about five weeks ago the new American President, Robert Palmer, invited Viktor Rodin to meet with him in Los Angeles. The supposed subject of this summit is the instantaneous freezing of all new strategic missile systems, and the creation of a concrete timetable for the gradual elimination of those nuclear warheads already in service.”
“Most impressive,” Valenko said thoughtfully.
Kuzmin shook his head in disgust. “If you ask me, it sounds like more imperialist propaganda. Whenever their presidents take office, the first thing they inevitably do is throw the standard olive branch toward the Soviet Union. They may talk peace, but I guarantee you that work on their MX missiles and Star Wars platforms will go on, regardless.”
“I beg to differ with you, dear brother-in-law. This may have been the case in the 1960’s or 70’s, but today a new generation of leaders guides both countries. All over the world, the people cry out for peace. Ridiculously high military budgets have broken the economies of too many nations, and the average citizen has had enough.
“Our General Secretary has voiced his own frustrations.
Though he has only been in office a few months more than the new U.S. President, his unprecedented actions are already changing the direction of the Motherland. For the first time ever, defense spending has actually decreased, while consumer expenditures are on the rise.”
“It sounds to me like we’re asking for trouble,” Kuzmin mumbled.
Ivana reacted instantly to this.
“That is precisely the paranoid thinking that has gotten us into this mess! We don’t need any more nuclear bombs; neither do the Americans.
Their people are just as tired of the arms race as ours. Don’t forget that Robert Palmer ran on a strong anti-military platform. No U.S. President since Reagan has ever won so decisively.
Just give these two dynamic young leaders a chance to meet eye-to-eye.
They’ll come up with something constructive.”
Impressed with Ivana’s thoughts, Valenko’s attraction to her intensified.
“I see that somebody has been doing their political-science homework.
For the sake of little Nikolai here, I hope that your optimistic view of world affairs comes to pass, Ivana. Until it does, Stefan and I can only do what we do best to insure this fragile peace.”
“Anyone ready for dinner?” Galina asked.
Not hearing a word of protest, she picked up the baby and led the way into the dining area.
Valenko was positively ravenous by the time they sat down at the table.
The varied platters of food that soon followed didn’t disappoint him in the least. The conversation was of a much lighter nature as they plowed into their borscht. The rich beet soup was another favored recipe of the girls’ mother. Valenko found that a spoonful of sour cream perfectly accented the tart, sweet broth. Stefan Kuzmin made certain that the champagne continued to flow. They were well into their third bottle by the time the main course was brought out.
Never had beef stroganoff tasted so delicious. Presented on a platter of wide egg noodles, the meat was tender enough to cut with a fork.
Served alongside was a bowl filled with steamed carrots and string beans. It had been much too long since the submariners had tasted fresh vegetables, and the two men joyfully indulged themselves. A cup of strong black coffee and a slice of spicy apple tart completed the feast. All through the meal, little Nikolai sat in his wooden highchair, content with his bottle and the company surrounding him. By dessert’s end, the lad was fast asleep.
While the girls began clearing the table, Stefan volunteered to put the baby to bed. Valenko accompanied him into the apartment’s only apparent bedroom.
With barely enough room for their own double mattress and a single vanity, they had just managed to squeeze a crib up against the far wall. As he watched the proud papa kiss his son lightly on the cheek and then tuck him in, Valenko found new respect for his warrant officer. Stefan Kuzmin had certainly done well for himself. In such an environment, Nikolai couldn’t help but grow into a fine young man.