By the time I was cleaned up and looked half presentable, the boat had long left the quays at Nizhniy Novgorod and was sailing southeast toward Kazan. I just glimpsed the tall bluff of the old city off the stern of the boat as we passed the river island near Kstovo, a wretched little suburb of Nizhniy filled with country dachas and broken industrial estates. Seeing Nizhniy disappear behind the bend I felt that I could relax. I knew that those looking for me had no idea about how I vanished into thin air when they were so close to nabbing me. I imagined what the ‘British Knight’ was telling the chief henchman at this point. I chuckled aloud at my luck. My ribs reminded me that the score was one to one and that the match was not over yet.
Irina found me on deck watching Nizhniy disappear around the bend, and commented from behind me before I sensed her presence. “I imagine that this is a big relief to you to get away for a week to let things calm down.”
“Yes, very much so!” I said with relief. Turning to her familiar voice and face. “I don’t think I can go back, Irina. In fact, I know I can’t.”
“You must have made somebody very angry with you,” she commented but didn’t want to know more. She continued, “Peter, I have spoken with the ship’s nurse. I told her that you are a crew member for this voyage, a translator, and asked her to look at your injuries.”
“That was very kind of you, Irina, but I don’t want to be a burden,” I apologized.
“Nonsense. You get patched up and get some lunch and I will make you work for every crumb and bandage. We can use you on this voyage.” She smiled and then went off with her usual long, purposeful strides to help smooth out another problem another passenger was having. She was always on high receive and understood how to make her guests comfortable.
I found the nurses station on the lower deck at the front of the boat. It was simply a double size cabin with a stock of first-aid supplies and local elixirs for different common ailments for passengers not accustomed to living on a boat. I knocked politely and waited for the nurse to answer. There was no answer. I expected that she had waddled herself above deck in her sterile white orthopedic shoes and tunic and was taking the blood pressure of another geriatric American who was a bit worked by a bit of indigestion. As I turned to leave, the cabin door opened and a doll faced, rosy-cheeked, slender young woman in a gauzy blouse and black slacks cinched tight at her waist asked how she could help me. I stood transfixed and couldn’t speak.
“I, I, I am Peter. Irina sent me.” I stammered trying to find room in my mouth for my tongue between all my teeth, “Are you the nurse?”
“Yes. Please come in. I was expecting you a little earlier, but I guess you had just arrived and needed to sleep a bit.” She was as sweet as morning sunshine! “What happened to you?”
“I fell running for the bus to get to the boat on time,” I lied and looked away.
“Can you show me the injuries please?” she asked in a clinical way.
I pointed like an idiot to my upper left arm above my elbow, under my shirt without saying anything.
“Will you please remove your shirt so I can see what it looks like?” she said again as a matter of routine.
I unbuttoned my shirt and while trying to take my left arm out of the sleeve the nurse noticed the wincing and the slow stretch backward. I showed her the unwrapped gash from twenty-four hours earlier. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, but it was undressed after my shower and was deeply bruised.
“Are you sure you fell?” she looked at me with doubt in her eyes.
“I was mugged,” I reluctantly admitted with a bit of shame in my voice.
“Did they hit you with a metal baton?” she asked specifically looking at the shape of the bruising.
“Yes, I think so,” I admitted again with a whisper. “Hit me twice and or three times with it, and then kicked me a few times. I don’t know how many times.”
“Will you please show me your ribs? Are they as bad as your arm?” she ventured.
“Yes, very bad.” I lifted up my tee-shirt to expose the bruises. She winced but looked carefully.
“I see that you were hit at least twice in the ribs with that baton. So, I would count three hits in total. Did he hit you anyplace else?” She lifted the back of the shirt up to see a bruise but not as dramatic as the others. “That looks to be a bit different, less severe.”
The nurse wrapped my torso tight with broad bandages to support the ribs and treated the gash with iodine that made my eyes water!
“Can’t you all find something other than iodine in this modern age?” I squealed as she dabbed into the wound to disinfect it. My lower arm was streaked brown.
“I”m sorry, can you say that again? I don’t speak English,” she replied to my outburst.
“All is normal. It just hurt, that’s all,” I replied through my clenched teeth.
“I will give you some tablets for the pain. But you should rest for the next three days. No more running for buses!” she commented sarcastically.
“No more buses…,” I repeated with a bit of relief in my voice.
“Did they steal something important from you?” she asked with sympathy as she wrapped the wound with clean bandages.
“Yes, but it wasn’t mine to keep. So, I don’t have to worry about getting it back. I just made them very angry that I had it,” I commented.
“Oh, so they knew you had it and wanted it returned?” she asked further.
“Well, it was never theirs to begin with, but they didn’t want me to have it,” I confirmed.
“And how did they know you had it?” she was a bit confused.
“It’s a long story. Maybe I could tell you another time,” and I stood up and put my shirt back on.
“Sure. Another time then.” And with that she handed me a box of pain killers and held up two fingers, tapped her wrist watch and held up four fingers.
“Two, every four hours,” I confirmed my understanding.
She nodded yes and motioned for me to back up toward the cabin door with her sweet dark hazel almond shaped eyes and perfectly arched eye brows. I extended my right hand to thank her for her care. As she took my hand to shake it I felt her pale soft slender fingers in mine and a zing of electricity up my neck.
“And your name is?” I left the question hanging.
“Lara. My name is Lara,” she affirmed and opened the door and waved me out with a smile.
Being on board the Zhukov again was like being on a different planet. The news of the outside world didn’t reach the cabins and decks of the ship. The days spent on board were a blissful journey over a plane of ignorance. Only when one was able to turn on a television in a hotel suite was there a connection to the outside world. The world could go to war and for six and half days those on the Volga could sail on, not knowing who had been shot or bombed. I kept a low profile for my first evening on board not wanting to get into too many involved conversations. I felt still that I would be safer if I could keep my misadventures to myself. No need to raise suspicions and questions where they didn’t already exist. It was for me the perfect place to hide for a week until I could formulate a new plan for getting to Moscow and on board a departing air plane.
I sat with Nikolai in a corner of the dining room gingerly spooning a delicious borscht into my mouth with my right hand while holding a chunk of black bread in my left hand. Nikolai sat across the table from me drinking a steaming cup of coffee after his dinner. We were speaking in low voices when the ship’s nurse, Lara, took a seat across the table next to Nikolai and looked me up and down.
“I am happy to see you have an appetite. That means you are resting well,” Lara said with a serious face.
“Yes, thank you. The tablets,” I held up two fingers, followed by four fingers, “have helped me very much. Thank you for your care.” I smiled as charmingly as possible.