Under the Ice

The mesh bag he continued to drag along at his side seemed to have gained in weight as Sergei headed toward the kitchen. As he had assumed, it was in this cramped, linoleum-lined cubicle that the entire party had chosen to gather.

He first spotted his pert, redheaded wife Lara standing beside the sink. At her feet, Sasha sat comfortably on the floor, already absorbed in the toy doll she had just been given.

“She’s got several additional outfits as well,” observed Tanya Belenko.

“We got you the ski suit, some formal wear, and bathing gear.”

As the svelte blonde bent down to show Sasha where these outfits were stored, Sergei Markova announced his presence by loudly clearing his throat. It proved to be his wife who spotted him first.

“Well, look what the wind blew in. I hope you don’t mind, but we started the party without you.”

“So I’ve noticed,” replied Sergei as he swung the mesh carrying bag onto the counter. After accepting a kiss from Lara, he turned to the tall, black-haired man standing by the refrigerator.

“Hello, Senior Lieutenant. Glad you could make it.”

Any guise of formality was dispeled as Sergei picked his way across the room and warmly hugged his coworker.

“Greetings to you. Captain,” replied Viktor Belenko.

“That’s some storm that’s brewing outside, huh, my friend?”

“It certainly is,” answered Sergei, who was about the same height as his swarthy second-in-command, but fair-skinned and blond.

“Why it was an effort just to keep Sasha from being blown away.”

“That’s not true!” shouted the six-year-old from the kitchen floor.

“Come see what Aunt Tanya and Uncle Viktor have given me. Poppy. It’s a Barbuski doll!”

As Sergei bent down to take a look at this present, he planted a kiss on Tanya Belenko’s cheek.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this. Captain,” whispered Tanya with a provocative wink.

“People will talk.”

“Let them. I’m not shy,” retorted Sergei playfully, as he examined the lifelike doll Sasha was already expertly dressing in ski coat and boots.

“That’s a marvelous gift, little princess,” he observed.

“Why she almost looks real. Now why don’t you gather everything up and take your Barbuski off to your room before one of us grown-ups steps on something.”

“Come on, Sasha dear. I’ll help you,” offered Tanya.

As they began picking up the various articles of realistic, miniature clothing and the colorful paper in which the present had been wrapped, Sergei stood and rejoined Viktor.

“It looks like Sasha certainly has something to keep her out of trouble for the rest of the evening. Thanks for remembering her, comrade.”

“The pleasure’s ours, Sergei. After all, we’ve known Sasha since she was an infant, and we like to think of her as our own flesh and blood.”

Sergei smiled.

“We’re very lucky to have friends such as you and Tanya. So what do you say to a drink to seal our bond?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Viktor replied.

Beside them, Lara Markova was in the process of emptying the mesh sack her husband had just brought in. Most of the items she took from it were bottles of liquor. Lara counted three liters of Georgian champagne, two of Ukrainian potato vodka, and a bottle of French cognac. She also exhumed four loaves of crusty bread, a package of assorted fruit tats, Sasha’s prized cookies, cake, and several tins of Beluga caviar.

As she turned the empty sack upside down and shook it as if expecting something else to fall out, she commented.

“Do you mean to say that you’ve been gone over two hours, and this is all you were able to bring back?

Why this isn’t even half the items I put down on the list. Where’s the milk, the chicken, and the fresh fruit I needed? Why our guests will positively starve!”

Already breaking the seal of one of the vodka bottles, Sergei made a vain attempt to defend himself.

“In anticipation of this snowstorm that’s upon us, I think every single babushka in Murmansk was out this morning hoarding food. The milk and poultry counters were bare by the time I got to them. And the only fresh fruit available was a load of rotting Cuban mangoes.”

“Well, I see that you had a bit more luck at the liquor store,” Lara wisely observed, as she set four clean glasses on the crowded counter.

“And where in the world did you ever find real Beluga caviar? I thought all of it was being exported for hard currency.”

A gleam sparkled in Sergei’s eyes.

“Sometimes being an officer in the People’s Navy does have its benefits, my dear wife. Old man Litvak, the fellow who runs the Red Star liquor store was a naval commander himself during the Great Patriotic War.