GROWING UP

IT IS NEVER TOO LATE LEARN

One of my acquaintances, a middle-aged lady at last has got her US visa and sharing her joy rang me up:
– Next week we are flying with my husband to New York, the capital of the USA.
– You mean Washington, don’t you?
– No, New York, the capital of America, – she said again.
It was clear, she had been a poor student at school and had not learned geography properly.
That telephone call reminded me of another example of someones primitive knowledge of geography, and though it was not my fault, I had suffered for it.
It was a long time ago when St. Petersburg was still called Leningrad, and our motorship maintained a regular passenger line between Leningrad and London. Round-trip voyages lasted ten days.
We set sail from London to the shores of Russia. The majority of our passengers were British subjects, we also had a few Danish, French, Finnish tourists, and one Canadian lady, on board. I still remember her name – Mrs. Thompson. She was a stout, grave looking woman of advanced age, wearing glasses. One could easily take her for a retired university professor. But as the saying goes: “Appearances are deceptive”.
It was her first trip to Europe and Russia. Mrs. Thompson occupied a suite on the port side and was extremely happy having learned that once upon a time in “her” cabin Mr. Khrushchev had travelled to New York.
On the second night of the voyage our ship was sailing along the Sound – the strait between the coasts of Denmark and Sweden. Plenty of passengers gathered on deck enjoying the warm summer weather and bright lights of the two coasts.
– Excuse my bothering you! – I heard the voice of the Canadian lady. – Are those the lights of France? – she inquired pointing to the port side.
The question seemed to me a joke and I fired back:
– No, it is Thailand.
– Thank you. I was mistaken! – she politely replied.
A thought flashed through my mind that the passenger might be offended by my pulling her leg and I tried to correct my asinine joke and added in a serious tone:
– That is Sweden and we are passing now Malme.
– Oh, I never remember the names of the countries, – smiled my interlocutor and slowly walked away toward the lights of “Thailand”.
The stewardess who was in charge of cleaning and tidying up the deluxe cabin on the port side every morning took from the cabin an empty bottle of whisky or gin. Sometimes the occupant of Khrushchev’s former cabin did not appear in the ship’s restaurant for dinner and asked for meals to be brought to her suite. But on the whole she was not a lot of trouble.
In due time the ship arrived in Leningrad. All passengers put their luggage in the corridors and the sailors began collecting and carrying bags and suitcases to the aft of the vessel for unloading the baggage ashore with the help of the ship’s derricks.
Strict and severe looking immigration officers came on board, and all tourists according to a routine procedure were to meet the authorities in the music room for passport control. Everything as usual was going smoothly and within one hour all our foreign guests would leave the ship – a happy moment for seamen. The crew soon would also be allowed to go ashore to meet their sweethearts, wives, relatives and friends.
But there is often a slip between the cup and the lip. I was asked to come up to the music room. The colonel who was in charge of passport control seemed to be annoyed and cross.
– One passenger is still missing! This is Mrs. Thompson from Canada. Is she on board? Why did not she turn up? – he questioned me.
I rushed downstairs and saw the stewardess coming out of the suite. She looked discouraged.
– Our Canadian tourist has refused to go ashore! – said the woman.
– Why?
– No idea.
I knocked at the door.
– Come in! – I heard a joyful voice.
I entered the sitting room of the cabin. It was in a mess. Clothes were scattered everywhere. Two crumpled blouses lay on an armchair, pajamas lay on the floor, a black shoe stood on top of a TV set, Mrs. Thompson was wearing a pink dressing gown and seemed to be happy to see the ship’s officer. Without noticing my concern she poured two glasses of Johny Walker Red Label Scotch.
– Sorry, I only have this stuff, not black label, – she smiled.
– I am on duty and can’t accept your hospitality. Immigration officers have been waiting for you. You should take your passport and go to the music room to see them and then go ashore.
– Don’t bother me young man! I am travelling farther, to Moscow, – she replied with a bewitching smile. – Cheers!
– Our voyage has come to an end. We have arrived in Leningrad, I explained.
– Well, but I bought a ticket as far as Moscow, – she objected.
– You will certainly go to Moscow, but by train.
– Why? I want to continue my trip on board your comfortable ship. Please, settle this little problem with your naughty immigration officials.
There was no point in pourines water into a sieve.
– O.K. Wait for a moment! – With these words I left the cabin and fetched, from the ship’s office, a map of Russia.
– Look! There is no water, no seas between the two cities, Leningrad and Moscow. A ship can’t sail on dry land, can it? You will travel to Moscow by the comfortable train Red Arrow.
– The name sounds very romantic, – she observed. It took her a hell of a lot of time to pack all her belongings, to get dressed and go to the music room to see the furious colonel, who had already complained to the captain about the bad organisation of the disembarkation of the passengers. The fault lay on me as a purser.
The whole crew was angry with me too; seamen were delayed on board for almost two extra hours. The master reprimanded me for not implementing my duty properly. I ought to have foreseen all circumstances concerning the passengers – even their curriculum.
Since that time I dislike and do not respect people who have not learned well such an important subject as geography during their school years.

By Evgeny Kunitsyn