Everything can be # 001


After evening tea, the wardroom was empty. A light breeze bursting through the ajar porthole, blowing up a curtain with a bubble, playfully sorting through napkins on tables. Three sat at the first table from the entrance: the captain, senior assistant and senior mechanic. The conversation was about accidents and patterns in our lives, about their relationship.

The senior assistant has just completed a long discussion about the fact that a pattern logically follows from a chain of accidents, backing up his words with authoritative quotes. There was silence at the table for a while. All that was heard was how the spoons in the glasses were ringing subtly, responding to the vibration of the ship's hull, and from the pantry came the clink of utensils - the barmaid was putting things in order in her household.

The captain was the first to break the silence.

- And I had a case ...

He stood up, looked into the dark glass of the frontal porthole, then returned to his place again and continued:

- This story began a few years ago, I was still a senior assistant. On the way to Cuba, we went to the Spanish port of Algeciras to replenish our bunker. By the end of my shift, bunkering was completed, and we were only expecting an agent to process the departure. The orange sun had already slid off the mountainous shore and sunk into the depths of the Atlantic, twilight was quickly condensing, and the lights of an oil refinery lit up their blue Christmas tree garlands.

I am standing on the wing of the bridge, looking for an agent boat and suddenly I hear someone calling a Soviet ship on a VHF telephone, heading for the Strait of Gibraltar. I walked over and listened: they either called Murom or Murmansk; now I don’t remember. They speak Russian, but, you know, with such an accent, like Georgian. This name is called "Murom" once, twice, third, but he does not answer, he does not hear, it turns out.

I see such a thing - I decided to answer it myself. You never know what, maybe how I can help. They heard me right away. It turned out - the Bulgarian vessel is interested in the weather forecast for the Central Atlantic. Something happened to the radio station there. Well, you can help in this matter. I went to the radio operators, took the weather log, read out on a radiotelephone everything that interested the Bulgarian. Finished with the business part and started a normal sailor conversation: where from where, what kind of cargo., What port of registry. Bulgarian speaks great Russian. Where did he learn that?

Just as I said that the port of registry of our tanker is Novorossiysk, his voice became an octave higher. I, says, I know your city well, stood on the line and often came to you. Well, I'm glad to hear that. Site of Canada area codes https://canadian-adventures.com

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