THE LAST LEG

THE LAST OF THE LEG.

BY HARRY TOBIN.

Therefore the wind, we came with rolling in the pale dawn of December, driven by the northern gale arriving at last in a haven, in the Germany port Lebec. Flavia came to see me. She has travelled from Sweden by her little car and was delighted seeing us secured in the harbour. I wasn't in high spirit, for I was tired and down, still at the same time felt relaxed getting the ship out of the sea and now secured at the quya in the port of Lubec. A few days ago, we had struggled on our way at sea, suffering the sifting of the cargo in a northern gale in the baltic sea-the crew from Estonia- full of hope and opportunity aboard a foreign ship.

Now all have collapsed, the ship, the hope and the future.

The crew who have embarked in Estonia with great hope now dismissed, waiting for their passage to home.

In the evening, I drove Flavia away, saying; that I'm broke, so there will be no more money, nor honey. She was so upset and shocked that she dashed half-naked ashore.

It was a bleak week before Christmas, the weather raw and cold, and it was sleeting. Early in the Wednesday morning, we embarked on that red-coloured Rol and Rol ferry for Helsinki, and there was again the grey sea around with melancholy grey-coloured expansion of the water. We have left our watery home in the port of Lubeck, not a day too early; the vessel now more a hulk than a real seagoing ship, impossibly to continued her unfinished voyage anywhere, the axillaries broken down all the way and her par-last tanks badly leaking, and the apparatus of the bridge blind and, the Gyro compass out of order.

There we were, an exhausted and downhearted crew, making our return on the ferry. All of us, out paid and almost penniless.

For the last six months, I had mastered her as the skipper, and the other crew from Estonia now with disappointing mind waiting for the fate to be sent back to homeland with not a big salary in pockets.

The ferry carried us, and we roamed on the ferry's deck with little talking to each other.

Immediately after the lunch served in the saloon, I groped into my cabin and took out a pistol from my suitcase. I surveyed it and found it to be a gas arm. It wasn't proper metal. I was a gun for nothing, and I wondered why in hell I had bought such a needless thing. Tom came in, giving a glance at the pistol, sat on the bed saying nothing. He sat there for a while and then went out to the deck.

As the boys embarked on the job aboard their first foreign ship just a month ago, they now were on the way back home. They soon were forced to accept that from this first western ship; they would have just those grans news port suits.

The soviet union stood on the edge of collapse. There was a fear of the war and those million and million refugees from the East. Around the Baltic Sea, the coast guards were alarmed, and there were helicopters following every one of those ships crossing the Baltic sea. A helicopter could hover so down that the pilot could see directly into the wheelhouses of the vessel.

It was late evening as we arrived in Helsinki, and migrant police made boarding. Now it dawned on me that the Estonian boys don't have a transit visa. The boys have choked the black stemple on their passport, which could prevent their re-boarding.

I have the crew list, and by that, it allowed them to move to the Olympic terminal, the ferry port for Tallin.

We all were gathering in the terminal, and I made a phone call to the shipowner asking him to come by.

The owner came with his luxury can. When I demanded him pay off the Estonian boys, the owner with hesitated main said to me as if trying to see support for himself, "We will not hire any revolutionary men anymore".

It sounded so native that it nearly made me laugh. "We no hire those revolutionaries anymore."

As though after all the loss, there could be room to hire anyone.

That was a bleak week before Christmas, the weather raw and cold, and it was sleeting. Early in the morning, we had been boarding that red-coloured Rol and Rol ferry for Helsinki and there was again the grey sea around with melancholy and the grey coloured expansion of the sea. We had left the ship in the port of Lubeck. She had reached her final state, now just like a hulk, impossibly to continued her voyage, her axillaries broken down all the way and her par-last tanks badly leaking, the apparatus of the bridge blind and the Gyro compass out of order.

There we were, a tired and downhearted crew, making our return by the ferry. all of us, out paid and almost penniless

For six months, I had mastered her as the skipper aboard, with the crew of Estonia, with their disappointing mind waiting for the fate back to home, not a salary in pockets.

The ferry carried us, and we roamed on the ferry's deck without talking to each other.

Immediately after the lunch serviced in the saloon, I troped into my cabin and taken out a pistol from my suitcase. I surveyed it and found it to be a gas arm. It wasn't proper metal. I was a gun for nothing, and I wondered why in hell I had bought such a needless thing. Tom came in, glancing at the pistol, sat on the bed saying nothing; he sat there for a while and then went out to the deck.

The boys have taken their job with great hope; now, they are on the way back home. They soon were forced to accept that from this first western ship; they would have those gran news port suits.

The soviet union stood on the edge of collapse. There was a fear of the war and those million and million refugees from the East. Round the Baltic Sea. A helicopter following every one of those ships crossing the baltic sea. The helicopters could hover so down that the pilot could see directly into the wheelhouses of the vessel.

It was late evening as we arrived in Helsinki, and migrant police made boarding. Now it dawned to me that the Estonian boys haven't a transit visa. The boys got choked; they could have black stempel on their passport, which could bane their re-boarding.

I have the crew list, and by that, they were allowed to moving to the Olympic terminal, the ferry port for Tallin.

While gathering in the terminal, I made a phone call asking the shipowner to come by.

The owner came with his luxury can. When I demanded him pay off the Estonian boys, the owner with hesitated main said to me as if trying to see support for himself, "We will no to hire any revolutionary men anymore".

It sounded so naive that it nearly made me laugh. "We no hire those revolutionaries anymore."

As though after all the loss, there could be room to hire anyone.

A worrying policeman watched as the Estonia boys embarking the ferry for Tallinn. "The Foreign Minister of Sovjet Union Zevartnace have resing. We don't know what from there could appear", the policeman said. It sounded like; It had crossed the Borden.

That winter and the following summer was a period that brought unforeseeable changes into Europa. Is the world order changing? The wall of Berlin was grumbling, and they were singing over the countries of the Baltic. That winter, I spent ashore, doing one miserable job and another, driving dirt dumber and spending nights in a small local cellar in the city; it was an illegal abode with no light. It was called among the dumber drivers' as an iron college. The landlord warded me not to make noise there below because it was unlawful living - even the job was without tax to pay- so I was precisely literally and in practice- undergrounded.

When the spring came on, I got a job as a skipper on a ferry owned by a family company in Helsinki. The position and the route were nothing but driving non-stop, from morning to evening, between the outer bastion of the island of Suomenlinna and the inner harbour. I spent many dull days aboard, carrying tourists and bicycles, steering the wheel all day long.

There was another skipper aboard. He was called Ali in his fifties. He wore a navy-like blue suit and kept his hair combed and slick. He had served before as an air pilot on the MHK company. I didn't very much care for his talk - I knew he had never been at sea like a real sailor.

The owners of the ferry made daily visits aboard. They were an elderly couple with their oldest son; they were always worried, inquiring whether we had seen any maritime inspector boarding the ship or if any problem had arisen aboard. The summer went that way, and it was sunny. Later that summer, By August, the change came over, and then there was the rain. It was almost the end of August when I was off and took a trip to Estonia. It was a rainy and windy day; the quayside terminal was full of embarking passengers. Upon entering the ferry terminal, I saw Turk. I saw his blond head towering above the crowd, and I could see at once, he was drunk. In no time, he discovered me and began bawling, "Nice to seen and kill an old fella."

He was drunk and with high spirit, I didn't care very much about his company, and when I got my boarding pass for the ferry Tallink, we embarked together. After the ferry was out and the bar opened, and a place found to sit down for the voyager, I began to think about how I could get rid of the drinking company. He annoyed me by his loudly talking and chattering, trying to tell over and over his reason for his trip. "There are whores, plenty of whore and vodka".

I went out the deck, awaiting the arrival in Tallinn impatiently. The weather was good and mild, and there was no wind. I stood on deck watching while the ferry manoeuvred and had tied at the quay, then the outrunning crowd was filling the gangway for the custom and the border guards, "your passport, please. What brings you to this country, Mister?

 a tourist. The custom

" Have you anything to for declaration.

"No,"

Do not try to smuggle anything".

"No"

Finally, getting the customs' bloody task and all the inquire done, I was free to enter the country.

I was sniffing the air and standing outside the port waiting for the sailor fellows to come, and they came -all three by the red Ladan, and after all the clapping on the shoulder and greeting, I sat in the, and we drove away.

Along the coastal road, we drove.

Chapter 2

They had come over during the night; the host downstairs had opened the radio in the morning at six o'clock, from which information had immediately popped up that the military units had already reached Ledigrad Road, near the city. This information Tomma then roared up the stairs, up to the attic, where I lay with Nata crammed into that cramped unpainted wooden box that was to be a bed. I immediately went down to the only living room where the crowd was sitting around the radio. Nata came down a little later, and she seemed utterly ignored by all the threats at the time moving towards the city. The news repeated the approaching soldiers gathered under the TV tower, and some negotiations have started between representatives of the local population and the heads of military departments.

Then came the news that the port was closed. I should have travelled across the Gulf of Finland to Helsinki in the morning boat. Now that road was across.

We went to look at the shore, a grey warship positioned in the middle of Tallinn Bay. There it was and blocked traffic in and out. I had to go back to Data to have a beer and listen to the radio. I asked to call Nata Taxi, and when the car came, I gave this little money. Nata turned to me, and I said in a low voice. "I don't have a passport. Could you give Iran some money to arrange a ticket for me? I promised to talk about it to Ira who was working in Avir's passport workshop. I assured Nata, who was still sitting in the car, that I would return,  even if there were some order in the country.

The car made its way out of it and took Nata to the girl's dormitory on Rawiakinkatu. 

I continued to sit and listen to the news with the rest of the troubled host.

Then in the evening before five o'clock came the news that the port was open and the sea blockade was over. From there, Tomita had to leave the Volga for a passenger terminal. The whole area was now full of Finnish tourists hauling their bags home.