by W.C. Bell

Created on: November 26, 2011   Last Updated: December 04, 2011

The Strangest Gift

It was lunchtime, Christmas Day, 1967. The officers in the wardroom and the crew in the mess were gorging themselves on turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. Pumpkin pies were baking in the ovens.

Raymond wasn't there. He wasn't in the mood. He was alone with his thoughts, out on deck, dreaming of home and a real Christmas.

His destroyer was steaming alongside a Soviet trawler. The captains of the Russian and American vessels were engaged in a cat and mouse duel of seamanship near the California coast. The Soviets had been send to gather military intelligence, and Raymond's skipper was determined to deny them the opportunity. The ships were maneuvering a scant 30 feet apart. A single misstep, a weave instead of a dodge, might cause a collision, possibly with fatal consequences. Such brinksmanship was common during the Cold War.

A lone Russian sailor appeared on deck. Raymond eyed the man suspiciously. He had never seen a ruskie up close before. He wondered what evil thoughts might be brewing in that alien mind.

The Russian sailor, probably never having seen an American in person, sized up Raymond for a while. He then made a quick gesture. He tapped two fingers to his lips. The sign did not require interpretation. He wanted a smoke.

Finding it impossible to throw a single cigarette that far, Raymond went to his locker to look for an unopened pack. His search turned up something even better, an unopened carton. In the spirit of Christmas, Raymond flung it across the gap between the ships.

The Russian sailor appeared awe struck. Back then, American cigarettes were virtually worth their weight in gold. Such luck rarely befell ordinary seamen. Tucking his prize up under his jumper, he gesticulated excitedly and disappeared below.

The Russian returned with a bottle of vodka. He went to the far side of his ship. Then, getting a long running start, he made an Olympic hurl.

Raymond caught the bottle in mid-air, or at least tired to. It was like trying to catch a cannon ball. It struck with a great force, flipped up over his head out of reach and kept on going. Raymond whirled and made a diving lunge. He landed with a painful splat, sprawled on his chest. Miraculously, the bottle fell into his outstretched arms.

Raymond stared at the present in rapt wonder. It was something one couldn't get in the States. It was possible buy import brands, of course, but it wasn't the same. His was the genuine article, straight from the heart of the vast Russian motherland.

The exchange didn't go unnoticed. The captain on the bridge witnessed the entire thing. Since it was illegal to have alcohol on the ship, the skipper sent a lieutenant aft to seize the contraband. "I'm putting you on report, sailor." the officer snarled as he snatched the prize from Raymond's grasp.

Lying face down in physical and mental agony on the cold, hard, steel deck of a U.S. Navy destroyer, Raymond pondered the fundamental nature of the universe and the true meaning of life. He realized instinctively that his five minutes of camaraderie with an unknown enemy sailor was destined to be the strangest Christmas gift he would ever receive. He learned too that the powers that be could confiscate possessions, but they couldn't eradicate memories.

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