Russian Amerika Read Online Free PDF Page B
Author: Stoney Compton
memory.
Suddenly he was again a frightened five-year-old, watching his drunken father beat his mother. His mother grunted with the blows, trying to cover her face and chest. Grisha's fear for his mother finally overcame selfpreservation and he attacked his father.
He pounded on his father with small fists. The next thing he knew, his mother was bathing his face with cold water. Pitr Grigorievich had knocked him out, realized the monstrousness of his actions, and fled into the night.
They had waited together, fearful and expectant, for the man to return and for it all to begin again. Which it did.
Grisha shook his head at the vividness of the memory. He knew he still harbored old anger for his father, but he thought the fear long vanquished. And how was this like that?
They spent the night at transient moorage in a small settlement on Mitkof Island. Fuel cost more there, but Grisha didn't want to run into anyone he knew. Not that Valari let him get that far from the double bunk in the bow and her insatiable needs.
By 0900 the next morning they were on the last leg of their trip. The fair weather held for the entire day and they made good time. Akku Channel lay quiet and empty in the late evening when they rounded the south end of Douglas Island.
The stamp mills sat silent, something that only happened on Christmas Day and the Czar's birthday. The last glow of light reflected on the water. Suddenly fireworks shouted across the sky as they neared town.
"What are they celebrating, a local holiday?" Valari asked.
´Grisha thought hard. "No. There's no holiday in early July. I don't know what's going on."
He slowed as they passed under the bridge, but no patrol boats lurked in their usual spots. They idled up to the fuel dock, and he tied the boat while she stepped into the office.
"There's nobody here."
Laughter and music drifted down from the Harbor Hotel. Fireworks popped and whistled above them, the acrid stink of gunpowder drifted on the air. Grisha shrugged and filled the fuel tanks.
"This bothers me," Valari said. "I want to know what's happening."
He moved Pravda over to her normal berth as full darkness settled over an unusually boisterous Akku.
"You wait here. I'll get the money, and we'll go look at California."
"Be careful, Grigoriy," she whispered, then kissed him ardently.
He hurried away, wondering where they would be a year from now. From half a block away he could see that every light in his house blazed. People milled about, laughing and drinking.
A party. She's actually having a party .
He crept close enough to see Kazina radiant on the arm of Kommander Fedorov. She wore a dress new to him, and the kommander stood resplendent in full dress uniform. They made a handsome couple.
Surprisingly, the teeth didn't bite at him. He tensed in the old way, but they were gone.
It's over, and I don't care anymore , he thought. A new adventure waits for me .
The sense of freedom left him giddy. He hurried around the house to his well-built shop. Quietly he slipped in through the door and stopped, pulse drumming in his head.
He wasn't alone. Barely discernible noises exuded from the dark, sawdust-scented space. He peered at the workbench but could see nothing in the dim light other than a few tools out of place.
Three large electric saws dominated the center of the room. Sorted wood filled racks against the back wall, and his drafting table and books loomed on the left. The only thing against the right wall was his cot-
"Oh, Georg! Oh, my god!" exclaimed a young, feminine voice from the cot. Grisha grinned despite himself and moved quietly off to the left.
He had hidden the money in his file cabinet. Just a few more steps.
His foot hit a can of nails and knocked it over like a thunderclap in a hospital ward.
The woman gasped, and a male voice boomed out, "Who's there? Identify yourself. I'm armed!"
"Sorry, friend," Grisha said in a normal tone of voice. "I didn't realize
Suddenly he was again a frightened five-year-old, watching his drunken father beat his mother. His mother grunted with the blows, trying to cover her face and chest. Grisha's fear for his mother finally overcame selfpreservation and he attacked his father.
He pounded on his father with small fists. The next thing he knew, his mother was bathing his face with cold water. Pitr Grigorievich had knocked him out, realized the monstrousness of his actions, and fled into the night.
They had waited together, fearful and expectant, for the man to return and for it all to begin again. Which it did.
Grisha shook his head at the vividness of the memory. He knew he still harbored old anger for his father, but he thought the fear long vanquished. And how was this like that?
They spent the night at transient moorage in a small settlement on Mitkof Island. Fuel cost more there, but Grisha didn't want to run into anyone he knew. Not that Valari let him get that far from the double bunk in the bow and her insatiable needs.
By 0900 the next morning they were on the last leg of their trip. The fair weather held for the entire day and they made good time. Akku Channel lay quiet and empty in the late evening when they rounded the south end of Douglas Island.
The stamp mills sat silent, something that only happened on Christmas Day and the Czar's birthday. The last glow of light reflected on the water. Suddenly fireworks shouted across the sky as they neared town.
"What are they celebrating, a local holiday?" Valari asked.
´Grisha thought hard. "No. There's no holiday in early July. I don't know what's going on."
He slowed as they passed under the bridge, but no patrol boats lurked in their usual spots. They idled up to the fuel dock, and he tied the boat while she stepped into the office.
"There's nobody here."
Laughter and music drifted down from the Harbor Hotel. Fireworks popped and whistled above them, the acrid stink of gunpowder drifted on the air. Grisha shrugged and filled the fuel tanks.
"This bothers me," Valari said. "I want to know what's happening."
He moved Pravda over to her normal berth as full darkness settled over an unusually boisterous Akku.
"You wait here. I'll get the money, and we'll go look at California."
"Be careful, Grigoriy," she whispered, then kissed him ardently.
He hurried away, wondering where they would be a year from now. From half a block away he could see that every light in his house blazed. People milled about, laughing and drinking.
A party. She's actually having a party .
He crept close enough to see Kazina radiant on the arm of Kommander Fedorov. She wore a dress new to him, and the kommander stood resplendent in full dress uniform. They made a handsome couple.
Surprisingly, the teeth didn't bite at him. He tensed in the old way, but they were gone.
It's over, and I don't care anymore , he thought. A new adventure waits for me .
The sense of freedom left him giddy. He hurried around the house to his well-built shop. Quietly he slipped in through the door and stopped, pulse drumming in his head.
He wasn't alone. Barely discernible noises exuded from the dark, sawdust-scented space. He peered at the workbench but could see nothing in the dim light other than a few tools out of place.
Three large electric saws dominated the center of the room. Sorted wood filled racks against the back wall, and his drafting table and books loomed on the left. The only thing against the right wall was his cot-
"Oh, Georg! Oh, my god!" exclaimed a young, feminine voice from the cot. Grisha grinned despite himself and moved quietly off to the left.
He had hidden the money in his file cabinet. Just a few more steps.
His foot hit a can of nails and knocked it over like a thunderclap in a hospital ward.
The woman gasped, and a male voice boomed out, "Who's there? Identify yourself. I'm armed!"
"Sorry, friend," Grisha said in a normal tone of voice. "I didn't realize
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