Imagine.
My mother worked on a floating fish-processing behemoth.
Baltic and North Sea, sometimes Atlantic, she was gone for weeks at a time.
I didn’t see much more of her than a photograph.
My father was a quiet drunk, he did the best he could.
It was the Soviet times, I had a good childhood. Misha was my friend. I ran and played, explored and collected, I had a nature table. The bear was in the forest, and beyond; we were on top of the world, a moral and physical pinnacle. In time, I was a Pioneer girl.
…
