Swimming to Antarctica_ Tales of a Long-Distance Swimmer - Lynne Cox [131]
A minute later, Dr. Nyboer returned, threw the bag back again, and placed the stethoscope on my chest. My body was fighting like mad in a refrigerator-like tent to get warm, and every time I’d start to create a warm airspace around me, someone would open the bag. I knew they needed to make sure my heart wasn’t going into fibrillation, but I couldn’t stand it.
In the background, I could hear voices and people singing, both in Russian and in a different language. It sounded like they were celebrating—it was a Siberian beach party. I wanted to be out there with them, but I just couldn’t manage it yet.
Fortunately, my old friend Rich Roberts came into the tent and said that the Soviets had set up two buffet tables on the rocky beach. They were covered with starched white tablecloths, and waiters wearing white smocks were serving hot tea in china cups, dried fish, bread, and chocolate-covered coconut candy. On the cliffs above the tables two army officers were watching everyone with binoculars and taking pictures. There was also a soldier posted to guard my sweat suit, which I had dropped outside the tent.
About an hour later, when I finally felt warm, I looked up at the Russian doctor and said, “Hi, my name is Lynne. What’s yours?”
“My name is Rita. Rita Zakharova.” Quickly she opened her wallet and started showing me family pictures.
“Your children?” I asked, pointing at the pictures.
“Nyet, no.” She shook her head and said something in Russian that I didn’t understand, then: “Not children. I babushka.”
“You’re a babushka?” I asked—a colorful shawl?
“Yes.” She nodded quickly. “Grandchildren.” She pointed to the pictures.
Rita Zakharova was the babushka I’d requested—a grandmother. To me, she was the warmth and color of Russia.
She opened a bag, reached in, and excitedly handed me a gift—a beautiful hand-painted lacquer bowl decorated with bright orange, red, and gold flowers. Oh, what can I give her? I thought. I picked up my cap and goggles and handed them to her. Rita motioned that she couldn’t accept them. When I insisted, she took them as if they were precious gifts. If only I could tell her what a precious gift she had given me, sharing her warmth with me. Somehow I think she understood without my having to speak any words. Both of us were almost in tears. She felt my cheeks again and nodded. They were finally warm, and I could feel my lips. Rita smiled, hugged me, and gave me permission to leave the tent and see what was happening outside.
21
Success
I heard the Inuits singing more clearly. There were people standing around the table and waiters serving them great cups of tea from a huge stainless steel samovar, and there were people standing side by side, Americans and Soviets, just talking. The Soviets had welcomed us with heartfelt gladness, as if we were long-lost friends.
Claire Richardson said that Pat Omiak had tried to communicate with Zoya and Margaret, the two Siberian Inuit women who had given me the sealskin slippers, but they spoke a different Inuit dialect, called Siberian Yupik. Pat knew, though, that the elders on Little Diomede used to hunt and trade with the Siberian Inuit and could speak Siberian Yupik. He knew that the elders on Little Diomede were at the community center waiting to hear from us, so Omiak called them on the two-way radio. Zoya and Margaret got on the radio and spoke to the elders while the entire village of Little Diomede, including Maria Sullivan and Dr. Nyboer Sr., listened in on the conversation.
Zoya and Margaret asked about the walrus hunting and whaling around Little Diomede. Margaret said it wasn’t good for the Inuit in the village of Magadan, on the Sea of Okhotsk. Most of the whales were gone. She also asked about John Kiminock, who had sailed from Siberia to Nome in the 1930s and