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Think of the Loss. As the flight wore on, the conversation got around to Cuba. "One shouldn't trust Castro too far," remarked one passenger. "At some point he might double-cross us. After all we've done, what do we get? In his last speech, when he referred to countries that aided Cuba, he mentioned the Soviet Union last, with China way ahead. How do you like that?"
Said another: "Granted. Fidel says some odd things. But Raul has got his head screwed on right; he's a true friend, and there are others." "Speaking of heads," came the answer, "the other day Fidel said, 'It's time we started using our own heads.' What do you think he meant if not that we've been doing too much of his thinking for him?" A lady schoolteacher cut in: "Some years ago, I was sent to China to give lessons. At the time, we were pouring lots of aid into China, and see what happened. I shouldn't like to see Cuba go the same way. Think of the loss."
Just then the conversation was drowned out by a group of young Cubans, bound for school in Russia, who broke into a revolutionary song with a cha cha beat ending up ''Cuba, si! Yanqui, no!" Russian passengers joined in the chorus.
The conversation drifted on, and meal followed meal—each the same as breakfast, with slight variations. At last the stewardess came back with word that Moscow was closed in. We put down in Murmansk, but soon our stewardess jubilantly announced that our pilot had talked Vnukovo airport in Moscow into letting us come in. Less than two hours later, the slightly less than nonstop flight came to an end in a perfect landing amid a blinding Moscow snowstorm.