Egon Hedin the cook

Egon Hedin the cook
When I joined the ship as a second cook I had trained as a baker, on a tank ship with forty crews, one, who could bake a passable loaf was needed
The cook’s name was Egon Hedin, he had an ascetic face with an aristocratic nose, one felt like bowing to his lord until you saw his arms they looked enormous which would in a boxer
the vessel left Antwerp for Russia the journey took us through the Mediterranean Sea and since the weather was fine the deckhands wore shorts that excited him greatly, he tried to sneak up to one of them to stroke the boy’s back, this caused friction the crew didn’t want a homo onboard, the captain came told a tale that the cook had lost his son he longed for
When we birthed in Russia in a town, I had forgotten the name of, the cook and I went ashore few seamen went ashore in Russia as it was seen as a boring place with few bars and no whores the town lacked a festive atmosphere
Walking down a beautiful avenue we heard music from an open window, the cook marched in it was a local party’s functionary's birthday they were all men in badly cut suits and glad to see us for some strange Russian reason
They gave the cook vodka and me beer since I was so young, Hedin was at his most dramatic he sang a Russian song about love for the land till everybody cried, later we were driven onboard in a big black car
The tankship headed for Iceland with the oil cargo, Raysahavik the spelling is wrong a boring place with watery beer
back in Antwerp, the cook paid off, seeing him
in his splendid suit, I knew he was an aristocrat