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None of the Soviet film industry people yet knew of the tragic events over the Sea of Okhotsk. When I told of the destruction of the airliner at the dinner table, my neighbors were horrified, and shook their heads in concern. The news quickly spread across the room from table to table, though some, especially the young ladies, paid no attention to it. Some of these artistic types simply did not grasp what a painful incident this was, and its universal import. They were, as usual, preoccupied with themselves.
Soon, however, the entire delegation understood what it was like to be called a murderer. It was if they had personally shot down the airliner and killed innocent people. They might deny any involvement, but it had been their country’s doing. People no longer welcomed the Soviet d
