When Nickipedia and I finally boarded the train in Bratislava to take us back to Vienna, we went straight to the dining car and ordered every salad and fruit cocktail on the menu. It may have looked odd, but we were unable to buy any fruit and vegetables the entire time we were traveling through Czechoslovakia. There were fruits and vegetables on the restaurant menus, but we didn’t need to speak Czech to understand from the waiter that they were out. There were also fruit and vegetable stores with employees keeping regular hours. Those employees sat in their stores all day guarding the empty shelves that should have been holding fruits and vegetables, which were in deficit. By the time we returned to Andy’s apartment in Vienna, we had stuffed enough Vitamin C into ourselves that we had warded off the onset of scurvy.

“It was weird, Andy,” I said. “We had lots of money, since we traded our US dollars on the black market. So could eat in any restaurant we wanted. And not once did anyone have any fruits or vegetables to sell.”

“That’s the Soviet planning in action,” replied Andy. “The Soviets decide how the food is distributed throughout their empire. They decided that Czechoslovakia gets meat but no fruits and vegetables, and Poland gets the opposite.”

“That’s not exactly true,” said Nickipedia. “Bill, remember when we saw that long lineup on our last day in Prague?”

“Lineups are everywhere in Czechoslovakia,” interrupted Andy. “It’s a way of life to be waiting for everything all the time. So many things are in deficit.”

“No, Andy, it was different,” I said. “We saw the line, it stretched way down the block, and we walked up to the front to see what they were selling. After the week we had, I couldn’t believe that it was a fruit and vegetable shop. We kind of peered between the people and saw the display window. There were some wrinkled, gross-looking apples and what might have been pears. That’s what the locals were lining up for. It was disgusting. We knew we’d be back to civilization soon, so we didn’t line up, of course.”

Nickipedia looked at Andy, who was as white as a ghost. “What’s wrong Andy?” he asked. “Are you OK?”

Andy took a long time before answering. “I heard a rumour about that, but I was hoping it wasn’t true. That fruit is from the Ukraine, but the Ukrainians won’t eat it and the Soviets won’t feed it to their own. So the Soviets ship it to Czechoslovakia, where the people are desperate and don’t know the facts.”

“What does that mean? What’s wrong with the fruit?” I asked.

“Didn’t you hear about a little nuclear accident earlier this year? That fruit is from the orchards surrounding Chernobyl,” said Andy softly.

“Pozor,” said Nickipedia.