I was somewhere off the coast of Newfoundland towards sunset that evening when a rumor swirled about the ship indicating that the radar could not identify icebergs. With binoculars, I could make out several icebergs in the distance. A Titanic tremor of anxiety gripped me as I contemplated a midnight crash into an iceberg. I never determined the source or accuracy of the rumor, probably because I was one of twelve non-Russian or Ukrainian speakers onboard. Nevertheless, I didn’t ruminate about the dreaded prospect of having to abandon ship that night.