Eggs on the Wall . . . For the Love of Family

Are You Really Russian Spies? “Being arrested is just part of my day.” Punch Gerrier As we approached the dining room I saw eight guests present at our table. All heads turned when we entered. I said quietly to Dad, “Everyone is starring at us. My thoughts are racing. Maybe we now have a criminal record in Sweden, which is frightening.” “Donna Jean, forget about being arrested and who is looking at us. Those police officers took care of everything. Let us hustle and enjoy ourselves. Do not be troubled because nobody is going to believe us anyway, no matter what we say!” “Dad, you have figured it out. We are tainted. Thank goodness at least for now we are floating around in freedom heading for Russia.” I felt the tension and uneasiness in the entire dining room and heard the whispers as we settled at our table. Judging by the looks we received it was evident news of our departure, and now our return had travelled quickly. We had been absent for two days so logically guests thought we were probably behind bars. “Hello everyone! We had a tiny glitch, but all is well. We are glad to see you,” I graciously stated. “You must have wondered what happened to us. There was a little misunderstanding when I took a picture in a restricted area, and we were taken to a police station for questioning.” “This happened because you took a picture?” one gentleman inquired. Seeing wide-eyed bewilderment around the table, I quickly added, “I know that is hard to believe, but this is what happened.” “You sure have to be careful where you point a camera these days,” Dad added. The guests seated at our table seemed uncomfortable, not making eye contact when I spoke. I saw they were not convinced, no matter what I said. Dad was right. I assumed they felt conned, hearing my explanation. Abruptly, from across the room a big man loudly marched over to our table and confronted my father. “Well hello there,” he said in a booming voice everyone could hear. “We saw you guys being arrested in Stockholm and this whole ship wants to know if you two really are Russian spies.” “You bet,” Dad blurted. “My wife and I come up here every two months. Being arrested is part of our day, so we are professionals and have no problem in handling this type of pressure.” “Really!” he exclaimed, taken aback. “I cannot believe it. You and your wife look like such nice people.” “Yes, sir, you can believe it and we are pretty nice to boot,” he stated. “Thanks for coming over to our table. I am willing to chat with you at any time, but now I would like to have a cold beer.” Speechless, and with a puzzled look, the brash, rude man with the bold, obnoxious personality turned and left. In seconds Dad shot him down. The tension at our table instantly evaporated, as we all chuckled. My father told our story before I could comment as I know I would have toned down the reply. I smiled, realizing my version had been taken over by his wild unpremeditated confirmation. All my efforts to discreetly describe our whereabouts were now doused. I was defeated, and too astounded to be embarrassed. Dad played this new identity as though he had rehearsed the lines for days. There was no turning back. I was his wife and we were Russian spies. He had everyone’s attention. On my left, a very prim and sophisticated woman turned to me. “If you and your husband are Russian spies, can you tell me where I can locate the finest fashionable shops in St. Petersburg?” she asked. Little did she know I had never been to Russia! In a panic I gave her a ridiculous explanation. “I cannot remember where to shop in St. Petersburg,” I responded. This lady glanced at me, mystified at my remark. I am certain she thought if I was a spy and travelled to Russia frequently, I would know where to find the exclusive boutiques. I answered politely, although my response did not make any sense, not even to me. “Your husband seems to enjoy the pressure of being a spy,” she commented. “Yes, indeed,” I responded. “I have to say you seem more stressed.” “Very.” For the remainder of the trip, Dad and I were the topic of conversations among our shipmates. Many people inquired regarding our identity and what it was like to be a Russian spy. Dad made up his own stories, one as outrageous as the other. Everyone we encountered treated us warmly, however, as we walked away the whispers began as most people repeated “be careful, that man and his wife are the two Russian spies.” Dad never flinched. He had fun with it all. This demeanour was not due to the stroke, but reflected his personality throughout his life. I decided to surrender and enjoy the antics of my spunky father. Over dessert and coffee, I leaned over and said to Dad in the calmest voice I could muster, “In order to gain some sanity in this family, let us talk about Sir Samwell. I wonder how he is doing at the kennel. We have been away a long time.” “Why not telephone him?” he proposed. “Do they let you call from this ship? Is there a good long- distance plan?” “Yes,” I replied, “I checked into this before we left.” Later that evening, as we entered the stateroom I said, “It will be good for Sir Samwell to hear our voices so he does not feel abandoned. You talk first once we are connected.” I dialed the number. When I heard the kennel owner’s voice on the line, I handed the telephone to my father. He explained our circumstances and how much it would mean to us if she could bring our pet to the telephone. Next I heard, “Hi Sir Samwell. We saw a dog at the Royal Palace that was not as handsome as you, because you are hard to beat. See you soon.” Sir Samwell (responding to familiar voices) Grandpa Punch, I’m the top pooch at this sleepover place. I’m looking after a puppy lonesome for his people. I’m trying to teach him to be as well trained as I am. Sure is a big job. There are lineups to see me every day. My pals here want to know how to get what they want like I do. I’m not letting my secret out.