Posted tagged ‘spies’

“In America you can always find a party. In Russia the party always finds you.”

April 30, 2013

Today is downright gorgeous. The warmest day so far. Sunlight fills everything and nothing moves in the still air. Gracie hasn’t come inside yet, not even for her morning nap. Our only errand for today is to go to the vets. I found a hot spot on her fur which needs checking. I also have to vote in the primary for senator to see who will run to replace Kerry. I’m choosing the democratic primary, no surprise there I suspect.

Last we talked, I was in Moscow jumping ship from the tour. My travel partner and I started using the metro. I have never seen more beautiful metro stations in my whole life. Some actually had chandeliers. There wasn’t a single piece of trash nor any graffiti. We had to figure out where we were by using a map which had English translations below the Russian names for the stops. That wasn’t easy. It was like figuring out a code. We shopped a few times in the foreign currency shops, and I bought gifts for my family and some mementos for me, mostly wooden figures. Pins were big back then, and I bought a few of those which I still have framed. To get across large streets in Moscow there are pedestrian tunnels. We didn’t know that at first and started across the street when we heard whistles coming from the police heading our way. They were indignant. We were led to the tunnels and crossed the street through them though I don’t think you can say cross when you’re underneath. I’m not so sure what you’d say. We wandered the city for the last few days stopping in small museums and churches. A few of us decided to buy vodka and have our own little going away from Russia party. The day’s quota had been sold, but one guy led us to the back of a store where they sold us a couple of bottles. When we got back to the hotel, we wanted ice. The woman assigned to sit in the chair on our floor knew no English so we mimed pouring something into a glass, adding ice, drinking it and being cold. She brought us ice.

That last night we had a conversation about famous murders deciding to give our listeners something new. The British guy told us about a severed head found in left luggage. The rest of the conversation ran along the same lines until the British guy mentioned his roommate, an America, and how strange he was. When he left the room, he’d put a magazine a certain way so he could check to see if his bags had been rifled. He only wore two different sets of clothing despite having a huge suitcase. I mentioned I had seen him in one of those tunnels talking to a Russian woman. He had ditched the tour even earlier than we. All of us decided he must be a spy.

The next day we were driven to the airport for our flight to Copenhagen. Customs went through our bags. It was and still is the first time I ever had my bags gone through leaving a country. All of a sudden two soldiers took that American and his suitcase away. We weren’t all that shocked. We had figured something was up with him, but we were worried. We were the only ones who knew what had happened so we decided to stand our ground and not go upstairs to the waiting area until he was with us. Bad guide came over and said get upstairs or we’ll take your tickets away. The Argentinian said we didn’t care. We were rich Americans. Next, two soldiers came, pointed their rifles at us and moved them back and forth from us to the stairs. We talked and decided to go upstairs but we would make another stand there. We did. We were promised that our spy, our word, not theirs, would be on the plane. We waited to see, and he was brought first to the plane accompanied by soldiers. We then boarded.

After we had arrived in Copenhagen, we stopped him for the story. He was a spy of sorts, for the Zionist underground. He was supposed to travel with a partner but the partner got sick. The powers that be decided to let this guy go on his own. That’s how he was caught: being seen talking to Jewish dissidents. His suitcase had contained pairs of jeans which could be used on the black market. He has also brought books in Hebrew. His job was to get the names of those working in the underground in Tbilisi and Moscow. The first part of the trip had been cancelled which was why he was so indignant. The reason he had been taken away was the soldiers found letters which were addressed to Israel and had been given to him to mail. The letters were seized. The guy told us that what was most important, the names of the underground leaders, had not been found. He had written them in tiny letters in some of those books and pamphlets we had been given in Kalinin. They didn’t check Lenin material. We told him he was the worst spy ever as we had figured him for one, but we told him it was kind of exciting to have a spy in our group and to have rifles pointed at us. It made for a great story, the sort you’d expect in Russia or at the start of John Le Carré novel.

Well, that’s my trip to Russia. Thanks for coming along. I haven’t told this story in a long time, and it was fun to remember.

“The Sun, with all the planets revolving around it, and depending on it, can still ripen a bunch of grapes as though it had nothing else in the Universe to do.”

April 27, 2012

When I opened the front door this morning, the sun came pouring in then just a little bit later it disappeared. It’s appeared again, and Fern is lying straight out on her back basking in the sun. A breeze makes the day seem colder than it is and is strong enough to sway the bird feeders, but the birds don’t seem to mind. Male goldfinches with their bright yellow chests, a pair of cardinals, my friends the chickadees and the nuthatches and titmice are all dropping by for a late breakfast.

I have nothing planned for today. I’m thinking a sloth day. I’ll make my bed, brush my teeth, feed the animals and that’s about it. I see an afternoon nap in my future.

There are leaves on the top of the oak tree near the deck. The leaves are tiny, but I don’t care. They are the first stirrings of spring in my yard beyond the blooming of the bulbs I planted last fall. Some of my neighbors’ trees are already leafy, but those trees sit where the sun warms them most of the day. I think it won’t be long before my trees are leafy enough to hide the deck, and I’ll be back to sitting in a tree house high above the ground.

When I see movies where one of the characters is told to pack a bag, grab her passport and leave on the next plane, I always wish I had a job like that, one where exotic places become almost commonplace, and I know the best restaurant where the locals eat, probably a small place on a side street that only a discerning eye could find. I guess I’d have to be a spy for such spontaneous flight as a job in business would be far more planned. No question about it: I’d be better suited for being a spy than a businesswoman.

My trunk is filled with the week’s trash, litter and recyclables, but I’m not going to the dump. Last week I went on Friday and upset the fragile balance of my world. Gracie and I will wait for tomorrow and all will be right with our world.

“You busy-bodies have busied your last body.”

July 15, 2010

Yesterday afternoon, the heavens opened and the rain fell. The storm started gently then roared. I got soaked just going back and forth to the car twice. Gracie, being the smarter animal, didn’t even want to get out of the car, but she had no choice. I had the leash. When we got to the door, Gracie pushed in front of me and was the first one into the house. Why did I go back a second time? I forgot the dog food in the trunk.

The extended weather report in the paper says humid today, tonight, tomorrow and forever. It’s still cloudy, but the sun peeked out for a bit this mornings, and I expect it to rally. After all, what good is humidity without unbearable heat?

When I was a kid, I loved cartoons. I remember the Saturday matinee always had one before the main feature. Most times it was Elmer and Bugs, Woody Woodpecker or Tom and Jerry. They were old cartoons, but we didn’t care. They were still funny. Television too had its Saturday cartoons. “Here I come to save the day,” meant Mighty Mouse was on the attack and cats better run for cover. I still can sing that song, and I also know all the words to Felix the Cat, the wonderful, wonderful cat.

My favorite of all time is still Rocket J. Squirrel and Bullwinkle J. Moose, informally known as Rocky and Bullwinkle. Their cartoons were hysterical and filled with the worst puns even kids could get. I loved the cliffhangers and how the next cartoon always reminded us with a voice over of how we had left our stalwart heroes. But there was so much more to Rocky and Bullwinkle: Fractured Fairy Tales, Mister Peabody the dog genius with his pet boy Sherman, and my all time favorites, Boris Badenov and Natasha Fatale. I can still hear Boris yelling about getting moose and squirrel.

We baby boomers knew Russia could never win the cold war because we knew Boris, the most inept of spies, the world’s greatest no-goodnick, was always done in by a squirrel.

Today I was reading the paper about all the stuff, including the different gadgets, found in the house of those Russian spies in Cambridge. It all reminded of Boris. These spies had a Dr. Pepper can with a fake lid and a Coke can with a fake bottom. They also had a Sony PlayStation, cellphones, cameras, laptops, hard drives, memory sticks, pills and vitamins in a variety of colors and my personal favorite piece of spy gear, a bottle “that appeared to contain invisible ink…” I’m still wondering about that last one. I figure some FBI agent must have shaken the bottle.