Peter the Great & Canadian Spies

Tuesday, December 7, 2004


December 7th — it was Pearl Harbor Day — sixty-three years ago, it had happened. There were sure to be many flags out that day, billowing in the wind and gray skies. And with them swayed the bean pods, more than normal in the cold winds that had come through with the morning. Despite the cold, Collette found that she could really appreciate a lemonade at the moment, with the chocolate blossom cookies Carrie-Bri had whipped up with the chocolate kisses the previous evening.


She had been tired, but the work had been done Monday, in time to relax a bit and listen to the sounds of Francis and Linnea as they readied themselves to go to Dulcinea Hobcoggin’s birthday party.


Ps-thoo! Bam, bam, bam!”


Francis was actively explaining his new heavy-duty plastic gun to Collette as she sat on the couch on the living room.


Ch-ch-ch-ch-ch….” He swung it around in the air. “And then there’s the smoke bombs. You throw it once when it’s lit.” He pulled back his arm with the imaginary fire-work and launched it, “swoom- swoom!”


Then Linnea popped in, giggling over his sound effects.


Look at the card for Dulcinea,” she giggled, presenting the Strawberry Shortcake pink, glittery, confection – a birthday card with pop-out paper dolls. “Where do I write on it?”


Don’t interrupt, Linnea,” Francis’ eyes grew wide as he scolded his sister.


Just a minute now, Linnea. I’ll show you when Francis is done.”


You must be a moving target,” Francis went on, “and you have to hold the gun still, so you can still shoot.” He began flailing his limbs everywhere while holding the gun in the same position.


Yeah, like this,” Linnea joined the performance as Collette watched the storm of whipping arms and legs and sound effects, trying not to laugh, as they demonstrated the correct way to shoot a gun while not getting shot yourself.


Then Mom came in and moved them on to other things to calm the noise while Joe banged out his term paper on the computer.


Meanwhile, the cat and the kitten sat side by side, looking out the window in the back door, tails twitching, heads moving in unison as they squawked at the birds on the patio. Pumpkin seemed especially feisty, as she later wrestled with the docile Snugs in the clothes-dryer, trying to soak up some warmth on the cold day. Wasn’t it Pumpkin, after all, who had shredded the shower curtain with embroidered rosebuds in the hall bathroom, which had hung there nineteen years? And wasn’t it also Pumpkin who stole OLeif’s socks and buried them under Francis’ and Joe’s bunk-bed while Collette washed her laundry? And wasn’t that also the little black rascal that was half-way through tearing off the board stripping on the computer table in the dining room? She surely was trouble, but escaped punishment through her extreme cuteness, as Carrie-Bri would say.


And that Tuesday morning, as she pulled on her running shoes, getting ready for the day, Collette thought back to how funny OLeif had been about an hour previously before he left for work.


I forgot to tell you before,” he pulled her aside in the kitchen, where she was seasoning his tomato soup for lunch, “you are the betht wife of my tiiiiiiiime….” he whined, trailing off in his funny cartoon voice. “Otay?”


Collette could not help but laugh at his odd face while he said it. He was such a stooge at times.


And then it was to make strawberry-basil chicken for dinner, and to study Peter the Great and of his distaste toward the Swedes, how he prohibited nobles from marrying unless they demonstrated proficiency in mathematics. And how he hung three guilty up-risers outside his sister’s, (Sophia’s), bedroom after forcing her into the nunnery. Gruesome, vile man… threatened his guests with two trained white bears unless they agreed to drink much wine with him at dinner parties. And yet he dwelt among common folk as well, befriending even a cake-peddler in Moscow. Of course, Anna seemed a trifle awful herself – even forced a duke into marriage after bestowing the title of court jester upon him. He and his new bride were made to spend their wedding night in a palace crafted of nothing but ice, beside a river; the furniture, attendants, and even the canons beyond the gate, were all made of ice. It was said that the sky glowed red the night after she tore up the old law, an aurora borealis of blood red.


The sky had curious bands of its usual cow cream and moorish mist colors. And now the day was more than half-over. The lemonade still sounded tasty, but Collette had other more important thoughts on her mind, some of which she would have preferred to forget, and instead enjoy the Christmas of the season.


She wondered about the Canadians downstairs, and as she did, a great wash of light glowed through the glass by the bean pod tree and lingered momentarily in hazy bands through the toille curtain. However, she knew her Canadian neighbors were not able to see the sky below. With their blinds always closed tightly, she wondered if the girl ever saw the light during the week, except for when she too walked across the street to the mailbox. She must have opened them briefly to string up the patch of blue lights in the kitchen around the perimeter of the window, and the same in white in the living room window, where she had also hung a cheery wreath of evergreen. Perhaps she also studied as Collette did – or perhaps she was on a stake-out, on highly secretive mission work from the Canadian government, and was required to keep the shades closed. Perhaps she studied eight languages and cracked impossible codes, helped Canadian astronauts launch into space, unknown, through electronic systems cabled to their apartment. And perhaps the weekends were when she left with her husband to record their research and results of the week, or maybe it was their spell of recreation, to stop by the market or to observe St. Louis as spies…


Oh well, she thought… it was fun to imagine what when on nearby, the concoct-able stories available… The neighbors across the way had left and nothing remained but their stack of firewood. So now, it was only the little lonely (rather creepy) old man across from the Canadians, who watched out his window, and kept a large model ship on the top of his refrigerator by the kitchen window. Who would come next?


She took another chocolate from the little cradle she had suspended from the mica lamp on the dining room table with a black rubber twist. There, the chocolates warmed and bended smoothly at the touch, where they melted upon tasting. However, with the coolness of the outdoors, the chocolates would not warm sufficiently even under the lamp glow that afternoon.

Subscribe to Book of Collette

Sign up now to get access to the library of members-only issues.
Jamie Larson
Subscribe