Makarovia! Yes, I Know Where That is! Sophomore Year - 88. We're Here! Part Two

We’re Here!

Part Two

The idea of Makarovian television journalists was a good one, but we needed to find them. The idea of having Peter do the first few was good, as well. An invitation would go out all Makarovians that if they were interested, they should come by the palace. I didn’t know if a Makarovian version of Dan Rather or Tom Brokaw was out there and wouldn’t know if we didn’t ask and look for him, or her.

I also didn’t want to be that person of royalty that demands something done and has others do it for me. I would help. Another tidbit of wisdom from Grandpa Theodor, being bossy doesn’t make you the boss.

This rabbit I’ll be happy to chase. You know I loved both my grandparents. Mom’s parents. I will also admit the two of them were my favorite grandparents and I spent a lot of time with the two of them. Grandpa Theodore and Grandma Katrina were five driving hours away. The Richards was only three hours away. I didn’t dislike Grandmother Richards or Grandfather Richards, but as is the case of the names I were to use with them. Grandpa and Grandma fun and casual with me. Grandfather and Grandmother loved me but had me call them Grandfather and Grandmother and that was so...formal. I carried the name! Hopefully, since they went to whatever is after this life ended, they weren’t giving my mother and father a hard time about my becoming an Ivanov. With Grandpa there as well, he wouldn’t let them by with too much. All this hinges on them being in the same place. All of them were good people, but...let’s go to literary titles I spoke about. Green Eggs and Ham!

Quickly, for those poor souls who don’t know the wonderful story or those that can’t remember; it was a great life lesson. Don’t refuse something you’ve never tried. The Richards’ part of the family wouldn’t even consider it. Then again my own mother didn’t read to me the story about two probably toxic eggs. There were pictures of the two eggs done sunny-side up with green yolks. Grandpa was happy to read it to me. He used different mood-appropriate voices for the characters in English! In Ukrainian and Russian, my mother and Grandma tried, but Grandpa did it best. Grandpa said he could read Ukrainian and Russian out loud even if he didn’t understand it. Grandma refused that, saying, “We’re trying to teach Eric to speak these languages properly. A session or two with your accent!? That isn’t happening.” Mom spoke to me exclusively in Ukrainian one week and Russian the next week.

Grandma had done that with Mom. When Dad’s parents found out about my learning Russian and Ukrainian. They weren’t so sure I should be. When Grandpa brought his bride home to his parents, my great-grandparents, they were sure Grandma was a Soviet spy. Grandpa asked, to spy on what? Our farming technics? None of us are in any form of government work. I did know they would have disapproved of the whole gay thing. How did Grandpa become the man is was being raised by them!? Yep, that was a mystery. The Berlin Wall and the Soviets were at the very end when I was born. Running up to Grandma and Grandpa I was squeezed in hugs of their affection, just engulfed in love. You didn’t run up to Grandmother and Grandfather. I got a short hug from them and almost no other contact physically afterward. As I said, I didn’t dislike them but didn’t really like them either. And they were the bootleggers! Just let them play the morality card with me.

Okay, that’s enough time with that rabbit. That was a pretty big rabbit.

Yuri told us he’d get the camera we needed to set it up with the other cameras tomorrow.

“What am I going to say!?” Peter asked me.

I shrugged, “Just tell them what’s happening and why. This evening at nine o’clock we’ll tell them what we’re doing and how to see it.”

“I just can’t whip it out of my head!” Peter was almost panicked.

“Oh, yes you can!” I argued irritated, “You’ve done it before. When Anderson interviewed us on an international show, you did fine. When you proposed that it was on an international broadcast and live! We married on live television! If it’s a script you need, we’ll come up with one!” I saw Peter’s anxiety change to one of mirth as his smile spread over his face. The old Peter was still there and that was who was reacting the way he did. It was a habit. “Don’t go back there! You’ve come too far!” I waved toward the wall and Makarovia beyond. “You love Makarovia and the people here and they love you. You’ll be speaking to them. Others in the world will know we’re here...to stay.”

Yuri chuckled, “You’ve never been afraid to speak in front of a crowd?”

I smiled at Yuri, “You know my Grandma. What do you think?”

Yuri smiled and gave me a nod, “I can see that.”

“In fact,” I said considering something. “I can’t think anyone in my past was ever shy.”

“And some quite the opposite,” Peter added. Then he looked at Yuri, “Can you direct us to a couple of agents to come with us while I show off Stryia to Eric?”

I quickly said, “Small enough to fit comfortably in the backseat of my car.” And at the last minute added, “No dark suits, please. I prefer something more casual.”

Yuri said as he picked up his desk phone, “I’m letting them know.”

Peter touched our foreheads, “Your father was an extrovert?”

I laughed lightly as I nodded, “He had to be to attract my mother’s attention.” I shrugged, “Mom got it from both Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa very rarely met a stranger.”

We stayed and chatted with Yuri. Chatted, chatting, or to have a chat. Balakaty in Makarovian and Ukrainian. Russia didn’t really have a word for that.

It didn’t take long for the office door opened and two men walked into the room. Just as we desired. They were smaller, but they knew how to do the job. One of them I knew.

“Stepan!” I greeted them, “And another I don’t know.” Stepan had been a Makarovian guard. He was one that stood guard with Penelope Baldwin when she got caught and was being held in that little room on the third floor.

Stepan nodded and waved at the man beside him. “This is Vesil.”

He looked young like Mercea. He was blond. There a few in Makarovia and Alec’s hair was a lighter shade of blond. I think. Alec had it trimmed so short, it was almost invisible. Vesil was clean-cut and well-groomed. I couldn’t recall any male in Makarovia that wasn’t. He was my height. He bowed, “Your Highness.”

“That’s your one,” I gave a smirking grin. “I’m sure Stepan told you I have a name I prefer you use.” I went on quickly, “I know the protocol and all that is what you’re told, but when it’s just us, I’m Eric, okay?”

Vesil nodded, “That includes Peter, Yuri, and Stepan?”

“Peter and Yuri are in the family,” I grinned as I said, “I insist on when I teach someone what,” I said in English, “cum dump and jack sack means,” I told Peter, but Yuri didn’t know.

“Cum dump?” Yuri repeated in English, “Jack sack?”

I chuckled, “We’re already on a first-name basis, Yuri.”

Of course, I explained the meaning of the words and why I used them with Penelope Baldwin. The likelihood of them ever being used again was very slim. I saw what they were wearing. I saw Vesil had a red t-shirt on with large black lettered Yudashkin. The Y was huge and the other letters were of different sizes appearing like jumble if you didn’t know Valentin Yudashkin was a famous clothing designer who’s popularity exploded as the USSR fell apart. There was meaning with that. Stepan had on a blue shirt, no design. However!! He had on what was highly prized in East Europe. Wrangler Jeans. I have to stress this. They were American made and purchased in Boston. The assholes at the Kremlin couldn’t say you couldn’t wear what you wanted, but they didn’t make it easy to get them. Jeans arrived in the Russian USSR in the nineteen-fifties on sailors, pilots, and children of diplomats. There were smugglers of denim. Grandma said it was because it was due to them being a sign of freedom and capitalism. I don’t know, but they both had them on now. Who can resist clothing where the more you wore it, the more comfortable they were?

I saw Stepan had on Reeboks and Vesil had on Nike, and don’t get it twisted! I’m not that kind of gay. I couldn’t just identify the designer from the cut or style. Stepan’s shirt, wranglers, and shoes were labeled on them; and who would mistake Nike’s checkmark? That’s why they’re put there so people like me, the fashion-label challenged, knew what they were.

“We’ll be back,” I told everyone and no one.

We went down to where the vehicles were kept. A century ago they kept horses, carriages, and sleighs. It was much bleaker during the long winters. Those horses were secured in the deepest part of the stable to keep them warm as possible. One of the many things to prepare was the care and feeding of these animals. I wondered about the food for them and the wastes! I was told about the bales of hay and where they had oats to feed them. Believe it or not, the dung (horse shit) was a good fuel! They pooped, it was dried and used to help keep them warm. You wouldn’t heat marshmallows or hotdogs over those flames, but it kept them warm. With the doors shut, I had no idea how it would smell down here and I will be fine never knowing. Grandpa swore it was the best for roses. I never doubted him. He and Grandma had plenty of roses and even entered competitions with them.

Now, what odors you couldn’t miss was that of oil, grease, and exhaust from the vehicles. As the weather was pleasant, the doors were open, letting in a fresh breeze.

The people down here knew we were coming, so my red Cobra sat waiting. Yes, it’s damned unfair! I have this great car. I have loved it since I saw it. I’m a guy! This car was HOT!! Only now I almost never drive it! That was damned unfair! I won’t bore you with the “poor me” routine. He was shiny and polished like the day I drove it home from the dealership. That was also unfair and to make it worse, when we came back it will again be washed, waxed, and polished again.

The comments I made about the backseat being small was a little overdone by me. There was room for passengers and legroom, but getting in the back would be tight with Alec or Mercea. Even with the driver’s and passenger’s seat pulled all the way forward as far as it can go, they probably would have a tight fit.

I didn’t care! Everyone slid in and I started it. When that engine made instant deep lobbing sounded of power, like a purr from a tiger, I felt the rush in my chest as adrenaline pumped. I tingled.

“Eric!” Peter said from the passenger seat. I realized he’d said my name twice before and I hadn’t heard him. He wasn’t worried. He was very amused! He pointed at the open doors. “That way.”

I grinned, “I just hope I remember how to do this. I hope it’s like riding a bike,” I glanced at Peter, “you never forget.”

I did remember. Putting it in first gear, I pressed on the accelerator and with a quick squeal of rubber on the brick floor we shot out the doors and into the courtyard. I was having fun! My three passengers were just a little concerned. I saw Peter grab what was called the “Oh, shit” handle above his head above the door. It is aptly named because that was what the face said. I let out a rebel yell the Dukes of Hazzard would be proud of.

I didn’t drive that crazy all the time. A sports car on the streets of Stryia was unknown. A somewhat crazy driver from the Southern portion of the United States was never even considered possible. I slowed it down on the road into Stryia.

I had been through the streets, but we were always going to and from something, but now this was where I wanted to go.

Stryia’s underground was very necessary to give Makarovians the freedom to go and do things when the weather was restricting them to their homes. You knew that. As crowded as those new tunnels could be, the Makarovians were not crowded up here. Peter had explained this was a time to prepare, but they didn’t have to run around as before. They had to prepare, but not as frantically. They took joy in being in the great outdoors and walked to shops on the streets. Couples strolled hand in hand, arm around the other as they went.

I saw something and slowed down immediately. The streets weren’t the wide avenues in large modern cities. Most people didn’t drive here, but the ones who did, parked along the curb.

“What?” Peter asked to find out what was going on.

I pointed at a shop, “That’s what.”

We were so used to coming to the Makarovian Gourmet Coffee Shoppe from below, I almost missed it.

“He’s buying,” Peter grinned at Stepan and Vesil waving at me.

After getting their coffees I had to reassure them about spilling in the car and pointed to the cup holders. Anyone of us could spill.

There were parks. Areas of level ground which markings of a sports field. Be it their football (what we called soccer), rugby, field hockey you need a level field. At the moment some young people were playing field hockey. The hockey stick was the giveaway.

“I don’t really care for field hockey,” Peter confessed. “I have more control on the ice.” He looked at me directly and reminded me, “You said you’d learn.”

“I’m going to!” I shot back. “I’d do it now, but no ice. You promised to learn to scuba dive!”

“I’m going to!” He said it exactly as I did, grinning.

A stifled chuckle came from the backseat. I looked in the rearview mirror as Stepan tried to keep it from coming out.

“Stepan,” I said, “Are you coming back to Boston?”

He sobered a little, “I’ll be rotated back at the beginning of the New Year.”

“Great!” I said and looked at Vesil, “We’re you posted in Boston?”

Peter jerked his head in my direction. “He makes a point to know every Makarovian personally.”

I nodded blowing a put on an air of patience. “Naturally,” I said matter of fact. “By our own laws, didn’t I marry them before you?”

Peter’s eyes got very large and blurted in English, “Excuse me!!”

I wasn’t bothered at all, “I think so.” I sucked the straw to get the cool iced latte.

“Oh, no, no, no,” Peter shook his head. However, the effect he may have wanted to be got was lost in his big smile and the laughter. “If anything we were married at the same time.”

“Were we?” I asked innocently, “Didn’t they say we do first?” I held two fingers up, “Twice! The first a year ago?”

“What!?” Peter blurted. “No! A year ago they were asked if they might consider you as a prince if you were my husband. We were all engaged at that time.” He pointed at me. “And using the way you think,” he grinned, “if you were married to all of Makarovia and Makarovians we’re all married at the same moment. Stepan, Vesil, Boris, Yuri, Olek, Mom, and me! We’re all Makarovian!”

“Well thought out!” I said to Peter.

Stepan leaned toward Vesil, “I told you.”

“I just finished advanced training,” Vesil said. “I finished my mandatory two years of service, I was sent for advanced training to become an agent. I hope to come with you two back to Boston when you go back.”

“Great!” I said.

We went to that large traffic circle in Stryia. There were many figurines surrounded by some beautiful flowers of many colors from white to red and every shade of purple. We had to get out and strolled among them. It was a very large circle of level ground which was prized. On both sides of the river that cut this valley, there were limited areas that we level and that was where the Makarovians built their city so long ago.

Life here was not bad at all now. It could have been anywhere in the world as a dozen or more couples lounged on green grass to get a little bit of warm sunshine. There were male couples, female couples, and males with females couples...it still amazed me that no one here thought anyone was odd! There was the happy sound of children laughing, running, and squealing as they avoided being caught whoever was “it.” Every child in the world knows that game.

I present an idealistic life. A delighted squeal attracted my attention as a little girl about seven years old just bearly dodged being grabbed by a boy about her age. It was idealistic! No language was heard or needed. It could be anywhere in the world, even the United States. Okay, the stone houses and red roofs were not very American. The lack of some people tossing a football or baseball...some sort of ball around and the dark shadow of those huge mountains that surrounded the valley told you it wasn’t the United States. I looked back at the one fat tower in Makarovia. A skyscraper before there were skyscrapers. The citadel/palace. It wasn’t built to be pretty. You know that. Other than housing the royal family it was built to protect the people of Makarovia and hide! I knew it as home now and to me it was beautiful! That definitely wasn’t constructed in the United States. The citadel was built before there was the United States! Maybe Vikings in Canada and Native North Americans, but not many others.

Other than those few things, it was the same. Sort of.

I looked at Peter, “This is ground you can plant on.” I commented.

Peter nodded and touched a flower petal gently, but left the flower alone, “It is planted on.” The flower he touched he smiled at, “These are Mom’s favorite flowers.”

The petals were long, light pink, and delicate, but in full bloom. As I said, I knew roses. I knew these weren’t roses.

“These are Fairy Lillies,” Peter explained.

How the name came about was easy to see. The petals looked like they could be wings on a fairy. I knew Lillies by name and was confused.

“Aren’t Lillies tropical plants?” I asked.

Peter smiled, “Tropical and temperate zone plants.” He nodded and then shrugged, “One of the scientists we,” he used his fingers to give air quotes, “acquired...had defected to Russia from Geneva.”

“He went to Russia? When?” I asked, “Why?”

“Thank god you didn’t ask who, because I don’t remember,” Peter chuckled. “It was during the late sixties or early seventies when he was young and certain he was smarter than everyone.”

“That detail you remember, but not his name?” I muttered with a smirk.

Peter’s eyes rolled and his head wavered in frustration, “I don’t remember him at all!” His hands waved at his sides in futility. There were a couple of muffled chuckles from Stepan and Vesi, but Peter kept ongoing. “I wasn’t here yet! This is Mom’s story.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’m listening.”

“Mom said he was very smart,” Peter said. “He was a brilliant geneticist, chemist, and botanist. He went to Russia because he thought the lack of restrictions in Russia would allow experimentation the West wouldn’t. He knew he could clone anything or anyone. He was going to genetically enhance men to make the perfect soldier and spy...”

I nodded, “Which every red-blooded American at that time just knew that was what those Reds were doing.” I interrupted mockingly smug.

“Do you want the rest of the story about the damned flower, or not?” Peter growled.

“You can,” I gave a one-shouldered shrug, “or I can ask Mom. Whatever.”

I kind of felt sorry for Stepan and Vesil who were trying their best to keep their laughter under control. This was a routine Peter and I did often to relieve tension or just for laffs.

“Anyway,” Peter said and motioned to the flower. “That was a gift to Mom when she became Queen.” He bounced a little and said proudly. “These are Queen Alla Ivanov’s Fairy Lillies!”

I looked over what had to be hundreds of blooms. There were other flowers, but none as plentiful as these. I knew they came from bulbs like tulips. They needed the cold which these babies got plenty of in the winter. “These are genetically altered?”

Peter shrugged, “Altered, spliced, or whatever. They love it here.”

“Wait!” I had a lightning bolt of an epiphany hit me between the eyes. Being gay, drama was just below the surface. “Is this his only example of what he did?”

“I heard he had many things that failed,” Peter said. “This one he got right. His cloning and genetic altering were almost all failures. He was working on wheat and corn that could grow in Russia.”

I remembered one of the many discussions about global warming that concerned a lot of people was worried about a shift in the climate. The United States and other countries that shipped wheat, corn, and many grains overseas. Fear that warming would shift making Canada and Russia the world’s new breadbasket.

“He worked from the early seventies until the early nineties in Russia,” I said to confirm. Teasing and jokes were forgotten by me. “Why was he here in Makarovia?”

Peter shrugged, “Because he was like we are? I don’t know, but a few years before it all fell apart, they sent him here.” He nodded and looked at me. He shook me, “This time I do know what you’re thinking. He had some successes, but our problem is this,” He stomped on the ground. “Other than this park and some others, we didn’t have the land to plant on.”

I nodded, “I know, I know.” I waved at the park. “But, Peter, if he had success with the wheat and corn, they might do even better in the terrace greenhouses!”

Peter nodded grinning, “Sure, but as Olek says, we were busy!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said but was thinking. “He died here in Makarovia?”

Peter nodded again, “But this was the only successful thing he had.” He paused as he tried to remember, “I think.”

In fairness, it was a chaotic few decades. The USSR collapsed and Makarovia was left to fend for itself. Olek the first dies leaving his eldest son king. Uranium was found and Olek the second kept it secret somehow while asking powers in the West to help.

“He kept notes?” I asked.

“I never got that part of the story,” Peter shrugged.

“We need to talk to Mom,” I said with a sense of urgency.

“Eric,” Peter said patiently. “I think a couple of more hours or even days won’t spare any extra lives. Can we continue our sightseeing?”

It was really irritating to hear logic. I still needed more impulse control. I turned to Vesil and pointed at him. “Whatever Stepan told you about the two of us, I hesitate to say he was right when I don’t know what it is. He was probably right.” I smiled. “Recently, the role of our Security Agents has changed.” I waved at them from head to toe. “The required attire for one.”

“Our agents now are friends,” Peter grinned, “so, be prepared to be gotten to know in the near future.” He threw his arm around me, “especially with this one.”

“That means,” I said, “if we do something you find funny, silly, or stupid; laugh!”

Peter nodded, “You’ll be doing that a lot with him.”

“Just because of me,” I stated looking at Peter. “You are the best straight man a comedy team can have,” I said. “I love to play off you!”

“Straight man?” Stepan asked.

There was fun again explaining the direct English to Makarovian translation and meaning.