Bill McKibben and other learned environmentalists would not disagree with the existence of a relationship between Man and the Sublime found in Nature. And yet this relationship between Man and Nature is very much in keeping with the relationship between Man and the Sublime found in such works as Plato’s Timæus, the poems of William Wordsworth, and the essays of the philosopher and essayist Ralph Waldo Emerson. If one consults his Old Testament text he will find the challenge of Climate Change is the test of Man’s Covenant with God in the New Millenium. I would argue that, just as the Rainbow in Genesis was a symbol of this new Covenant between God and Man, so is evidence of the Divine to be found for those that can perceive it within the confines of Nature, and that the fight against Climate Change is the test of that covenant with God. When swimming in the Adirondacks from the Main Dock to the Boathouse in late summer I experienced something Sublime just like Henry David Thoreau on Walden Pond. Whereas Thoreau had been paddling in a canoe and I had been swimming we both had this experience occur in Nature. Just like the narrator of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein who experienced a noble tempest and as found in Jean-Jacques Rousseau, the noble tempest in Shelley is a tempestuous metaphor for Man’s Relationship with Nature and by extension with God. Doctor Frankenstein created the Monster in an effort to be “like God” and conquer Death. In like manner does the Monster become a symbol of Man’s Search for God and the ever-widening repository of Belief in an unseen Higher Power. Frankenstein the Monster tries to understand the World as we see it by inculcating a kind of Mephisto Waltz in Nature such that he is not blind to his reality, but rather an Other, cast out of society and perforce, living in nature: The Grand Experiment. One sees the Monster’s attempts to integrate into society when he comes upon a little cabin in the woods, inhabited by a family of French-Canadians. In addition to the misunderstanding which follows the Monster, it grows to know itself as a hideous thing, which must keep in hiding in the woods and not come out, save those times when it is absolutely necessary. Here, the Monster is trying to help the little girl, only to be shot at, like an Animal. The Myth of the Noble Savage is indeed encapsulated in these pages and it is a work of Supreme Beauty. Thoreau also had an encounter with the Sublime from which he concluded and interpreted the Signs in Nature as a kind of pleasure or displeasure of the Lord. In William Blake’s ‘The Tyger’ (1794) moreover, the Poet wonders about the Creator and hand in the Creation of All Living Things. So too does William Wordsworth speak of that Divinity in his poem ‘Tintern Abbey’: “(A) motion and a spirit…/Of all my Moral being” (100-111). Indeed, the Lake District is a place from which many receive a kind of Power, which comes from Nature. Wordsworth may have been content in being “A worshipper of Nature” (152) and may have engaged in the Poetic Fallacy to some degree, mistaking God for Nature, yet even still his vision of God in Nature is striking. The Poet makes no apologies here for his undying love of the Natural World and for the heightened state of Bliss, and teaches an important lesson moreover for those who would hear it—whoever would find a sense of the Divine, or the Sublime, should bend his ear and eye towards Nature. Ralph Waldo Emerson writes in his essay “On Nature” of the causal link between Man and Nature, which holds in that respect an additional aspect of that Fair Sublimity. He demonstrates here his longing moreover to become One with Nature, and by extension a Higher Power. Emerson’s experience is very much in keeping with my own: I myself became the “Universal Eye-ball” on that dock in the Adirondacks. Indeed, this statement is the firm foundation of the transcendental philosophy to create in the mind’s eye what his imagination might profess. Namely Emerson’s vision is that of Man becoming the prism through which God’s greater Glory may be magnified thereby. He is a “Lover of Immortal Beauty,” hearkening back to Keats, but even still does not seek to be moved to a greater or lesser degree by his Mortal condition, choosing rather to engage in a Search, which is ultimately mystical in nature. Emerson seeks this mystical union with Nature through a meditation upon it, severing his familial relations and ties with his fellow man in that moment, thusly partaking of his Solitude. These more Romantic notions are to be found in the book The End of Nature in which Prof. McKibben seeks guidance in The Holy Bible while he reflects on The Story of Job. Still McKibben’s focus is on more relevant sources such as Darwin or Edward Abbey of the desert(ed) Southwest. He also ties together ideas of socialism and enlightenment from the Present Day concluding finally with a passage from Paradise Lost: Let it speak, the Maker’s high magnificence, who built/ so spacious, and his line stretcht out so far;/ That man may know he dwells not in his own;/ An edifice too large for him to fill,/ Lodg’d in a small partition, and the rest/Ordain’d for uses to his Lord best known. Adam asks the Angel Raphael about the movements of the Heavens. McKibben goes on to make a point about how insignificant Man is and how we need not see the shapes in constellations there. Walt Whitman the poet would not have us take everything from books—“Stop this day…You shall listen…” (Song of Myself, 33-38). Whitman speaks of Society and in Nature Whitman is trying to be a kind of Green Man or Santa Claus. “I go with fishermen and seamen…And nothing, not God, is greater than one’s self is(…)Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes” (Song of Myself, 1259-1279). And on and on into Nature Whitman goes to find himself. Continuing into the proverbial deepness, Herman Melville wrote his epic novel to illustrate Man’s preoccupation with a search for God. By encountering the White Whale the whalers aboard the Pequod have an experience similar to that of Jacob when he wrestled in his dream with the Angel Gabriel. That is, Moby-Dick is a striving after a kind of relationship with Nature, such as Henry David when he canoed after the loon on Walden Pond: a man in search of a connection with the Divine or the Sublime. The currents then of Modern Man stress a reliance on Nature as The Great Teacher, instructing us all. But as those who have ears to see and eyes to hear our encounters with the Sublime in Nature are not an experience of God Himself but a reflection of the Divine within Nature. Unlike William Wordsworth, Robert Frost’s poetry dwells in nature without taking part in the grand mystery. For example, his moving poem entitled, “After Apple-Picking,” dwells in a kind of dreamy dwelling place where Dreams abound upon the meditation of apples dropping one upon the next, or “just some other sleep,” writes Frost. While Frost writes of “Stopping On A Snowy Evening,” in a rather Romantic mood, his chief humor was to be found in poems such as “The Woodpile” and “Hyla Brook,” in which he alludes to that other realm of Færy—But does not enter through the door, unlike J.R.R. Tolkien. The Oxford Don Professor of English Literature and Medieval Literature at Merton College would have gone further still than Frost, had he been a poet. Even still, Tolkien invented the notion of ‘The Ent’, a creature that protects and stewards the natural landscape. Indeed, the idea of the Ents in Tolkien’s “The Lord of the Rings” Cycle were taken from Shakespeare’s ‘MacBeth’ and given Divine properties, such that “Elsinor could march to Dunsinane.” Still, Tolkien would have been proud to be taken as an environmentalist. The poet Robert Frost, on the other hand, attains a more relative and realistic conception of True North, while I have stopped by a snowy wood on a winter’s night and felt a certain degree of mystery--It is cold. In Vermont moreover I have lived often during the winter season to see the land grow cold in the dead of winter. Many find a spirituality through Nature. And when I got “sick” I found that a long walk out into the countryside to be therapeutic and not simply a walk without destination, encountering several scenes of “Hardy-esque” country. It was very picturesque to behold, even in the woods and stopping by a man-made pond. Indeed, it was freeing to walks as a “free spirit”—Even in my state of bewilderment and despair, walking and continuing to walk down foreign, country roads. I kept going, until I found the main road, and that made all the difference in finding my way home again. At home in Vermont, one finds tranquility, even in such a small thing as a simple stream, where lived there a poet. Mr. Hayden Carruth hears the wind blow through the trees in his poem, which in turn inspires The Poet to create with words a description of The Spirit. He hears voices then in the form of faces which turn to each other. Then the voices say Good-bye. The only power that the Poet still possesses is that of the ability to break with his then lover The Sleeping Beauty. This poem has a mystical dimension in the cruder sense and yet also possesses a lingering presence of preternatural estrangement. Carruth is at home in the mystery of things. While Carruth’s message is fairly bleak in his poem, I offer up my own assessment of it in conclusion. To exist is hard work especially in the backwoods of Vermont of which I have had a taste and to exist in the backwoods of Vermont with a mental illness like Carruth compounds everything else even though you do get a fair share of poetic inspiration through your apparent illness and yet I offer up these words: “I came to the woods in order to live deliberately."

IN the end was the beginning and in the beginning was the end.

"Good morning," began Prof. Joseph K. Ambrose, distinguished professor of English literature and Religious studies at Merton, greeting each student as they walked into the lecture hall with a slight nod of the head, while at the same time adjusting his spectacles in order to maintain a close proximity to the machine in which he was now so fully engaged.

Each student in turn looked rather inquisitively at the device. "There," said Prof. Ambrose after the last student had seated himself in the North Wall Theater.

"As you will all no doubt recall," said the professor, "We spoke in our last class about the tragedy of Hamlet and how replete the ending is with action. One does not necessarily see Claudius' death in light of the Reawakening of the Senses in terms of the Enlightenment of the 19th C., and yet each successive generation of audiences creates their own special version of Shakespeare's Plays."

"Now, what is it about these plays--Hamlet, Macbeth, Othello, and Lear--that appeal to so many people, especially among the young, in terms of a Hero, and in terms of the anti-Hero."

"That is to say, what is so appealing about these plays, such that they are heavy with male, central characters and that these characters like the plays change over time. So, what do we as readers of Shakespeare today glean from an "holistic" approach, looking at both the Page and the Stage, of Shakespeare?"

At this, Prof. Ambrose cast a wide, searching look around the room. He was evidently seeking for inspiration in the moment and found it on the far wall in a bust of Shakespeare's head.

"Look," he said, pointing at the bust, "Could this head contain all the brilliance that we find herein? Come now, we must not now say, 'No'."

"It is truly remarkable," continued Prof. Ambrose, "That Shakespeare was able to write everything that we knew him to have written, and yet who among us here today thinks that he or she could write like him?"

"I would argue," continued Prof. Ambrose on aside, "That Shakespeare was indeed one-of-a-kind. But that there will come another. Mark my words, but that one day, he will come again."

"Class dismissed," iterated Prof. Ambrose. And with that, he walked out of the lecture hall and down the venerated hallways of Merton with a rarefied air, such that his tails touched the ground and dragged along behind him. He had been teaching for some twenty years as the English Chair, and had risen to some prominence in his sphere, having authored such books as "Shake-ing the World" and having edited the Merton Edition of Shakespeare's plays, in addition to the most recent Cambridge Anthology of Shakespeare.

Prof. Ambrose was then well on his way to becoming the foremost authority on Shakespeare living in the 21st C. He would naturally then have to admit that only his colleagues at Harvard could rival his own expertise across the Pond. But suffice it to say, those colleagues were falling out of favor these days, ever since their attempts to become more literally progressive in both their teaching methods and material.

Prof. Ambrose, on the other hand, was a traditionalist. He did not seek out the more controversial topics related to Shakespeare and considered the rise in female English teachers in America as an indication of a backwards sliding in Shakespearean scholarship, which included their preoccupation with post-colonial and queer theory. It furthermore irked Prof. Ambrose that they relied so heavily and insisted upon commenting on such motifs as feminism in Hamlet and shades of the slave trade in Shakespeare's "The Tempest."

Prof. Ambrose found all of this to be profoundly affecting material, Earth-shaking and a sign of decadence within English faculties world-wide. Therefore, he had decided a long time ago against voicing his opinions publicly, but rather authored a rather longish article in an obscure literary journal about both Shakespeare's Dark Lady and on Shakespeare more generally from a traditionalist's perspective. That is, a perspective which set Shakespeare in his proper place as the definitive authority on human nature.

Prof. Ambrose himself had had dreams of the Dark Lady who had been as dark in hair as she was in her plain features. She may very well have been the Lady of the Sonnets. So, perhaps Prof. Ambrose had a double purpose in the writing of his book. For it would serve both to resurrect his Lady and Shakespeare at the same time for all time. And moreover, it would give Prof. Ambrose a chance to set the record straight on Mr. William Shakespeare.

Coming to the third floor of his dormitory, Prof. Ambrose found his cat, which never could seem to catch the mice which plagued his office. In fact, they never left him. But Prof. Ambrose also kept the radio on usually quite loudly, so as to distract him from the activities of the mice in his office.

He opened the bottom drawer of his bureau, having seated himself at his desk, and glanced up at the portrait of Shakespeare on the wall. He also had two pictures of his mentors on either side of his desk. They had been instrumental in his having received his post at Merton. And under all those papers, filled with "Words, words, words...": Love poems to his Dark Lad(ies).

But then there it was, her picture--A picture of her beside a rose bush in full bloom. When he looked at it, so many memories flooded back into his mind's eye, such that Prof. Ambrose could not hold back his emotion, and tears of nostalgia came to his eyes. It was the time at which one might say he was happiest, but then again, Prof. Ambrose had not always been "Prof. Ambrose."

There had been a time when he had been known simply as just plain "Joe." In fact, that had been the time at which he had found himself most in keeping with that period of his life of which he was fondest. Joseph Ambrose was in fact so fond of this time in his life that he sought every opportunity, when not teaching or writing, to revisit and sought to bring those memories back as often as possible, in order to bring that time back most assuredly into his mind. Such was the nature of the Professor that he longed, inexorably longed for his long-forgotten Dark Lady.

That night had been the one special night upon which Joe had decided to woo the lady of his fondest desires. And yet, did he woo the lady or but the sign of she? He had had an inkling of her affections and designs upon his virtue, seeking at all times and at every juncture to be in accordance with her wishes.

"Eh, Joe," said Suzie when Joe pulled up to her bungalow in his Silver Maserati. She had been walking her cats around the block when Joe had called to say he was in the vicinity.

Suzie was very open to accepting visitors when they were in the vicinity. She and Joe had been classmates together at Hunter College in N.Y.C. and together they had managed the commute on the subway and even shared an apartment for a time in their Junior year.

They had taken one Creative Writing class together, since it was a requirement of all students at Hunter. In that class, Joe had authored a paper on "Watching Paint Dry," a time-honored tradition for that particular course. Suzie had thought it to be a silly assignment, but Joe had taken to it with aplomb, having spoken of three boys who had hid in an abandoned house after baseball practice. As the paper read, the boys eventually find themselves in another world through the act of watching paint dry. It had all been very funny at the time and had been read out-loud by Joe and Suzie's teacher, leading Suzie to remark that Joe must have been drinking absinthe when he wrote it. Joe however had smiled from ear-to-ear at this, saying nothing more on the subject.

"Do you like her?" asked Suzie then when she heard of Joe's Dark Lady. "Oh," said Joe, "I do!"

"Well," said Suzie, "Then I think you should go for it!"

"Really?!" asked Joe, "I'm not really so sure..."

"No," said Suzie, "If you like her...How else are you supposed to meet people?"

"That's a good point," said Joe.

At the next rehearsal, Joe noticed his Dark Lady out of the corner of his eye and like a Vronsky noticing Anna for the first time at the ball passed by her. She was dressed in black. As if initiating a dance step, he circled round, as the others were cleaning up, taken in by this macabre dance of wills.

As Joe soon found out, his Dark Lady had been a ballet student as a child and still held something of the disposition and posture of a Dark Swan. But Joe was not attracted to her childlike or Oriental features as such. He approached her as she was coming down the stairs.

"Konbanwa," he said.

They went the following weekend together to the Ambassador's Residence. Before the presentation, the flute sounded: It was the sweet, melodious music of Takako that sounded, playing the National Anthem of Japan. It was a like a soft snow falling on cedars.

It sounded at the same time as they indulged in the sushi platter. They ate alone among many member of the Armed Service. She seemed then like a goddess, the Goddess of the Cherry Blossom Flowers.

When they had separated from the others, she began to demand of things in particular: "No," Joe had said, "I do not run everyday; perhaps we can exercise together!"

After a time, she asked him, "Where are we going?"

He responded by saying, "We are going to the Old Chapel."

"Eh," she said, "The Chapel, then lunch?"

They went together to hold conference outside and lunch. The red hairs were brilliant in the sun and she seemed like an angel, like a Beatrice. The rays of the sun shone off the Old Chapel and hit his eyelashes many times like a whip.

He did not dare to touch her hair because he was afraid that his vision would vanish from sight.

Having risen at an early hour, he walked onto the ancient school bus. He had not sensed his old friend for a long time, but had seated himself next to him on the bus. It seemed like Fate.

Joe could not remember much of that day, save the excitement of his classmates, and his having trailed her down the mountain, her hair flying behind her. In fact, it seemed like the film "E.T." in which the alien flies up into the night sky. Similarly, he had wished her good luck, that time on the Magic Mountain. What surprise when she gave him a hug; it was the first time that he had touched her long, flowing hair.

"Stay in touch!" he had said. She had smiled and left him standing there forever, transfixed within the shades of True Love's perception.

The Nor'Easter came down like a soft snow and was general all over the land. Together with his trusty Spaniel, Joe set out in search of his Beloved. He had not intended to follow that path that day, but decided on that way, as it had seemed the right thing to do.

And so, they continued into the Dark Wood on that snowy day, going deeper and deeper into the woods along the trail reserved for horses. But Joe knew that they would not be encountering any, for they were in search of the Dark Lady.

After about an hour of walking, mostly uphill, they came upon the stables. A few African-Americans dressed in dark clothing were talking amongst themselves and Joe caught sight of a Yellow Terrier near the offices. Indeed, the horses there were a symbol of his fear, for Joe was afraid of horses. He remembered how his Dark Lady had wanted him to be her knight, mounted on a horse perhaps. Perhaps if Joe had conquered this fear, he could have won her back, conquering both his fears and his Dark Lady.

Coming upon the Nature Center, Joe remembered where he had been with the Dark Lady once upon a midnight blue. She had sat upon a log. Now it was covered with snow. Like his past, Joe regarded the log as some forgotten thing, covered over with the whiteness of the past. And then he looked up beyond that log in the direction of the Real Lady and the place where he had once beheld her face. An ambulance went up the road with sirens blaring. Whiteness covered the fields all around and in the distance. Then Joe happened to look up into all that snow falling from the sky and recalled what his Great Aunt in Vermont had said to him all those years before: "It is snowing here," she had written, "But what is IT?!"

Well, Joe now thought he had a sense of it; he was discovering the true secrets of it. Indeed, he had seen her Secret Garden once upon a midnight blue and it had been beautiful to behold, truly a Great Beauty, and still had hopes that he might be able to see and speak with her again. But staring into all that blinding snow and across the fields of white, he considered for a moment that perhaps it was his fate that day solely to remember, to regret and recall that place and say a prayer in the direction of the Beloved, his "Beatrice Japonese."

And like the Underground Man and his Underground Woman, only to go halfway out in the snow in pursuit of her. And so he turned back by another way, for he knew his way back from that place, having traveled there many a time before. And followed the Western Ridge Trail as far as it would go back towards home, taking the long way back with the snow still falling.

Now Prof. Ambrose thought to himself as he sat at his desk up high on the third floor of the Merton dormitory's rooms, writing these notes to himself, looking out at the snow-covered tree and thinking of how his Dark Lady was looking out at the same snow-covered trees, too. It had been a sign when he, Prof. Joseph K. Ambrose, had run into those Japanese dentists from abroad, from Honshu, the homeland of the Beloved. And as he thought of it, it made him think, meditating on all that had passed, of his beautiful, Japanese Beatrice as he had first truly seen her beneath the cherry blossom tree.

The difference between night and day is Venus and the sun, the first stars one sees at dusk and at sunrise. It is the difference between coolness and first light. It is the difference between the night sky and daylight. It is the difference between Genesis and the New Testament. It is the beginning and the end. It is; it is the Alpha and Omega. It is God.

They walked and walked some more along the road, some in the woods, for a total of about two hours before coming to the city known on the western borders as the city in the valley of the Carpathians in Ukraine.

“Welcome to Rhakiv!” said Annie finally as they looked down into the valley below. A little river ran through the outskirts of town. They crossed a little bridge and entered into town then, renting a couple bicycles as Annie explained that that was the best way to get around in Rakhiv.

Leah wondered at this seeming tourist destination, hidden away in the valley and how it could possibly lead to the salvation of her husband. But what could they do? Annie was there current leader for the time being and they had no choice in the matter but to trust her.

Danny, riding behind his mother in the bicycle seat, pointed up at the golden domes then and said, “Look!”

“I think you’re right, Danny,” said his mother, starting to get a little or a lot tired. “Be careful what you wish for, Danny,” referring to her desire to lose about ten pounds.

Following Annie’s solemn lead, they parked their bicycles nearby and walked towards the wooden double-doors of the Church of the Holy Spirit. Annie made the sign of the cross then, crossing herself from right to left as was the custom.

Leah and Danny hesitated to go in for a moment’s time as other townsfolk gathered for the Saturday vigil, still chanted in ‘Early Church Slavonic’.

After a moment, Leah said, “Alright, Danny, now remember: No drinking from the chalice and no taking of confession.”

“What?” said Danny as they went into the holy ‘tserkov’.

Leah was a Catholic, but had had some experience with the Orthodox Church. She could appreciate the ‘ikons’, but did not know how to pray in the Orthodox way.

Danny on the other hand was overwhelmed by the smell and the sight of its interior. He was certainly getting full cultural exposure on the “little” trip to Ukraine. He was probably now at this moment, entering the Orthodox church, the most experienced two-year-old, going on twenty, and saw the ikon of the little man-child in Mary’s arms, self-identifying not necessarily as Christ himself, but as a “Man-child.”

Leah went up to Annie and whispered in her ear, “Now what?”

Her arms were folded and she stood in accordance with the customs of the day, which had been the customs of the day for quite some time. Try two thousand years!

Annie put a finger to her lips in sign that she should be silent, staring straight ahead at the Holy Doors as the priest came out from behind the sacred doors. The service proceeded as usual, except when the time came for communion.

Leah folded her arms across her chest, so as to receive a blessing from the Orthodox priest. He gave it her and, as he was saying in English: “Blessings in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” Then he bent down closer to Leah’s ear and whispered one word.

Leah went cold at that and flushed. How did this Orthodox priest know the top-secret, family password? What did he know? What were they doing here really???

After this, the priest leaned down to give Danny his blessing. “Vy Drakon,” said the Priest so only Danny could hear. Danny had had no idea what had been said, but the priest had lain a silver necklace in his tiny hand—An holy ikon, not of St. George, but of St. Daniel the Prophet, which was quite rare. He (Danny) felt quite special.

Coming out of the main part of the church, Leah tapped Annie on the shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on here?” she said, “I thought we were looking for my husband!”

“Everything in good time,” answered Annie then, going into the Ladies’ Restroom. Leah followed her inside.

“Hey!” she said, spinning Annie around, “That’s not good enough. Do you know where he is or not?!”

“He stole a pickle,” said Annie with a smile and taking a comb from out of her purse, beginning to comb her hair and saying, “Now, he must pay.”

“What?!” said Leah, “What are you talking about?”

“It’s just a common expression,” said Annie, now applying some red lipstick to her mouth. She offered some to Leah. “Your husband is in good hands.”

“I thought you said he was in grave danger!” interjected Leah then.

“What I meant,” said Annie, “Was that he will be in great danger, unless he does not find his grave.”

“What?!” said Leah, sending a language barrier, “Please do not speak in riddles! Please just take me to him!”

“You will see,” said Annie and patted her hair. She started to walk past Leah in order to exit the bathroom, but Leah grabbed her by the arm.

“Listen, Lady,” she said, growing impatient, “If you don’t tell me where he is before I count to five, I’m going to have to water-board you in the f—’n toilet. So, if I were you, I’d better start talking!”

“You must trust me,” said Annie with wild, wide eyes.

“Unh-Unh,” answered Leah, “Wrong answer!” Leah took two steps backward, then proceeded to body-slam Annie, such that she was pushed into the stall adjacent to the sink.

The water in the toilet was clean, but Annie looked at it with eyes wider still. Leah began again.

“Where—is—Ben—Ja—Min?” On each syllable, Leah pushed Annie’s face towards the toilet water. Annie flushed the toilet on accident saying, “Wait just a minute, I will show you!”

“Not good enough,” said Leah, forcing Annie’s head into the clear water, as if in form of baptism. Annie gurgled, then came up for air.

“He’s—in—the—car.”

“What?” said Leah, pulling Annie upright, “What did you say?”

“He’s in the car; He’s in the car.”

“Ah,” said Leah, “Now we’re getting somewhere! And where is this car?”

Annie started to laugh then saying, “And Phoebus’ car shall make and mar…” But Leah was too fast and pushed her back towards the water.

“The foolish faaaaaaaaaaaates!” said Annie, gurgling and sputtering as Leah flushed the toilet this time.

After a few moments, Leah brought her up again and said, “I’m going to ask you one last time.” Apparently, Danny had wandered in after everyone else had already left, peeking his head in and saying, “Is everything alright in there?”

“Not now, Danny,” said Leah, “Annie and mommy are having grown-up talk!”

She shoved Annie’s head back towards the water when Annie said, “Ok, Ok, I will tell you!”

“That’s better,” said Leah.

“What’s going on in here?!” said the Priest, coming in behind Danny.

“Nothing, Father!” said leah from behind the stall.

“Help!” screamed Annie then.

“Bitch!” shouted Leah and smacked her across the face. They both fell out of the stall.

“Help me, Father!” shrieked Annie, rushing towards the Holy Father, “She’s insane!”

Annie knelt then at the Priest’s knees and started to kiss his ring as any Orthodox will do when addressing a Holy one.

“What is the meaning of this? Anastasia Arkadyavich, tell me this instant: What is going on between you two?”

“Excuse us, Father,” said Leah, getting up off the bathroom floor, “but Princess Anna here won’t tell me where my husband is.”

Father Josef looked at Annie then and addressed her directly, “Why are you playing games with this woman, Anna Arkadyavich? I thought I told you to tell Boris that pickles are bad for him!”

“What?” said Leah then, “You know something I don’t know?!”

Father Josef helped Annie to her feet. “Yes, my child,” he said to Leah then, “Boris Berezinski is a big supporter of the church of the Holy Spirit here in Rakhiv. You see, we would not have our iconstasis or much else for that matter without his generous contributions. Being in bed with the Russian Mafia has its perks, believe you me!”

“What?” said Leah, “Alright, that’s it. We are SO out of here. Danny?”

“Wait,” said Josef then, “I can explain.”

“Waiting,” said Leah.

“Let’s go into my office,” said Father Josef then.

They all four went out then and proceeded to follow the Holy Father to his office in the back of the church where he also happened to live.

“Welcome,” he said when they had entered into his living quarters. “Now,” he said, lighting a lamp, “Please sit down.”

They all sat down then with Leah and Annie sitting on either side of Danny.

“Danny was just telling me,” said Father Josef, “That you have been in the Ukraine for one week now?”

“Yes,” said Leah.

“And you have already seen much of the countryside, apparently,” he said smiling.

Leah did not answer.

“Well,” Father Josef began again. “I take it that your husband…” he looked down contemplatively and gestured toward Leah.

“Benjamin,” said Leah.

“Benjamin,” said the Holy Father, “A fine name. Do you know the story behind that name?”

“Get to the point,” said Leah, growing a tad annoyed with this Orthodox priest.

“Well,” continued Father Josef, “Benjamin was the youngest son of Jacob and…”

“I know this story!” said Leah then, “Jacob and Rachel…and Leah had twelve sons together.”

“yes,” said Father Josef, “The twelve sons who became the twelve tribes or patriarchs of Israel. Continue!”

“Right,” said Leah, “And one of these sons was named Joseph.”

At this, Father Josef smiled and looked at Danny saying, “You see, my boy, that is why we read our Bibles. I’ll tell you your story as well soon enough…Continue!”

“He was the favored son,” said Leah then, “Because he was a son of Jacob and Rachel, the favored wife.”

“Yes,” said Father Josef, “And the other wife?”

“Leah,” answered Leah.

“Correct!” said Father Josef, all smiles and gesticulating greatly at this point. “Continue!”

“Anyway, the other sons became jealous of Joseph because his father, Jacob, had given him a cloak of many colors. It happened one day that while they were working out in the fields, the other brothers contrived to capture their brother Joseph in order to kill him out of jealousy. But one of the brothers named Reuben said, “Let us be merciful and throw Joseph into a pit and leave him for dead.” So, that’s what they did. And to make a long story short, he was sold into slavery.”

“That was very merciful of them, wasn’t it?” said Father Josef to Danny.

Danny nodded in approval, receiving his Bible lesson for the day.

“And then what happened?” asked Father Josef.

“Well,” said Leah, “Joseph goes to Egypt and becomes the assistant of Potiphar.”

“Who was?” asked Father Josef.

“An Egyptian dude?” answered Leah.

“More or less,” said Father Josef with a shrug. “Continue.”

“Anyway,” said Leah, “Potiphar’s wife wanted to sleep with Joseph. So she asked him to, but he refused to sleep with her! So she accused him of attempted rape. Therefore, thinking this, Potiphar had Joseph put into prison where he came to the attention of the Pharaoh through his ability to interpret the dreams of the Pharaoh.”

“And what was the dream?” asked Father Josef, smiling from ear-to-ear.

“He dreamed,” said Leah in response, “Of seven fat cows and seven lean ones. And the lean ones ate the fat ones. Then, he dreamed of seven ears of corn that were withered which devoured seven fat ears of corn.”

“Very good,” said Father Josef, “I see you have a very good memory.”

“And Joseph answered Pharaoh saying, “The seven cows are years. The seven corn that are withered are years of famine. Therefore, God warned Pharaoh through his dream to prepare for a great famine that was to come>

“Better and Better!” said Father Josef then. “And did this Great Famine come to pass?”

“Yes,” answered Leah, glancing over at Annie who was texting someone of another. “There came to pass a Great Famine in the land of Egypt and of Canaan where lived Jacob and his sons.”

“Jacob then sent his sons to beg for food from Pharaoh. The brothers all came to Egypt, but did not recognize their own brother who had been gone for quite some time. So, Joseph slipped a cup in young Benjamin’s belongings when nobody was looking. As the brothers were about to depart with the corn, Joseph ordered their bags to be searched and, finding the cup there in Benjamin’s bag, threw them all into prison.”

“tsk, tsk,” said Father Josef, “And then what did Joseph do?”

Anna Arkadyavich Ibadova walked proudly down Testichin bridge onto the main thoroughfare in the city of Odessa in E. Ukraine in late fall.

It was a big city, the third largest in the country and had many and varied points of historical interest. There was the State theater, the “Russian” or ‘potemkin’ steps, Teatralnaya square, the great cathedral of the assumption, the catacombs beneath the city, and of course the national university of Odessa.

Annie herself held three jobs, working part-time at the university, part-time in a retail store at the city center shopping mall in promod, and part-time on an online dating site, which was how she had met Benjamin.

As luck would have it, Benjamin was walking in the opposite direction on the famous bridge when he ran into Annie.

“Hello! Privet!” Benjamin shouted to her after catching sight of her and doing a double-take. “Annie!”

Anna Arkadyavich stopped in her tracks and wondered what kind of foreigner with an American accent could possibly by calling her name out on the Testichin bridge at this hour of the day. She walked back in order to greet him.

“Hello,” she said, starting to recognize him and smiling from ear-to-ear and giving him a hug finally in form of greeting once she finally recognized him. “Benito?” she said, “Is it really you here in Odessa?”

“Yes,” said Benjamin then, “I was just thinking of you, Annie and…”

Just then Annie’s face clouded over and she took his hand.

“What is it?” said Benjamin, looking around in wonder at the sky.

“Come,” she said, having just espied someone she recognized coming across the bridge from the opposite direction. “It is not safe here.”

“What?” said Benjamin, “Is there traffic here?” He looked around with a puzzled expression on his face. They walked together back towards the city side as she lead him by the hand underneath the bridge.

“There,” she said finally, stopping by a couple of row boats that were out on the river. “That’s better.”

“What happened?” asked Benjamin in amazement, still puzzled.

Annie began to explain the situation in Odessa and how she had seen one of her husband’s colleagues and did not want to attract attention to themselves or be seen with another man unnecessarily.

She failed to mention how her husband named Boris was actually the Head of a national network of Mafiosi types throughout Ukraine and based in Odessa which had just started shipping weapons and other nefarious articles of interest from Russia secretly through the port in Odessa.

It was a particularity of Benjamin’s that he always found himself lured directly into the proverbial lion’s den like Daniel, but always managed with God’s help luckily to escape and get out without much of a scrape, due to his obscure nature and being so naïve, as to appear gentle, almost childlike—an “idiot.”

Now, he was a little afraid and perplexed, but he trusted Annie with all his heart—Just about the only Ukrainian he could trust here in Odessa. Besides the local fishermen, that is.

“What was that all about?” asked Benjamin when Annie had come to a halt.

“That was one of my husband’s colleagues,” Annie explained, brushing her hair back and looking at the ground. She looked out towards the water then and said, “I did not want him to cause any trouble.”

“why would he want to cause trouble?” Benjamin said, catching his breath, “I don’t understand.” He did not realize who Annie’s husband really was at the time.

“Look,” said Annie then, “We can talk more, but why don’t we meet each other again tomorrow afternoon?”

“Ok,” said Benjamin, “Name the place and I’ll be there!”

“There’s going to be a party at ‘Le Duke’ tomorrow night. I’ll put your name on the list. We can talk more at that time.”

“Ok…” said Benjamin, “Sound grand! It think my family will be OK for a few days on their own.”

“Good,” said Annie then, “Sorry they can’t come, but this party is a formal affair, you understand…” her voice trailing off into the air.

“Of course,” said Benjamin then, “I look forward to it.”

“Just wait ten minutes here,” said Annie then, “I’m going back up on the bridge.”

“Ok,” Benjamin said.

She returned ten minutes later to report the coast was clear.

“I’m not sure what I’d do without you,” Benjamin said then.

“Well,” Annie said, “Just be careful in Odessa. You may live to regret having ever met me, but you do seem brave and that’s a good thing.”

Chapter 2: ‘Le Duke’.

That very night, Benjamin dressed in his finest apparel, choosing one of the suits he had gotten for his sister’s graduation a few years ago in order to attend the costume party at le duke.

Strangely, he had gotten an invitation under his door at his hotel room that very morning which he had managed to conceal from the others. It read:

Le Duke

Ce soir

Cocktails, 6 PM

Heavy œur’douvres

Dress to Impress

;)

Benjamin puzzled over this little note. As it did not really have an envelope or any other sign of where it had come from.

“Honey?!” called his wife Leah from the shower. She was in there with their two-year-old son.

“Just a minute!” Benjamin called back. They had been married for a few years and they had been good years together. This trip to the Ukraine had been a perk for his ten years working at new York life back in the states at the Rockville, Maryland branch.

Benjamin had been looking forward to this trip for quite some time, ever since he learned during the training that there would be such perks, based on commissions, and he thought that as he stared at the invitation in his hands nothing could get in the way of his reunion with Annie Arkadyavich, not even his own family.

Benjamin decided to tell them then that he would be having a reunion that evening with “an old friend,” and would therefore not be joining them for dinner that evening.

They had been in the Ukraine for about one week thus far and their two-year-old named Danny was beginning to complain about the smells out in the street. He had already been approached by a couple of unseemly looking ladies of the night who thought Danny to be the cutest little kid. Danny’s mother had ushered him then to the other side of the street.

Leah Bumstead came out of the shower, dripping wet and starting to dry out Danny’s short hair. “What’s that, Ben?” she asked, looking inquiringly at the piece of paper in Benjamin’s hand.

“Oh, nothing,” answered Benjamin, hiding the invitation behind his back and slipping out of the hotel room. “I’ll meet you guys in the lobby for breakfast, OK?” said Benjamin on his way out the door.

“But Benjamin,” said Leah, “I told you—Danny can’t have that sugary stuff all the time. It’ll rot his teeth, not to mention ruin his appetite. Besides, Danny’s gluten-free!”

“Well…” began Benjamin, “A donut won’t kill him, will it, slugger?” He patted Danny’s head which was still damp. Danny played on the Blue-Jay’s back in Washington, D.C. where they lived in Cleveland Park. Danny played softball on a local team at the little park off of Van Ness St. He also played first base.

“No,” said Leah, “Danny needs a healthy, nutritious, well-balanced breakfast like Bro. Giacomo advocated for, bless his heart.” She made the sign of the cross then at the name of the deceased friar who had graciously hosted them on their honeymoon at Graymoor Monastery on the Hudson River Valley in Upstate New York.

“Well,” said Benjamin then, “That Old Friar Bro. Giacomo is dead (Bless His Heart; May he go to Heaven), but likely resides in Purgatory for not giving enough money to the Poor like Pope Francis and St. Francis before him. I think Danny’s old enough to decide, right, Danny?”

Ben gave Danny a playful punch to the shoulder. “See!” Leah said again, “You’re treating Danny like an adult and he’s only two years old! He needs a father, not some playboy who feeds him doughnuts all the time! What did your mother say, bless her heart, about white sugar/ white flour?”

“It gives you indigestion,” Benjamin answered.

“No,” said Leah, “It’s bad for you! Come on, Danny, let’s put on your shirt.”

“I want to wear my Blue Jays’ shirt,” said Danny. “Ok, here it is,” said his mother, taking off the hanger and helping him to put it on.

“I’ll wait for you guys in the lobby,” said Benjamin then. “I’m going to grab a doughnut.”

Benjamin decided to take a walk around the block while he had the time. “Why was Leah so picky about Danny’s eating regimen?” wondered Benjamin to himself. He took a walk around the block, walking down the street in front of the hotel, munching his doughnut and sipping the strong, dark coffee from the hotel lobby.

Benjamin enjoyed any quiet moment away from his wife’s constant haranguing of him for how he fed Danny and treated him more generally. Benjamin remembered how his own father had been with him, treating him as a close companion or “buddy,” even in his more mature years.

Benjamin’s family had gone on family vacations in Europe, but they had gone to such places as Canterbury, England and Stonehenge, Ireland and Italy, but never Eastern Europe.

Benjamin on the other hand did not shy away from the more adventurous travels, even with his family. He had been this way, even since dancing on tables at the clubs on the Drina River or finding remote monasteries in the snowy mountains of Bulgaria or going to Cappadocia on holiday.

He was truly a man of the world and now, a man about town.

He was just beginning to do some window shopping when he bumped into a man in a black, leather jacket. The man looked at him as he walked past: As if to say, “You better watch out!”

Benjamin however paid the man little heed. He thought that he had looked familiar somehow, but did not think much of it. Instead, he turned the corner and headed back towards the hotel.

“Where did you get to?” asked Leah who had been waiting with Danny in the hotel lobby.

“Oh, sorry,” said Benjamin, “I just found a bookstore down the street which specializes in English-language books and thought Danny might want to take a look. There’s also a nice boutique across the street and thought you’d be interested.”

“Sounds nice,” said Leah, smiling now in the early morning sun as they went out for the day, “I’ll have to check that out.”

“There’s also a café next to the bookshop. Why don’t we go there for breakfast?”

“Do they have eggs?” asked Leah then, “Danny’s got to have some protein.”

“I think they’ve got some egg sandwiches,” said Benjamin. “C’mon, I’ll show you!”

They went hand-in-hand down the street with Danny in the middle towards the café which Benjamin had found.

Ch. 3: Out for the Evening.

At around 6 PM while Leah and Danny were snoozing in the late afternoon/ early evening back at the hotel after a long day of sight-seeing, Benjamin secretly departed, having dressed up in a tuxedo in the room and slipped out the door without a sound.

He knew such an act was childish perhaps, but he made sure to leave a note beside the bed, explaining that he had gone out for some fresh air and to smoke some Ukrainian cigarettes he had secretly bought at the store on his early morning stroll.

Benjamin knew that Leah would not completely buy his story the following day. She would think twice before accepting the fact that he had gone on a walk for the entire night, like a character from a Woody Allen movie that Benjamin had seen once upon a time in Vermont at the Stowe Cinema.

So, Benjamin had said in his note: “Don’t wait up on me for supper; I’m wagging the dog.”

Surely, Leah would know how to interpret that little message, as only she could, and besides, they could always patch things up later. That was the beauty of marriage.

As for Danny, well, Leah would have to see to him for the night. He had had a little upset stomach after eating. They never should have gone to that Mexican restaurant, but Danny claimed he liked Ukrainian burritos.

Danny had looked pretty tired in any case and would have needed a good night’s rest. As for Benjamin, he was feeling good, if only a little nervous about this little excursion into the night-life in Odessa.

Benjamin found a cab waiting for him outside the hotel and hopped inside, as if it had been waiting for him all along.

“Where to?” asked the cabbie driver.

“Le Duke,” answered Benjamin then. “And step on it,” he added, as if he were a character in a movie.

“You’re the boss,” said the Croatian cabbie-man.

They sped down Main Street towards the bridge where Benjamin had happened to run into Annie. There were other ladies walking the bridge that night and Benjamin guessed correctly that they were prostitutes, as well as a few couples out for an evening’s stroll.

Benjamin thought that all these Ukrainian girls must all have nice legs when suddenly the cab stopped in the middle of the bridge. A lamp flickered above as a couple walked by. Suddenly, fear crept over Benjamin as the cab driver put a black mask over his head and instructed Benjamin to wait there. “I’ll only be a minute,” he said.

The cab driver got out of the car and went to the back of the vehicle to open the trunk. Benjamin looked for all the world like the man who knew too much. He looked back to find that the trunk was obscuring his view. He stayed put however and realized that the cabbie was unloading a parcel.

It was a body in a body-bag.

First, the cabbie dragged it over to the side of the bridge. Benjamin meanwhile rolled down his window, witnessing this act in horror and heard the splash as the body hit the water below. He went pale.

He wondered if he might be sharing a similar fate that night. The cabbie approached the car again and Benjamin started to speak. “Quiet,” whispered the cabbie, “We wouldn’t want to attract attention now would we?”

The cabbie then proceeded to pull a briefcase out of the trunk and shut it. The cabbie handed it to Benjamin through the open window and said: “Boss said to give this to you.”

“Boss?” said Benjamin, hesitating over the strange suitcase.

“Never mind that,” said the cabbie, “Just take it.”

“But…” began Benjamin.

The cabbie brandished a revolver in the lamp-light. “Look,” he said, turning his head in frustration, “I haven’t got all night. Boss said to give you this, but if you must know, it belonged to that guy.”

The cabbie indicated towards the side of the bridge with his thumb.

“Right,” said Benjamin, grabbing the briefcase with both hands.

“Good man,” said the cabbie.

Then they sped off into the night across the bridge. As they drove, Benjamin opened the briefcase and exclaimed over what he found inside: It was stacks of cold, hard, Russian bills, neatly ordered in a row of ten by ten.

Benjamin gasped. It must have been more than 10 million rubles.

“What the Hell?” said Benjamin under his breath.

“Shh,” said the cabbie, “What the boss says, goes. Do not ask questions.”

They came to “Le Duke” then where a lot of cars were already parked.

“Here we are,” said the cabbie, pulling up on the parking break. “Enjoy your night.”

“Thank you,” said Benjamin, sheepishly, getting out of the cab car and closing the door firmly behind him. He did not tip.

A couple of doormen opened the double-doors to “Le Duke” and Benjamin entered into the life of the party: Like Gatsby, Benjamin was on the money, so to speak, and began to speak with a Russian man in Russian when a mask came over his eyes. He recognized…that voice.

“Annie!” he said.

She turned him around to find her dressed in a dazzling red dress with a plunging neckline and Ruby-Red earrings. Needless to say, she looked utterly gorgeous.

Benjamin was of course quite taken with her beauty. She put her finer to her mouth and ushered him into the kitchen where they could hold conference.

She closed the wooden screen behind them. Turning around then, she immediately kissed him on both cheeks, then, on the lips, hard.

“There,” she said, “Now that we have that out of the way, there is a favor I have to ask of you.”

“What’s that?” said Benjamin, rubbing his upper lip in astonishment and turning bright red to match the color of her dress.

He was ready for anything and everything on his night out in Odessa.

“Your mission,” she continued, “Should you choose to accept it, is to find Lord Burling out in the library and challenge him to a duel!”

“Who is Lord…” began Benjamin, making a face vaguely reminiscent of Mr. Bean.

“Lord Burling,” said Annie again, “Is my husband’s rival. He is next in line to secede, but do him in and you may become second-in-charge in his stead.”

“I see,” said Benjamin, starting to notice a trend.

“Well,” said Annie, “Think about it. I’ll be waiting for you in the basement where there is a boat waiting. Together, we can escape down the river.”

“Why would we need…” said Benjamin.

“Shh,” said Annie, putting a finger to his lips, “Trust me.”

Benjamin’s jaw dropped as Annie’s husband, the man who had bumped into in the street, came into the kitchen, looking for another beer.

“Boris,” she said without turning and smiling, “There is someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Pleasure,” said Boris, shaking hands with Benjamin. “I hear you play the piano very well,” crushing Benjamin’s hand with an extremely firm and admirable hand-shake.

“Uh, yes…yes, I do,” said Benjamin, cringing from the pressure.

“You know,” continued Boris, opening up his Heineken and utilizing the edge of the counter for leverage, “We have a nine-foot Steinway Grand Piano in the dining room. If you’re not to sheepish about playing it, you might play us a bit of the Rachmaninoff you’ve been working on.”

“Very well,” said Benjamin then, pleased at the prospect of playing in front of an audience. He liked showing off his talents.

Currently, however, the melodies of Pink Floyd were echoing throughout the hotel, which Boris owned, of course.

“If you’ll excuse me,” said Boris, “I’m going to have a smoke on the terrace.” He kissed Annie on the head then and went out through the kitchen and into the library, back towards the front of the house.

Annie smiled then and said, “I’m hoping he’ll propose to me soon. We’ve been dating for quite some time. How’s your marriage working out for you?”

“Don’t get me started,” started Benjamin.

Annie smiled. “I have to attend to the other hotel guests now, but remember my challenge and good luck.” And with that, she turned and walked out the opposite way to go upstairs to her room.

Benjamin on the other hand started to make his way towards the dining room when he spotted a man wearing a three-cornered hat and a pig’s mask.

“So,” he began, coming up behind the Porky Colonialist, “And you are…”

“Tomas Jefferson,” said the man.

“I see,” said Benjamin, noting the Russian accent and remembering how Thomas Jefferson notably read in Russian in real life. “I like your mask.”

“Thank you,” said the fake Thomas Jefferson. Then he leaned in and said in Benjamin’s ear, so that only he could hear: “I wouldn’t challenge Lord Burling to a duel if I were you.”

“Who says I’m challenging him?” said Benjamin, playing it cool.

“I’m just saying,” said Thomas Jefferson, “That if you value your life, you will leave immediately. Lord Burling is actually Sergei Molotov, the best marksman of them all. Be warned!”

And with that, Thomas Jefferson moved back into the circles to have a smoke with Boris and a few other men on the terrace.

Boris gave Benjamin a smile then from across the room and waved, indicating that he should try the piano in the next room. Benjamin nodded and moved in the direction of the dining room.

After a rousing ‘Prelude in G Minor’ by Sergei Rachmaninoff, Benjamin rose to a rousing applause. Boris came into the room, clapping with the last chords still ringing in everyone’s ears.

“A fine instrument,” said Benjamin, feeling his oats.

“Yes,” said Boris then, “It’s a concert grand.”

“Say,” said Benjamin then, growing higher and higher in his spirits, “Do you know how to play chopsticks or perhaps ‘Heart and Soul?’”

“That I do know how to play,” said Boris in a friendly manner with a smile. They sat down at the piano together then and entertained the assembled crowd with a splendid duo performance of ‘Heart and Soul’.

Afterwards, Boris patted Benjamin on the shoulder and they took a bow together.

“Would you like another?” asked Boris then, pointing at Benjamin’s empty Heineken on the piano.

“Sure,” said Benjamin. They went back into the kitchen together.

“So,” said Boris, utilizing the counter once again in order to open the beer, “What do you think of Anna?”

He indicated her now smoking on the terrace and raised his beer in salutation to her health. “Isn’t she something?”

“Yes,” said Benjamin, “She’s a gem. You are a lucky man.”

“Yes,” answered Boris then, “She is quite the charmer, but you know, she reads too much: TOLSTOY, DOSTOEVSKY, DANTE, BECKETT, JOYCE, KEATS, ETC., ETC. For all I know, these guys she constantly refers to wrote some pretty good shit, but you know what? I could really care less about such high-minded literature, you know?”

“Oh?” said Benjamin.

“She keeps talking about these writers,” continued Boris plaintively, “As if they still existed!”

“I wish she could just accept that these men are dead and gone. They’re gone! Poof!”

As Boris said this, he opened his hand, extending it out in the air and blowing cool air in Benjamin’s direction. Benjamin could smell the beer and cigarettes on his breath. His eyes were beginning to redden.

“Who do you read?” asked Benjamin then.

Boris just smiled and reached out to greet a man with a Panda mask on his head, grabbing him manly around the neck and pulling him in close in a joking manner.

“Piotr,” said Boris, growling, “I want you to meet somebody. Benjamin, this is my cousin and comrade, as it were, Piotr Petrovic.”

“Pleasure,” said Benjamin, shaking hands and nodding his head in form of greeting. He was not terribly impressed by the company which Boris kept.

Then Benjamin espied a man holding conference in the corner of the library with a white-whipped politician or a judge who looked like Mick Jagger.

“That must be…” thought Benjamin. “Excuse me,” he said to Boris and company who were cracking up at Boris’ well-timed joke. Benjamin would not have understood it in any case as it had been made in Russian, but it amounted to a witticism about how many “dead Souls” could be converted into suitcases full of money.

Benjamin made a v-line for the two men holding conference in the library in hushed tones. He walked up to them and said, “Excuse me, are you by any chance Lord Burling?”

The Mick Jagger look-alike turned a scowling eye in Benjamin’s direction. A scar ran down the entire length of the man’s pale face from temple to corner of the mouth, which Benjamin ascertained had been the work of a Himmler S.S. blade. He just knew this to be the case.

The man shuddered then at Benjamin as he turned toward him.

“Yes,” he said, turning in a menacingly slow gesture, as if he wanted to intimidate whoever happened to be interrupting his conference with the Panda. “And you are?”

“Benjamin Bumstead,” said Benjamin, using the name he had made up from the time he was a child, reading ‘Dagwood and Blondie’ cartoons on Saturday mornings. “And I challenge you to a duel,” putting his briefcase down with a thump.

Lord Burling then took this challenge very seriously, considering it for a moment, as if he had just heard his Last Rites. “Very well,” he said after a moment’s pause. “If you’d be so kind,” he said, handing his glass to his associate.

“I take these duels very seriously,” he said again, “And especially now.”

Ch. 4: Benjamin vs ‘Lord Burling’ {Hans Zimmer-themed music sounds (‘Angels and Demons’}

Lord Burling lead the way into the garden in back of the hotel and Benjamin followed. They started off back-to-back with Tomas Jefferson officiating the duel and giving Benjamin a look of “I told you so.”

Benjamin meanwhile had selected an older-looking firearm, but had his Colt-45 under his jacket, locked and loaded. He looked up to see Annie looking down on the scene from behind silk curtains, as suddenly the sky started raining fire from Russian planes above the night sky.

Benjamin gazed in wonder at the scene as they lit up the night sky above, as bright as the stars. Lord Burling did not seem to notice this, taking aim and firing then, blowing off Thomas Jefferson’s hat as Benjamin executed a perfectly-timed Aikido roll which he had picked up back in the States many years ago, firing while he rolled and struck Lord Burling between the eyes. He did it a double-flip and landed in the rose bushes. “Beginner’s luck,” thought Benjamin.

Removing a few thorns from Lord Burling’s lapel, Benjamin discovered Burling’s I.D. card in the inside pocket, which indeed indicated that his real name was ‘Sergei “Mickey” Molotov’. Moreover, the I.D. was a security clearance into the nearby nuclear plant on the outskirts of the city of Odessa.

Benjamin knew of this facility, but had been briefed by his nephew, a summer intern back in the States. He phoned him on his watch-phone then, as he jumped over the high garden wall and found an escape vehicle—a motorcycle.

He left for the facility in Kodyma then with Boris friends now in hot pursuit. Boris was mad now because he did not have an immediate replacement for “Mickey” Molotov.

Annie, on the other hand, had probably wanted him out of the way for two reasons: Firstly, so as Benjamin could prove himself as a worthy rival to Boris and secondly, seeing as “Mickey” was pro-Russian and wanted to spread and support the Russian cause in that part of the Ukraine.

All of this occurred to Benjamin in a flash of realization for something he had heard on the radio on an N.P.R. podcast, predicting the state of political upheaval.

“Ok,” said Benjamin to Tony Jenkins over the phone, even as he was taking fire from within the confines of an old Jewish cemetery. “Give me the good news!”

“I’ll relay the information you provided to the Secretary of state as soon as you have confirmation of this phony nuclear facility,” said Tony.

Tony had lived with Benjamin for a time at his home in Stowe, V.T. where they had enjoyed going fishing together. They had bonded over stories of their time in Iraq and Afghanistan where they had been fellow Marines. Tony subsequently got laid off at State due to his mental condition and would later enter the Police Department as a Sergeant for reporting erroneous information to the “powers that be,” but he still kept in touch with the people at State. Benjamin and Tony, moreover, had gone rock-climbing together in Thailand’s South-Asian National Forest and visited the Royal Palace in Vietnam.

IN other words, Benjamin felt that he could trust him.

“Alright,” said Benjamin to his Samsung watch as he played the spy, “I’ll let you know when I’ve got confirmation.”

“Tsk, tsk” went the bullets, buzzing by Benjamin’s body. He knew that he would need an escape route. He then found a deep creek nearby and waded into the water, happening upon a small cave in the forest nearby where a baby bear had come out to see what was going on.

Benjamin horridly went another way as the creek divided going downhill and was rather steep, whereas Boris who was leading the charge in mock fury, encountered an angry Mamma Bear. He was therefore subsequently mauled by the bear (coming out looking rather like Sergei in the end).

Following the path of the creek, Benjamin found the facility. He wished that he had had his little Bernese Mountain dog with him so as the act as a tracker and to ward off bears.

Benjamin did not have a device to breath underwater like an ordinary spy might have, but he had something better: A rubber ducky.

He had picked it up from the hotel pool and rode into the nuclear facility which was indeed being used to enrich the uranium, while also meanwhile pulling an old Persian farce: as Rumi once said, “You suppose you are the trouble. But you are the cure; You supposed that you were the lock on the door. But you are the key.”

Benjamin snapped a few pictures of the power plant on his cell and shared them privately with Tony on Google+. (Nobody really actually used Google+, but for Benjamin, it happened to come in handy.)

Benjamin tried not to draw attention to himself, having knocked out a couple of plant workers that were working the night-shift at the plant. He wore the same orange hat and was able to successfully pass out through the front doors in disguise, undeterred.

Benjamin then got in a Russian Federation unmarked vehicle and drove it in the direction of his hotel.

Having arrived back at the hotel, Benjamin took a cold shower and went to bed next to his wife and son who were fast asleep.

Ch. 5: The Plot Thickens.

Benjamin awoke to find another note being slipped under his door. He slipped into his multi-colored bathrobe and snatched it up before his wife and son could see. He noticed that Leah was turning over in her sleep. He read the note then carefully; it was quite detailed.

Enclosed in the note was a map of the Carpathian Mountains and a note which read:

“Dear Benjamin,

You performed most admirably last evening at Le Duke. Thank you for accepting my challenge. Sergei, as you know, was a threat to the people of Ukraine, as well as the security of the “Free World.”

I am being open and honest with you now, Benjamin, because we share the same ideals and are like two kinds of birds of a feather, as far as I am concerned.

You must trust me.

As you may have guessed, Boris is now quite mad with his encounter with the bear last night and will stop at nothing now to see you receive justice at the hands of his cohorts.

However, he does not know that you alone hold the key to my heart, Benjamin, really, honestly. We may be from two entirely different worlds, but know that I hold you in high esteem in the very depths of my living soul and…

{Benjamin looked up to make sure his wife was still sleeping.}

And know too that I value your agreeing to come to the Carpathian Mountains this weekend.

Boris and the gang, the highest and most distinguished of the lot, are taking a ski vacation to reassess their goals and intentions and involvement in the Russian drive towards further expansion and control in Ukraine.

I’ve already informed Nikolai Lavrov, someone I trust and who will also be skiing at Drogobrat this weekend, that you will be there.

Feel free to bring the kiddies this time around.

You have proven yourself to be quite resourceful, honestly, truly, Benjamin, and I look forward to seeing you there.

Sincerely,

Annie.

PS The Cabbie will come around your hotel at eight o’clock sharp to deliver to you. See that you find yourself in the side parking-lot at that time to pick up the special delivery item and don’t forget to destroy this note after you read it. <kiss>

Danny was still sleeping, but Benjamin looked at his watch as Leah got up groggily saying, “Honey, is everything alright?”

Benjamin shoved the letter into his bathrobe and turned towards his wife saying, “Get Danny up; We’re going skiing today.”

“What?” said Leah then, “Did we talk about this?”

“I think it’s important,” said Benjamin simply, “That Danny learn how to ski before he goes back to school. And today’s the day!”

“Ugh,” answered Leah and plopped back under the sheets.

Once back in the lobby with his second briefcase, Benjamin Bumstead made for the public restrooms. It was early enough that most of the hotel patrons were still asleep and not that many people were at breakfast that particular morning, although a little girl ran around in circles, chasing her little sister and squealing.

“Eeeeeek,” said the little girl.

“Hehehe,” said her big sister.

Benjamin smiled and thought to himself, “Playmates for Danny?”

He went into the Men’s room then and keyed in the security code tied to the handle. He opened the briefcase.

For assembly was a custom Remington 700 SPS Tactical Rifle marked “Made in America.”

Benjamin took one look and whistled under his breath. “That’s a ’beaut,” he thought to himself. Someone opened the restroom door. He closed the case.

“Oh, excuse me,” said the custodian lady, “I didn’t realize anyone was in here.”

“No worries,” said Benjamin then and left the restrooms, holding himself high and straightening his bow-tie.

At breakfast, Benjamin happened to see none other than Mr. Vladimir Nabokov, eating his cheerios and staring sleepily at the two little girls from the Hotel Lobby.

No one else was there except for an elderly couple sipping their respective orange juices in the corner.

Mr. Nabokov was seated at the window and Benjamin went over to say Hello to the famous Russian author and professor from Cornell with his coffee in hand.

Vladimir instructed Benjamin to sit down then, but continued to stare at the children.

“The last time I saw you,” said Benjamin, “You were speaking in New York at N.Y.U.”

“Was I?” answered Nabokov then.

“Yes,” continued Benjamin, “And you were speaking about your latest book—“Speak, Memory,” if my memory serves me correctly and I asked you a question.

“Did you?” said Nabokov.

“I asked you, ‘What is the greatest novel of all time?’ Now surprisingly, you did not say ‘Lolita’, but instead answered by saying that it was a tie between War and Peace and Anna Karenina, the novel Ulysses coming in a close third.

Then I asked you ‘Why?’ And you answered, “Because I know better.”

Vladimir had apparently zoned out again because he was staring out the window now, tracking the path of a butterfly.

“Do you know what that is?” asked Nabokov then, pointing at the insect outside the window pane.

“No idea,” said Benjamin.

“That,” said Vladimir, “Is a Silver-spotted Skipper.”

“But it looks like a moth,” said Benjamin then.

“I know,” said Vladimir, smiling. “But you know, sometimes the ugly ducklings magically transform into beautiful butterflies.”

“And sometimes,” answered Benjamin in reply, “The seemingly beautiful butterflies are ugly ducklings on the inside.”

“Well,” said Vladimir judiciously, “I know what you’re insinuating perhaps with that metaphor, but you know, a duck has feelings, too!”

“And butterflies, too?” asked Benjamin.

“Very much so,” answered Vladimir, “But you know, butterflies are creatures of the Spirit that do not get insulted easily. A true butterfly will just fly away!”

As he said this, the butterfly on the window-sill outside flew away.

“Voilà!” said Vladimir Nabokov, getting up to leave.

He straightened his necktie then and said, “Now if you’ll excuse me I must go attend to some business in my room. Have a good day.”

And with that, he disappeared around the corner.

Benjamin meanwhile was all smiles at having just made the acquaintance of none other than Mr. Vladimir Nabokov.

“Leah’s never going to believe this!” thought Benjamin to himself, still smiling.

He set the briefcase in the closet when he got back, but he was not quite fast enough.

“What’s that?” asked Leah.

“Never mind that!” said Benjamin, dismissively, “I just met Vladimir Nabokov!”

“Noooo…” Leah said.

“Yeah, Yeah,” said Benjamin, “He’s staying in this hotel for a night before going back to Switzerland. He just gave me a lecture on the Silver-spotted Skippy!”

“The what??” answered Leah then, “Did you take your meds this morning?”

“NO, no,” said Benjamin, “I’m telling you—Vlad-i-mir Na-bo-kov: You know, the famous author?”

“What in the world have you been smoking?” asked Leah, plopping back down on the bed and stretching out her arms.

Danny was rubbing his eyes now, trying to wake up.

“Guess what, Danny?” said Benjamin.

“What?” said Danny then.

“Did mama tell you? We’re going skiing!”

“Where?” asked Danny.

“You’ll see!” said Benjamin, mysteriously. “You’ll see—Remember those snow pants I got you in Bulgaria and the fact that we could not for the life of me go that time because grandpa got sick after eating too many pickles?”

“Yeah…” said Danny then, beginning to get excited.

“Well,” said Benjamin in earnest, “Now’s your chance!”

“Yippee!” said Danny, jumping up and down on the bed, “We’re going sledding!”

Ch. 6: ‘Voyage to the Outer Reaches’, or ‘I am a Jelly-Donut’ (Cue the Tchaikovsky—‘Swan Lake Suite’)

Jelly-donut in hand, Danny boarded the bus bound for the village of Yasinya and the mountains of Gendarme and Bliznitsa where is located the remote ski resort known as Dragobrat in order to learn how to ski.

It was a really packed bus ride and halfway there, Danny had to go to the little boy’s room. “Can’t you hold it?” asked Benjamin of his two-year-old who would soon be navigating the black diamonds off the ridge of Svidovetsky.

“The kid needs to go,” commented Leah then, “We’ve got to stop the bus, I’m afraid.”

“Alright, alright,” said Benjamin then, “I’ll inform the bus driver of the situation.”

Benjamin made his way to the front of the bus, jostling some Italian and Iraqi tourists and making his way past a large Ukrainian woman who was clearly Yasinya-bound and a native of the village. Luckily for Benjamin, she was sound asleep and, as he noted, drooling quite precipitously at of the corner of her mouth.

Once at the front of the bus, Benjamin did his best to alert the bus driver as to the situation. “My son…” he began as they lurched over some hilly terrain, “He needs to use the ‘vanya’. Toilet.”

“Yes,” said the bus driver right away, pulling over beside the steep terrain and stopping the bus.

“Spasiba,” said Benjamin, the bus driver nodding, and motioned for Danny to come forward.

As Danny was peeing then behind a tree, Benjamin noticed an entourage with black-tinted windows passing by.

“Hurry up, it’s time!” said Benjamin then and picked Danny up by the middle. “But I’m still peeing!” protested Danny. Indeed, Benjamin had to carry Danny somewhat at a distance because he was still peeing. Waiting for him to finish before they got off the bus, Benjamin asked, “Finished?” Little Danny nodded his head “Yes.”

Benjamin noticed the last car in the entourage then, speeding past en route to the ski resort and said to the bus driver upon re-entering the bus, “OK, all set!”

The bus driver nodded his head “Yes” and started the bus again, driving back onto the road.

The bus ride took longer than expected, but they did arrive by noon to the slopes of Dragobrat. “You know,” said Benjamin to Leah with Danny in his lap, “I think this day is going to be really something else.”

“Can I get another donut?” asked Danny then. “Sure, kiddo,” responded Benjamin, but Leah objected saying: “Benjamin! You know you’re going to spoil his appetite by eating all those jelly donuts!”

Danny was now quite immersed in a children’s book of J.R.R. Tolkien, illustrated by Sergei Yuhimov.

“I know, I know!” said Benjamin, losing patience with Leah’s berating attitude towards his raising Danny in a certain way. “But you got to hand it to him. He’s reading that book I got him!”

“That’s nice,” said Leah then, smiling, “But no more jelly donuts until after lunch, Ok?” And with that, she scarfed down a Snickers Bar.

Arriving at the appointed place about one hour late, Danny, Leah, and Benjamin all thanked the nice bus driver nicely and Benjamin went in the direction of the tickets.

“No, NO” insisted Benjamin then, “I got this. You go get Danny started on the Ski Rental Department. He’ll need to try several different ones on the bunny slopes anyway.”

Dragobrat did not really have any “bunny slopes” to speak of, but there was a little pile of snow in back of the lodge where crews were piling leftover snow.

Benjamin pointed towards the snow and Leah rolled her eyes. Danny meanwhile had started to pet a large, white Siberian husky with bright, blue eyes.

“Mommy!” Danny said then, “Can we get a doggy like this one?”

A big man dressed in a vintage Russian leather and fur jacket with his wife in tow (she was also wearing fur) came up to Danny and Leah. He looked rather like Hagrid.

“You like my Tsitseron?” asked the man then.

“Yes,” said Leah, “He’s very handsome.”

“thank you,” said the man. His English was very good.

“I got him in Vermont when we were on vacation,” he continued, “He was just a puppy then.”

“Oh?” said Leah, surprised at the prospect, “We live in Vermont actually. Where in Vermont did you get him?”

“In Newport,” said the man.

“That’s nice,” said Leah, “We know Newport. Our dog came from Montgomery Center.”

“Ah, yes,” said the man, acting as if he knew the place. “My wife, Natasha, and I live in Winooski.”

“Oh?” said Leah again, “What do you do there?”

“I teach piano at Middleboro College,” answered Nastiya then. “And I teach religion at UVM,” said the man whose name was also Piotr.

“Oh, really?” said Leah, “My husband went to—Well, here is now!—Benjamin, I’d like you to meet Nastiya and—

“Peter,” said Piotr Arkadyavich, “My name is Peter.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Benjamin.

“They are from Vermont like us,” said Leah.

“Oh really?” said Benjamin, “Whereabouts?”

“They live in Burlington,” said Leah, answering for them, “And Nastiya teaches at Middleboro College, isn’t that right?”

“Wait,” said Benjamin then, “You’re not…Nastiya, are you?”

“The Same,” the woman said, raising the hood of her coat.

(Gasps.)

“Nastiya!” said Benjamin, “How nice to see you!”

“What brings you to these parts?” asked Piotr Arkadyavich, “I mean, other than the skiing, that is.”

“We’re on two weeks’ vacation,” answered Benjamin. “I’ve wanted to show Danny and Leah the Balkans and Bulgaria as well after my trip there, but never came here to…” He trailed off in mid-sentence, catching sight of Annie walking past, arm-in-arm with Boris who was wearing a dark, Armani-inspired clip-on glasses. Annie’s coat was as red as the dress she had been wearing the previous night with a mink fur collar. She looked utterly radiant.

Natasha took up the conversation then where Benjamin had trailed off saying, “Actually, Benjamin, you never told me why you changed your name to…Bodenstein, was it? I’ve always wondered because it’s a funny story, now isn’t it? You know, Benjamin was one of my students and signed up to take piano lessons using a fake name. I had thought it was a “New” student signing up named “Benjamin Bodenstein,” but sure enough, it was Benjamin Bumstead instead and I had thought the really ‘Bodenstein’ was a lot nicer of a name for a pianist. Well, that really bummed me out, so to speak.

“But oh, Benjamin, let’s see your hands again! I always said to him at each and every lesson, ‘What beautiful hands you have!’”

Danny was starting to think that Benjamin’s former piano teacher looked like a character from one of his books. Perhaps she looked rather like ‘Babba Yagga’.

Benjamin found text from Tony on his phone then. It read: “Beware of Boris. He is definitely Russian Mafia.” –T.

“Oh, look at the time,” said Benjamin then, “Perhaps we’ll let you come for lunch after a run or two? What do you say, Danny-boy?” Danny’s response was to cling to his mother and looking up at Natasha who was smiling down at him.

“Yes,” said Leah then, “Danny’s wanted to take up the piano. Perhaps you could give us some advice on who he should study with?”

“As I told Benjamin’s father five or so years ago,” answered Natasha, “If you have the gift, four hours of practice per day is sufficient.”

“Right,” said Benjamin as he noticed Annie and company conversing outside the Main Lodge, “why don’t we meet in the Main Lodge at 2:30 PM? That would give us all enough time to ski, right?”

“Very good,” said Peter, putting his skis over his shoulder and taking Natasha’s hand affectionately. “See you then!”

“See you later,” said Natasha, waving goodbye to Danny.

“nice to meet you, Danny,” she said, offering him her hand.

Danny to his surprise found it plump and warm to the touch. He had been expecting a bonier hand. “Nice to meet you,” Danny replied then to his father’s delight.

As they made their way towards the slopes, another text came in from Tony: “Panetta is interested in your research. Don’t blow it.”

“Thanks, Tony,” said Benjamin with a sigh.

He texted back: “With the fam. Talk soon.”

“Where are you now?” Tony texted back.

“Skiing @Dragobrat,” replied Benjamin. “Piano teacher located; Elvis meanwhile is leaving the building,” referring to Boris who was walking across the snow in his snow boots.

Benjamin drank his hot-cocoa and watched carefully from his position as Boris and Annie shimmied over to the lift.

“Why don’t you boys have some fun?” said Leah then. “Mommy needs some alone time in the lodge.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to ski?” asked Benjamin.

“I’m fine,” said Leah, “I’m going to relax by the fire and read some Dante Commentaries: You guys have fun!”

“OK,” said Benjamin then, “C’mon, Danny, let’s go!”

Benjamin took Danny’s small hand in his and they proceeded to put their skis on.

Leah meanwhile went to go sit by the fire, finding another man wearing sunglasses inside and stoking the fire and using a walkie-talkie. She saw him without thinking much of it, but he looked rather sinister. He spoke over his walkie-talkie in Russian to Boris saying, “Strakhovoy agent pokinul zdaniye.”

“Kopiya,” replied Boris, putting his arm around Annie in the chair lift. And so the games began…

Ch. 7: ‘Escape from Mt Boris’. (Cue the Franz Liszt, “Funérailles”)

After showing Danny how to snow-plow for about five minutes time, Benjamin pointed out which trail to follow.

“See,” said Benjamin, pointing to a map of the ski trails, “That’s your trail. I’ll be going on this one,” he said pointing to a Red Diamond. “Now, don’t worry, you’ll be fine; You’ve got a great instructor in Dmitri Borisov.”

Leah had paid for the young Bulgarian instructor, not knowing that he too was under the pay of none other than the head of the Russian Mafia.

“Love you,” said Danny sweetly to his father.

“Love you, too, Danny-Boy,” said Benjamin then, “Bye-Bye.”

Benjamin then prepared to launch himself off the Red Diamond slope, all the while keeping in touch with Tony and joked by yelling into the phone, “Kiss my ass, Kerry, I’m going for it!”

“What?” said Tony, “You’re breaking up!”

The reception on the mountain was pretty good, but somewhat spotty. Benjamin had gotten the message across however.

Dmitri meanwhile took Danny down the Blue Diamond, one of the easier slopes on DragoBrat, but had given him the choice.

“Have you skied before?” asked Dmitri, following standard procedures for all ski instructors.

“Not really,” said Danny truthfully, “But I have gone sledding at Mad River.”

“that’s nice,” said Dmitri, not really paying that close attention to what the boy was telling him. “Now watch what I do and follow my lead.”

Meanwhile, back at the lodge, Leah was sipping a hot-cocoa and looking at the pictures in a Zdorovie Health Magazine. It was in Russian, but there was a dieting article she was attempting to decipher with a Vodka Martini advertisement on the opposing page that looked enticing.

After a few moments, she gave up trying to decipher it and took out her phone to read a digital copy of Newsweek. The front headline was about the Crisis in Ukraine and the developing story about Pres. Putin’s “secret” bank accounts in Switzerland which had just won the world cup as well.

Putin’s Olympic Games in Sochi had of course gone off without a hitch, but Leah wondered about his willingness to meet the U.S.’ demands in Syria. She also thought that former Sec. Clinton would be better perhaps on Foreign Policy and had worked for Rahm Emanuel back in the day as a White House Intern/ Fellow. She was certainly one who counted herself as one of those who was “Ready for Hillary,” but felt herself rather removed from the Hillary Hubbub in Ukraine.

Leah was reading Hilary’s Hard Choices however in which Clinton advises the U.S. President to “bargain hard,” as Putin “gives no gifts.” What she could not know was what Boris Berezinski had up his sleeves.

Boris who had spotted Benjamin back in the lunch line, doubly annoyed at Benjamin’s having taken the last dill pickle AND the last squeeze off the ketchup AND the last plastic fork, now came running over the course with his gang of Dragunov-bearing hordes in hot pursuit once again of Benjamin, the helicopters zooming in with air support.

“Houston,” said Benjamin over the phone to Tony, “We have a major problem on our hands!”

“Not to worry,” answered Tony, the reception getting a little better as Benjamin made his way down the mountain, “I’ve got you on TV actually. It appears that the Russian State TV Station is interested in your little charade.”

“Great,” said Benjamin out loud, “That’s just what I need: Media Coverage!” He was starting to get a tad bit worried at the moguls for which he had seen a sign.

He veered off course then to avoid being tracked and elected to take the shortest route through the trees. He was skiing at break-neck speed through the fresh powder and in between the trees, as bullets buzzed over his head, hitting and impacting wood chunks from off the coniferous trees.

Danny meanwhile was also having a good time on the Blue Diamond. He was quite the natural, following Dmitri. He remembered how his dad had told him to “Use the Force” on the moguls if he should encounter any such a thing on the Black Diamond Run. Benjamin had of course been joking, but Danny had taken his words seriously, being a fan of the epic movie trilogy.

At some point approximately halfway down the mountain, their paths crossed. Danny had had his eyes on the prize—That being the skiing of a Black Diamond, while Dmitri watched from the top of the hill.

Danny did not really have any idea what he was doing as he closed his eyes, attempting to “Use the Force,” but he was essentially “bombing” the hill.

Danny hit the Snowboard Park then and soared over his father’s head, right as Boris was about to catch him in the act. That action caused Boris to get distracted, such that he made a sharp turn to the right, in order to avoid a large tree which split the trails.

Benjamin however continued along the EXTREMELY dangerous and unmarked rocky terrain. “That’ll teach him!” said Boris to himself, stopping a little ways down from that point. “That’ll teach him to take the last dill pickle from the pickle Jar!”

Benjamin on the other hand who still considered himself a marked man, skied right through the rocky terrain in an all-out adrenaline-pumping run. He nearly made it out of the tricky section, but got his front point of the ski caught under a small boulder at the last moment, throwing him for a double-flip and landing in two feet of snow, head first.

Not long thereafter, Boris’ men were on the scene, giving Benjamin a hand from the helicopters and gave Boris the Thumbs’ up from a distance, even as Annie cursed from afar, having watched the whole thing through her binoculars from her position on top of the mountain.

Danny meanwhile was very proud that he had just skied a Black Diamond, but considered that he actually much preferred sledding really, seeing as he did not particularly care for the feeling of weightlessness. Even still, he ran to go tell his mother the news.

“Jesus!” Leah said upon hearing Danny’s report. “I thought you guys would stay together. And where is Daddy now?”

Danny pointed vaguely up at the mountain. “Great,” said Leah and raised her binoculars to her eyes, throwing down her phone onto the couch and scanning the mountainside for any sign of Benjamin.

Immediately, she could make out the tiny black dots that were Boris’ men, assembling around a couple red toothpicks that were Benjamin’s skis in the snow.

“Oh good,” she sighed in relief, “The ski patrol has come to the rescue.”

“That’s no ski patrol,” said a voice from behind them.

It was Annie. Leah noted her Russian accent, how she was breathtakingly gorgeous, such that Leah did not believe that she could be real, and yet, there she was, A Ukrainian Princess who had descended from on high to their aid?

“Are you an angel?” asked Danny. He had been brought up on a steady diet of HBO and happened to see ‘Angels in America’ one night after baseball. Benjamin had had to cover his eyes through most of it, but it had left an impression on Danny. (Benjamin on the other hand had been taken to see “Ran” by Akira Kurosawa when he was little, such that he came out of the movie saying that he much preferred Disney’s ‘Frozen’.)

“You must believe me when I say that your husband is in grave danger,” said Annie, speaking to Leah with a genuine degree and sense of urgency. Leah interrupted her.

“shut-up! Have you been sleeping with my husband?”

Annie shook her head “no.”

“If you value ben’s life, you must do exactly as I say. Is that clear? You must trust me now. You can ask questions later.

“Wait just a minute,” said Leah then, “How do we know that we can trust you? How do we know that you’re not…one of them. How can we trust…you?”

“I know Ben’s Facebook password,” said Annie, “And I can prove it. Let me see your phone.”

“A likely story,” answered Leah, crossing her arms in front of her chest, “As if that wasn’t easy to hack!”

“Please?” said Annie then, “For the sake of Benjamin, you must trust me.”

“Sure,” said Leah, hugging Danny and pulling him in close. “We’ll trust you…”

“It’s going to be Ok,” she said to Danny, kneeling down. “Daddy’s going to Ok.” (Cue Liszt’s ‘Annees de Pelerinage’)

“yeah, we’ll trust you,” said Leah, getting up again and walking over to Annie, “We’ll trust you.” She was looking Annie square in the eyes. “We’ll trust you…

“If you can name the super-secret password!”

“I want Daddy!” squealed Danny then, beginning to cry. He was only two after all.

“There, there,” said Leah, handing Danny a jelly donut.

“Ok,” said Annie after a time, “The top secret password is…’Paris’.”

“That’s right,” said Leah in amazement. “Ok, Ms. Mysterious Ukrainian Lady, whoever you really are, where are we going?”

“To church!” Annie declared then, “Follow me.”

“What?” said Leah, “We are going to church? But that doesn’t make any sense. What are we going to do there?? Pray?”

Annie did not answer and continued walking across the snow. “You know Danny can’t take communion yet!” said Leah, following and becoming more and more concerned the more she thought about it.

“if he sips one sip of wine, you know,” said Annie then with a little chuckle to herself: “he will be converted to Orthodoxy!”

“Brother,” said Leah who had not heard Annie’s little comment and pulled Danny along through the evening’s brisk air as the wind began to pick up and the sun set over top of Dragobrat.

Weather 'tis nobler in the mind's eye

To suffer…this dreadful cold.

I doubt it not but that something other's beast of burden

Hast wrenched this pitiful state of man in clouds of unshaken

Rain. It's raining cats…I think. But then again, could be dogs?

How should I know? I say I'm the weather man just so as I can say something about something.

The weather report isn't really that accurate anyhow. It's just one man interpreting a map with little 'squigglies'. I'd really rather dance! Fat chance. Get up and give a reading of romance? Or how about a line from Willy Shakes?! Eat your heart out, Shakespeare! Or what about a few anecdotes from Thoreau: "The weather today is bright and sunny. Ought to have a swim, but feeling rather cramped in my cabin now. Really ought to go outside. Scared of the beaver. Eating lots of beans these days. Not as good as mother's pot roast in town. O, I dread the day when I must confront Emerson and inform him of my poor state of Affairs. Well, at least the beans I planted have started to sprout and the water was very refreshing Yesterday. I don't know Why I'm capitalizing every other Word. Seems to just Make sense though, seeing as I AM Henry David Thoreau. Woldn't suspect my Neighbor of any suspicious activity, seeing as I Have None. Well, that's all for To-Day. Join us next Time on the Thoreauvian Weather Channel, coming to you directly from KISS 99.1 Boston."

I take my coffee straight, neither shaken, nor stirred, but straight up like a martini, but not really. I like it in the morning, in the evening, all the live-long day! It's gotta be coffee and hey, just pour me some more coffee and I'll stay to listen to your story about your day and how the hogs got out of their pen and into the hay. But hey, it's not my story; it's just my coffee and after all, what I'm looking for…But then again, no. I just want my coffee to taste "oh so delicious."

Drinking coffee is what I do for fun on the weekend, or without really meaning to spend my whole day drinking coffee I sit and read a book while I'm sipping 'cause it's my coffee we're discussing here and I don't really mind to discuss the drip, drip, drip of my coffee machine as I pour myself another round of coffee I think it's rather tasty, don't you? All this has coffee has got me to thinking: "Are you single?" Is it just me, or is it getting hot in here? Let me take off my jacket. I want to feel comfortable while I sip. There, that's better. Now you know my taste in coffee: Straight up with a twist around my coffee cup of sugar and whip-cream. No thanks, strawberries don't go with coffee, except if we're dining fancy tonight. But I'll accept the flowers and the coffee. Don't mind if I do! Tell me, do you like your coffee in a canoe? Or perhaps you'd like to sip it in a tree. I like sipping coffee with me.

Coffee…mm…another cup of coffee? Oh, why not?! This cup is free!! No, not the cup, silly, just the coffee. Oh, well then, another cup of coffee. That's fine. Now where was I? Ah yes, the kind of coffee I prefer. Of course, it's got to be Ethiopian! There's nothing better, nothing darker. I prefer Ethiopian Harrar coffee with a bit of sugar, but not too much! You don't want to spoil the rich, deep taste of Ethiopian coffee. It's truly a luxurious experience to drink this stuff, especially in the afternoon, and especially with an attractive lady from Ethiopia whose name is Patrystia. Perhaps Patrystia and I will find a time to drink a coffee together, but I doubt…She wants to come to my piano performance. I forgot if I mentioned that already or not? In any regard, she's very supportive, even if we have not actually had a coffee together. She insists upon my telling her when it is. But I'm not telling, only posthumously. That is, after the performance is already finished. Why? Because I have not even had coffee with the lady! Besides, dating an airplane stewardess or evangelical Christian is rather like finding a girl online: She may or may not actually exist in reality. But sticking to coffee, yes, I think I'll ask her out for coffee. Not at Starbucks, granted. They don't have Ethiopian coffee at Starbucks and if they do, it's a poor substitute for the real thing. The real thing…The Real Thing! That's a play by Sam Shepherd, is it not? Well, coffee's the thing. It really draws somebody out of themselves emotionally and then you're at the mercy of the others' intentions. What are her intentions? I'm not speaking of the Ethiopian anymore; I'm speaking of her! Who? Her! The one, the only. The one I had coffee with last weekend? Precisely. Is she the one? The One? No, silly, the one and only. Oh, her. Well, we sort of had a coffee last weekend together, but then she wanted to eat. Oh? She was hungry. I see. Well, that's all very good to hear, but how did she take her coffee? She had a latte. Oh? Yeah, a latte. I see. Better luck next time. Yeah. What about that other one…? Who? The married one? Yeah, her. Ahhh….Did you have coffee with her yet?! Umm, we just had tea. Ouch. That's going to leave a mark. I see. Well, there's always next summer. Exactly. Precisely. I mean, who's going to know the difference? Between her and me? Between her and somebody else! Somebody else…like, the other one? Yeah, or…like, your ex? Why do you brink her up? Well, you seem to have a thing for Asians and coffee. I see. Want to get to the bottom of it? Not really. I see. You like your coffee black and your women Asian. Anything else? Ah yes, you are unemployed. But you have enough for coffee, yes? Correct. I see. Well, that takes care of everything then! What? The coffee. Oh, I see…So you're suggesting I combine the coffee with women and perhaps add a bagel. No, I'm suggesting you drink your coffee and come up with something really good. Like, what I'm writing right now? No, something even bigger…Coffee…And women. Coffee and women? Coffee and women. Coffee. And. Women. Coffee. AND women. Coffee and women. Coffee AND Women. Coffee & Women? Coffee and A woman. Yes, that sounds about right. And as for the grand idea thing…?

Can it.