The Practical Spy

by Doug Walker

CHAPTER TWO

  When Orson did return and comment on her improved condition. She had a handsome metal hook that served as her right forearm and hand. They had a long heart-to-heart. At one point he tossed in the following comments: “Chimpanzees and bonobos throw tantrums after making bad decisions, and Beaumont, Texas produces the saddest tweets. I could go on and on.”

  This puzzled her and she was driven to inquire, “Why the non sequiturs?”

  “I do not wish to brag or strut about pompously, but I merely want to illustrate that I remember scraps of information. My memory is rock solid, at least for the present. So please rely on me instead of rushing to a computer, dictionary, or world Atlas.”

  “Thank you, Sir Orson. Now that we seem to be in accord, do you think it might be possible to share a moment of bliss, that is a gentle kiss?”

  “I wondered when that might come up, Delilah. I would enjoy nothing better, a feeling of intimacy. But if you will excuse me for saying it, I think such future moments should always be confined to when we are alone.”

  `“I couldn’t agree more,” she replied.

  They discussed at some length whether to consummate their situation before or after the ceremony, which would amount to an elopement. They decided why wait to get married, then discussed wait for what – the ceremony or the consummation. The day wore on, so they slept together that night then sought out a small courthouse town and became a married couple.

  For the next few days, one might say the honeymoon period, they had a great pretend argument over where to live. Delilah opted for estates in the Hamptons and Palm Beach. “We need extraordinary entertainment spaces,” she insisted. Then they both would fall out laughing. She suggested a Georgian revival by a high society architect with an elliptical shape who overlooked the Intracoastal waterway. They had been dipping into the white wine and she suddenly realized what she had said, which triggered another gale storm of laughter. The marriage was going quite well.

  Orson suggested a perfect stretch of deserted seashore, something ramshackle within easy drive of New York City and the two airports. The only spot would be farther down the Long Island coast than most.

  “Shabby on the outside, creature comforts within,” Delilah asserted. “Gourmet kitchen, Goodwill furniture, huge expensive bed in a room with a view, joined with two baths and a pair of walk-in closets.”

  “Done and done,” Orson agreed. “I’ll find an agent and we can both look around for a cook.”

  “A cook,” Delilah said in a grim tone. “I don’t think we need a cook.”

  “You want to cook?” Orson asked with some glee. “You could be cook the hook, or better yet, hook the cook.”

  Delilah brandished her hook. “This piece of steel can rob you of your other eye. There’ll be a service canine leading you along your perfect stretch of beach. Of course I don’t want to cook, and I don’t want a cook. I want two cooks, shifts, of course, plus a housekeeper.”

  “That’s a reasonable request,” Orson responded, somewhat cowed. He realized one quick swipe of the hook in a moment of blind anger and he would never see again, little lone smile. So it would be first the house, then the interior and finally the staff. Until then, frantic calls for pizza.

  The hook threat somewhat bothered him. Delilah, he knew, was a high tempered woman, somewhat willful and perhaps a penchant toward the ruthless. In a moment of anger, she might do away with his remaining eye. The thought was not pleasant. He was too old to adjust to such a circumstance. Even if he tried he would need constant psychotherapy as well as blind therapy. Of course the hook was removed at bedtime. But why a hook? Orson resolved to do his best to find a reasonable hand to substitute for that piratical instrument. After all, that was the common practice.

  They lived in their dream home, savoring its decadence while refurbishing was underway. Rather than take-away, they had found a solid cook in an older woman named Mattie who preferred to live on the premises and also desired to be the one and only cook despite Delilah’s earlier notion.

  They were given to baby making and using pet names. Orson called her his Manic Pixie Dream girl, not really original. The type was supposedly crazy, sexy, mysterious, strange and maybe slutty. She failed to rise to many of these objectives. But she called him her Manic Pixie Dream Boat and left the broad meaning hanging.

  It was a fun time and they would spend breakfast making suggestions to Mattie for meals during the next few days. Mattie, with serious deviations, attempted to follow their advice. Once she heard Orson call Delilah his Manic Pixie Dream girl. She gave him the evil eye and he suspected she knew something beyond her pedestrian exterior. He never used that term of endearment in her presence again. Mattie was something of a mother figure for the household, which was falling into place. A part-time gardener, or yardman, had been found. The cook gave him coffee and handouts of food at the back door.

  The two of them quarreled over the kitchen appointments until Mattie stepped in and asserted her right as the cook. She was the decider for that particular room as she was for her own particular small apartment.

  Orson and Delilah learned to confide in one another. Orson confided that his desire for the first child was to rear it as a spy.

  “How does one bring up a child as a spy?” asked Delilah.

  “By training the child as a spy. Language is important, geography is important, global politics is important. A total education is important. The foremost thing is to sear into the mind of the child that he or she is being trained as a spy and to deviate from that course might be fatal.”

  “You mean like death?”

  “Either that or some unspeakable alternative. In the old days it was common to speak of a fate worse than death.”

  “I believe your thinking will evolve as you come to grips with this problem, that is, a real human being in real time,” Delilah said sagely.

  “Evolution is the star that guides our vessel. We are made to hope for something better, we seek greener pastures. Over the next hill, just around the bend, my Huckleberry friend. When we achieve one goal we hope for something still better. It’s much like appealing bait being dragged before us. And it seems that the organism that is more fit tends to survive and reproduce.”

  “We have achieved something beyond that stage, Orson. It might be said of both of us that we have made our mark. Now we can rest on our oars and reproduce. The great seasons roll, our domicile is to our satisfaction, I feel the first inklings of pregnancy. You may have your little spy sooner than you expect. All’s right with the world.”

  Orson jumped to his feet and hugged his bride in glee. “Wonderful. The greener pastures and the good times are coming!”

  “Thank you, dear husband. I’ve become your standard baby mill.”

  “It was written in the stars,” Orson exclaimed. “The ancient role of man and woman. I should hoe a row of cotton, or harvest something, maybe slay a fatted calf.”

  “How about ordering another case of white wine and a few bottles of red. Neither of us can exist on bread alone. That includes cook.”

  “I’ll check the inventory.”

  As the baby was growing, seemingly in Delilah’s interior, although both agreed that even a baby is not inside the body. In many ways they agreed, the body is like a sewer pipe. But as the child did grow so did their contentment and happiness. And when it reached a certain stage the good doctor detected two heartbeats.

  “It seems that I will have my child and you will have yours, Orson. Any dibs on sex?”

  “Haven’t thought of it. Makes little difference. Lots of famous spies of either gender.”

  “I have given serious thought to this spy business and certainly want you to have your wish. It seems to me that’s why we married. So you could have your spy. But things have worked out well.”

  “They have, Delilah. We are soul mates. You no longer have the hook you might use to claw out my eye.”

  With that she brandished her high tech, almost natural, artificial h
and and flexed the fingers.

  “Much more than that, Orson. But there are complications. It might be difficult to set a course for one child of a certain age and set an alternate course for another. You will have your spy, you can be certain of that, but I will also have a spy. But mine will not be a spy. The training will be similar, but I will whisper a different tune into that young one’s ear.”

  “I can think of no better solution. You are indeed touched with the genius gene. I commend you, or praise you, whatever.”

  With that settled, they took a long stroll on the beach, tossing bits of bread to the mewing gulls.

  Delilah was nearing the date of delivery, when Orson received a call from a nearly forgotten friend.

  He found Delilah in the garden talking shrubs with the yardman. Drawing her aside, he reported – “I have been summoned by the King of Saudi Arabia.”

  “Feature that,” she responded, “a royal summons. What is the response to such a request?”

  “I feel I must go.”

  “He has a mission for you, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. His name is King Saudi, the same as the country.”

  “His first name is King?”

  “I don’t know what his first name might be, or his last name for that matter. When I knew him he was Prince Saudi, and I always called him Prince.”

  She smiled her odd smile and replied, “Sounds like a dog.”

  “It does, doesn’t it? The pay is half a million.”

  “He wants you to kill somebody?”

  “No. He’s gotten together what he calls the Arab Coalition. It’s an organization to bring pressure on Israel for a permanent peace. A worthy cause.”

  “Do you think the Jews will agree?”

  “At least half the Jews in this country and half the Israelis would enjoy a lasting peace. The others are a bloodthirsty lot, bent on expansion of Israel as a state.”

  “This plan must involve Israel pulling back to the 1948 borders.”

  “It does that.”

  “And how would you be involved?”

  “I would simply be an envoy. I know people in the Middle East and in Washington. He thinks I could be trusted to carry messages, that both sides might believe me, or that both sides would mistrust me equally. About the same thing.”

  She had become quite serious. “Do you think so?”

  “I don’t know. But I can’t think of anyone more qualified. I am torn. If you ask me to stay, I will stay.”

  “And resent me and your lost opportunity as a global player. Please go forth and save the planet, if not the universe. Cook and I can manage the birthing.”