Tzimmes Cracked Corn (And I Don’t Care)
A Spontoon Island story
© 2022 Walter Reimer

(Characters courtesy of M. Mitch Marmel, J.T. Urie and E.O. Costello. Thanks!)

Thumbnail art by  Tai-1


21.

Athena:

Oh.

My.

GAWD.

I manage to tear myself away from the view out the bedroom window and go downstairs to the phone. Jacob’s doing rounds at the hospital, so I don’t have to worry about using the telephone and possibly interfering with his practice. “Hello? Shepherd’s Hotel? Could you connect me to Mr. and Mrs. Buckhorn’s rooms, please? Yes, I’ll wait.”

There was a short pause. “Hello, Willow? Oh! I beg your pardon, Mr. Lodge, this is Athena Meffit; may I speak with – oh, yes, I’ll wait, thank you . . . Willow, hi, it’s Athena. Listen, I want to congratulate you. I don’t know how you managed the trick, but it’s amazing!”

“What? Well, that thing going on at the New Haven Embassy, of course! It’s complete chaos over there!”

“What do you mean, ‘What thing?’”

“Oh, you’re not – then who’s filled the Embassy with those cute white squirrels?”

Assured that she’d had nothing to do with it, I thanked her and went back upstairs to watch the fun.


***


Brush:

The New Haven Embassy ain’t far from th’ Constabulary, heh, nowhere’s far on Meetin’ Island, an’ ain’t no need ta run. ‘Sides, it’s a hot day.

I turns th’ corner, an’ I see th’ guys at the gate o’ th’ Soviet Embassy laughin’ their heads off. Funny, I never seen ‘em do that b’fore. The Vostokies next door, though? All I see are eyes peerin’ out these little slits in their front gate, an’ not a peep outta them. That’s more like it, but when I get closer ta th’ Red Fist’s place, I have ta stop fer a minute.

I can see why th’ Soviets are laughin’ so hard now.

There’s prolly a hunnert or so of them white nutmunchers all over th’ place, runnin’ in an’ outta th’ windows, ‘long th’ rooftop, and chasin’ round on th’ lawn. There’s some bangs an’ crashes comin’ from inside, so I guess there’s a good ol’ ruckus goin’ on.

‘Course, I can’t set foot on th’ property. That’s what yez call onea them Foreign Ministry t’ings.

Natcherly, I also can’t come walkin’ up on ‘em with a stupid grin on my muzzle. My dimwit brudders would do that, but I gotta act professional, see? So I take a few breaths and think about emillatin’ th’ Inspector.

Okeh.

Right.

There’s th’ usual two yeggs at th’ gate, wit’ these wood clubs, an’ they’ve got ‘em ready ta swing at any squirrels dat come by. There’s a third guy wit’ ‘em, canine, wringin’ his paws and lookin’ worried. He turns ta face me as I come walkin’ up.

I flash my buzzer. “Sergeant Brush, Constabulary. We got a call about yez bein’ under siege.”

“Don’t know what else you’d call it,” the paw-wringer sez. Got the same accent as th’ Inspector, like the dog’s talkin’ through his nose. “We didn’t call you, but we could use some help from our brothers, the Spontoonies. Come here and you can see them better.”

I stick ta th’ pavement like gum. “Can’t do that,” I sez. “I can’t be steppin’ into no foreign soil, yez see? ‘Sides, it’s just a bunch o’ squirrels.”

He gives me the eye. “A bunch!? There must be dozens of them in there, and they’re getting into everything!”

I guess he don’t mean the Ambassador – Wakefield’s his name – the Ambassador’s doily collection.

I cranes my neck and look past the guy. “Warm day, an’ I don’t see no screens on th’ windows.” My ears flick at a crashin’ sound and I see onea the little white furballs come shootin’ out an upstairs window like he had rockets on his feet. He does a neat landing on the grass and takes off.

Heh. Somea th’ air race pilots coulda took lessons on landin’ from these little treerats.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” the dog asks me.

“Well, that’s th’ trouble, see?” I sez to him. “I’m with th’ Constabulary, an’ even if th’ Foreign Ministry an’ yez allow me on th’ property, I can’t arrest them. Yez are doin’ a good job at shooin’ them away, so I t’ink they’ll get tired an’ leave.”

See, that’s what me brudder K’nutt would call ‘objective reality.’ ‘Course, he’d stutter sayin’ it.

“Can we shoot ‘em?” onea guards sez.

“Nonea that,” I sez. “These is what yez call protected, by order o’ th’ Althing.” Knew those government guys would come in useful sometime. “Can’t hurt ‘em.”

Just then one squirrel comes outta the front door fast as lightning, callin’ out “CHIT! CHIT! CHIT!” an’ out after him comes a badger guy wearin’ nuthin’ but soapsuds an’ wavin’ a scrubber like a sword. He slips on the porch an’ goes tail-over-eartips, landin’ hard in th’ dirt.

“Comrade!” th’ dog sez, an’ he goes ta help him up. Th’ badger shakes him off an’ stamps back inside. Takes a lot to hurt a badger.

Th’ squirrel, though, goes chasin’ around the yard and dashes straight up onea th’ guards, clingin’ ta his headfur and chitt’rin’ while the guy, a donkey, starts runnin’ round yellin,’ “GET HIM OFF ME! GET HIM OFF ME!”

His partner yells at him ta hold still, an’ he takes a swing at th’ donkey like he was playin’ Kilikiti.

Misses th’ squirrel, who leaps offa th’ donkey an’ take off down th’ street.

Doesn’t miss th’ donkey, who takes th’ club upside the head an’ drops like a sack o’ taters. The guys over at th’ Soviet Embassy down th’ street’re laughin’ fit ta bust.

So I decide to do th’ only thing I can do.

I take down a few notes, an’ head back to th’ Constabulary to write up a report, with a copy to th’ Foreign Ministry.

Figger someone’ll get a laugh outta this.


***


Father Merino:

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

Inspector Stagg has been a frequent visitor to the confessional since his arrival in the Spontoons. Many of those visits were outpourings of grief and guilt over the loss of his family, but after meeting Miss Baumgartner, those same outpourings had decreased.

Lately, however, a new reason for him to seek absolution had surfaced.

“You – you recall that I have found pleasure in the misfortune of others.”

Ah, that would have to be the recent troubles at the New Haven Embassy. One might wish that they would give up harassing the Inspector, but they were quite persistent. “Yes, my son. Go on.”

A pause. “We received a report that they were being besieged.”

My ears flicked back and forth. “Besieged?”

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

“Squirrels.”

“Squirrels?”

“Squirrels, Father.”

I absolved the Inspector, with the penance of one Our Father, and he left.

I made sure that he was well out of earshot before I silently asked the Lord for forgiveness, and then laughed until I got the hiccoughs.


***


Rosie:

It was a beautiful evening, and after dinner Franneleh and I were sitting in the garden behind Luchow’s. It was a nice spot for looking up at the stars and admiring the sunset.

Or it would be, if not for –

“Chit-chit-CHIT-rrr!”

I scowled at the little bundle of white fur and beady red eyes as it leaped off the top of the biergarten wall. “Shoo, you little creep,” I growled.

“Now, Rosie,” my buck chided quietly, and after leaning over to kiss me on the cheek he said, “it’s just Ishmael.”

“How can you tell? They all look alike to me.”

Franklin shrugged. “I just know. Familiarity, I guess.” He fished into a pocket and gently tossed a shelled, honey-roasted acorn to the little mamzer. “I expect he’s had rather a busy day.”

The light was failing, but I could see my love’s smile as he fed the squirrel.




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