Inspector O and the Name Game

I was going through the menu for the third time when Inspector O appeared, as he often does, seemingly out of nowhere.

“I’m supposed to ask you some questions,” he said, waving away the waitress.

“Don’t we usually start with hello, Inspector, however brusque?” I always try to set up the guard rails and not give an inch at the beginning of our meetings.

“Of course, Church,” he beamed. “Thoughtless of me. I forgot you Americans are big on ceremony. Shall I bow as well?”

The guard rails flew off to the side. “Inspector, I’m extremely busy these days. I came all the way here to Astana in an economy seat because you said it was urgent. Why I can’t imagine, but I assumed you were serious. I’m tired, stiff, and this is not a garden spot. So why don’t we just skip your tap-dancing introduction and get to your questions!” I didn’t mean to be so vehement, but it had been a middle seat.

“Whoa! Church, calm down, let’s get you a drink. Vodka?”

“No, no liquor. Just order food, and while we wait, you ask your questions.”

“Excellent. Let me begin by saying we realize it’s important to start small.”

I looked at him closely to make sure he was serious. “I’m not hearing a question. Did I miss the question, or was it drowned out by the tap dancing?”

He held up his hand to signify he had more to say. “What we aren’t sure of, is how fast to go up the ladder.”

I groaned inwardly.

“Why the pained look, Church? It’s not a bad image, a ladder.”

“Let me guess. You are cleaning house gutters? Changing light bulbs? You want a serious answer? It probably depends, is it a step ladder, an extension ladder, a fish ladder?”

“Don’t mock me, Church.”

“Then don’t obfuscate, Inspector. What are we talking about here?”

“All right, normally you want context but now you are suddenly short tempered, impatient, and old man with feet that hurt. So let me race to the blue ribbon, grab the brass ring, lunge for the finish line, and don’t complain when you get there.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward me. “We think schools are important. That’s why we name schools after people.”

I sighed. This was going somewhere. I could sense it was going somewhere. “Yes, all right. You name schools after people. Do I know them?”

“Kim Il Sung University. Kang Kon Military Academy. Kim Hyong Jik University of Education. Just to name a few. I could go on.”

“No, please, don’t go on. No reason to go on. What I need is what I still don’t hear. The question that you brought me here to answer.”

Again he held up his hand to indicate I was speaking out of turn. “We know you tend to name big things, important things, after people. No need to comment, just nod. Airports for example. JFK, Dulles, Reagan. Am I right? Mostly though you don’t use personal names, mostly you identify places by location, which makes sense, so people know where they are. I admit, there can be other considerations and exceptions.”

“Inspector, my patience is running dangerously thin. You should stop creeping up on your question. For the love of all that is holy, just ask it.”

He shook his head slightly. “Let me say with deep sincerity, Church, we are impressed with the turn of events. What events you may ask. Buildings with the name of the leader. An outdoor square, yes. We have that. But a building? A cultural center? That never occurred to us. And now not only a tunnel but also a major airport? Astounding! We are astounded, truly. We don’t do that. We don’t dare do that, not yet.” He looked around the restaurant. “I’m instructed to find out who comes up with these ideas. Do you know?”

“Haven’t a clue.”

“I bet you do.” He grinned. “Naming something after a dead figure, well, maybe that’s not a big leap. But naming after the man currently in charge, so to speak, that bakes the pie.”

“…cake…takes the cake.”

“An airport and a rail tunnel! Astounding! There is a buzz at home in high places, growing lists of objects that are candidates for a new name, THE name, if only we had the chutzpah to do it.” O gave me a blank expression.

“I get your point. And no, I don’t have any idea how that is possible or who comes up with these things.”

“You could even rename the Washington monument, am I right?”

“Who knows, I mean, who the hell knows these days.” I was breathing heavily, maybe clutching my heart at this point. It was all a blur.

“Vodka,” O summoned the waitress. “This man needs a stiff drink. Bring the bottle.” He looked at his watch. “Very sorry, Church, but I’ve got a plane to catch. Take a look, the menu must have horse meat on it. Give it a try. Yummy.”

As he stood and turned to go, he smiled that smile that meant I should brace myself. “Oh, nearly forgot,” he said matter-of-factly. “We have, er, shall we say reliable information from an excellent source that your War Department has come up with a new slogan to use with your allies. Seems very clever, they can sing it in the shower every morning. Reflective of new policy, I suppose.” He paused, his voice got a steel edge. “I need confirmation.”

“Not from me you don’t. I don’t confirm things that I know nothing about. And I stay away from policy.”

“Ha. I told them that’s what you’d say.”

“Before you disappear, Inspector, perhaps you’ll satisfy my curiosity. What is this slogan that you say you nearly forgot, but you didn’t actually nearly forget. You saved it for the last. I know your game, Inspector.”

“Good for you,” he said. “An observant man.” He fished a small notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped some pages. “Ah, here it is.” He whistled a few bars. “Do you want to write it down?”

I was getting a funny feeling. “No, I’m sure I’ll remember. Just lay it on me.”

He whistled a few more bars, tipped an imaginary hat. “Let a smile be your nuclear umbrella,” he sang in a surprisingly good Irish tenor as he did a soft shoe out the door.