Chapter 20: Another Whirlwind Week

July 18, 1985, en route from Amsterdam, the Netherlands to Chicago, Illinois

Our ferry crossing and the train from Hoek van Holland to Schiphol had been quiet and uneventful, and we'd had no delays in boarding our plane nor for our departure from Amsterdam, and we were winging our way home across the Atlantic. We'd had our meal, and they were about to show Irreconcilable Differences, a movie I'd seen, though I was tempted to watch just to see if they edited out the part where the dad read from his daughter's book. In the end, I elected not to. We were once again fortunate that the plane wasn't full, and we had three seats to ourselves.

"I'm really happy you chose this vacation," Elizaveta said, snuggling close. "You don't mind if I sleep, do you?"

"No. Do you want to stretch out?"

"Yes, please."

"Then let me get pillows and blankets from the overhead bin."

Elizaveta sat up, I unbuckled my safety belt, stood up, retrieved a pair of pillows and a pair of blankets, and sat back down. After I refastened my safety belt, Elizaveta raised the armrest on her other side and drew up her legs. Once I'd covered myself with a blanket, she put a pillow in my lap and then settled in to sleep. I reclined my seat, put the pillow behind my head, then leaned back and closed my eyes.

After a few minutes, I realized I wasn't going to be able to sleep, but with my wife's head on a pillow in my lap, there wasn't much I could do except rest quietly. I was glad I'd used the lavatory after the meal, which meant I wouldn't have to disturb Elizaveta anytime soon. Instead of sleeping, I thought about everything that was going to happen in the next month — Nik and Tasha's wedding, Fran and Jason's wedding, and my ordination. After that, we'd be at the Cathedral in Columbus for all the services so that Protodeacon Seraphim could train me to perform my new liturgical duties. I'd also have my medical school orientation, and shortly after that, classes would begin.

The path in front of my new wife and me was strewn with rocks, boulders, and other impediments, of which my past 'inappropriate behavior' was the biggest obstacle to whatever would pass for a peaceful marriage given what we'd have to endure over the next seven years of my medical training. And if that wasn't going to be enough stress, we'd have a family and have all of our obligations at church as well. I didn't want to think what might happen if Elizaveta couldn't fully come to terms with my past love affairs, but I did feel we'd made some progress, and as strange as it sounded, her planned talk with Tasha was probably going to help.

I also hoped that our time away had somehow dissipated my mother-in-law's desire to manage our marriage, but I didn't think something as simple as changing the locks would deter a determined «бабушка» (babushka). There would be pressure, some subtle, some not so subtle, to conform to whatever my mother-in-law thought was best for us. Fortunately, both Elizaveta and I agreed that we would make those decisions and would, to the extent possible, simply ignore her mom. My lengthy experience with the older ladies of the church told me that wouldn't be easy. The one thing going for us was that I could carefully play the clergy card to get her to back off. ("grandmother")

My mind drifted to other things — Code Blue, resuming my karate training, learning to play golf, and time with my friends. That last thought about my friends caused me to wonder exactly what was going on in Abby's mind and how that would affect my relationship with Clarissa, or rather how my relationship with Clarissa would affect the outcome of whatever it was that was truly bugging Abby. For all our sakes, I hoped we could get past it.

The other relationship difficulties were with my family, specifically my dad, and I really didn't see anything I could do in that regard. In the end, he had to come to terms with Liz's marriage. I hoped that a few years down the road, when Liz and Paul had kids, his heart might soften, but I didn't hold out much hope. He simply couldn't see past his characterization of Paul as a rapist, and nothing I could say was going to change that.

I wondered, too, how Angie was doing. One of the first things I needed to do after we arrived home and had a good night's sleep was to call Doctor Mercer to check on Angie. If there had been anything different I might have done in the past, it no longer really mattered. All I could do in the present was try to provide whatever help I could within the bounds of friendship.

Of course, things weren't all on the negative side of the ledger by any stretch. I had a brand-new car, so my concerns about my old Mustang lasting until after my Residency were gone. My tuition was going to be paid by my father-in-law, which relieved the burden of repaying student loans. Elizaveta and I didn't need to pay rent, and that meant that my savings would be more than sufficient to get us to the start of my Residency with money to spare.

Even more important than finances were my friends, both the old and the new, not to mention the new ones I was sure to make in medical school. It had been suggested that a good study group was six to eight people, and so far, we had four — Clarissa, Sandy, Fran, and me. Several people, including Doctor Mercer and Father Nicholas, had strongly suggested I find male friends in medical school, and that was a goal for our study group as well. Outside medical school, I hoped, somehow, that Robby and Lee would be around for more than a year.

All of that clutter in my mind dealt with, I tried once again to sleep and succeeded. Elizaveta and I woke up when the cabin lights were turned on for our meal, and the cabin crew handed out immigration and customs forms.

"I'll fill it out," Elizaveta said about the customs form. "My penmanship is much better than yours."

"And to think I haven't even taken 'Scribbling 101' or 'Advanced Illegible Handwriting' yet!"

Elizaveta laughed softly, "So, you have ONE skill for being a doctor!"

"Just fill out the form!"

She filled in the blanks for our 'family' of two, then came to the part about declaring items.

"It says anything we bought overseas," she said. "Does that include the Delft porcelain?"

"I'd write it in," I replied. "I don't think we'll go over the limit with the tea set and your necklace, which are the only expensive things we're bringing back."

"Uhm, do I have to write in the thing we bought in Amsterdam?"

"I think so because the last thing we want is them searching our luggage for some reason and finding it."

"Ugh, so it could be like with those French immigration officers?"

"I suppose. But write it down, and we'll deal with it."

She completed the form and pushed it to me to sign as 'Head of Household'. I signed my name on the bottom of the form and handed it back to her just as a stewardess brought our meals. We ate, then both read until our flight landed at O'Hare in Chicago.

July 18, 1985, O'Hare Airport, Chicago, Illinois

The six of us lined up with the other passengers to have our passports checked, and it was about twenty minutes before we stepped up to the elevated desk where the immigration officer sat.

I handed over our passports and the signed form we'd filled out.

He flipped through the passports, checking the stamps.

"What countries did you visit?" he asked.

He could easily read all the stamps, and they were listed on the form we'd filled out, so I wondered why he asked, but answered immediately without asking a question.

"The Netherlands, Belgium, France, Spain, Italy, Switzerland, Greece, Austria, Germany, Denmark, Sweden, and England."

"Purpose of your trip?"

"Vacation."

"Just the two of you traveling together?"

"We were with four friends."

"How long were you away?"

Another question easily answered from the passport stamps.

"We left on June 8th," I replied.

"Michael, who won the Super Bowl last January?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Who won the Super Bowl last January?"

"The 49ers. Why?"

He ignored my question.

"Mrs ... uhm, hang on. You say you two are married?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Ms. Kozlov is sixteen. I need to see your marriage certificate, please."

Elizaveta already had it in her hand and put it on the counter. The officer unfolded it, looked it over, refolded it, then picked up his phone and asked for a supervisor. A uniformed supervisor came to the passport desk, and the agent handed her our passports, landing card, and marriage certificate.

"What's the problem, Fred?"

"She's sixteen and claims to be married. Her passport is in what appears to be her maiden name."

The supervisor nodded, "Thanks, Fred. Mr..." she checked the passports, "Loucks and Miss Kozlov, you'll need to come with me, please."

"Why?" I asked.

"Just come with me, please," she repeated.

"What's going on, Mike?" Elizaveta asked.

"I think you can guess."

"«Это глупо! Мы женаты!» (Eto glupo! My zhenaty!)" she exclaimed.

I suppressed a groan when the supervisor turned her head and gave Elizaveta a hard look for saying in Russian that it was stupid to question us because we were married. I was pretty sure at this point, my best response was just to squeeze my wife's hand and continue following the officer. We reached a set of interview rooms, and unsurprisingly, we were sent to different small rooms.

"Someone will be with you shortly," the supervisor said.

"Mike?" Elizaveta asked, obviously nervous, if not downright scared.

"Just go on, Kitten," I said. "And answer their questions truthfully."

She nodded but I could tell she was shaken, and I wasn't all that much better, but I needed to show strength for my wife. I sat down in the chair, which was clearly meant for me, and waited. About ten minutes later, a middle-aged man wearing a suit and displaying a badge came into the room and sat down.

"Mike, I'm Agent Franks from the US Border Patrol. I have some questions for you."

"I'm happy to answer any questions you have," I replied.

"You're traveling with an underage woman whom you claim is your wife?"

I decided to just get everything out in one statement because I had nothing to hide, and I felt it would prevent attempts at 'gotcha' questions like the ones the Family Services' lawyer had used.

"I'm traveling with my wife, but we're from Ohio, and the age of consent is sixteen, so she's not underage. We have our marriage certificate with us, and she has an Ohio Driver's License with our married name. I also have with me copies of the documentation we used to obtain the marriage license, as well as a letter from her father giving her permission to travel, though given we're married, that's not strictly necessary."

"Just answer the questions I ask, please," he said.

"I figured it was easier to just tell the whole story."

"What day did you marry?"

"May 26th."

"Of this year?"

"Yes."

"What side of the bed do you sleep on?"

"I'm sorry; what?"

"Just answer, please."

"Usually the left, seen from the foot of the bed, but we were in Europe for five weeks, and sometimes we slept in a narrow bunk, and my wife always slept next to the wall, if there was one, no matter right or left."

"How often do you have sex?"

"Excuse me!" I exclaimed. "What does THAT have to do with anything?"

"Just answer, please. And, before you ask, no, you do not have any right to remain silent here, nor a right to an attorney."

"How is that even possible?"

"You haven't been admitted to the United States, and as such, we can detain and question you for as long as we deem necessary to admit you or refuse you entry."

"I have a US Passport!" I protested. "And I'm a US Citizen!"

"Yes, but that doesn't matter for the purposes of this interview. Answer, please."

He wanted an answer, so I decided to give it to him.

"Every chance we get! Usually, multiple times every day. We're newlyweds!"

He actually cracked a smile, which I hoped was a good thing, though it vanished quickly.

"How long did you date?" he asked.

It dawned on me that he thought we were trying to pull some kind of scam, though I didn't know enough about the border rules to even speculate what he thought.

"We didn't actually formally date. I courted her, asked my priest and bishop for their blessing, asked her father for his blessing, then asked her to marry me. We had a betrothal ceremony at church the next day, which was September 30th of last year. That's the equivalent of getting engaged."

"What religion are you?"

"Russian Orthodox."

"You were born in Ohio?"

"Yes, and so was my wife, her parents, and my mom. It was my maternal grandparents who emigrated from Russia sixty years ago."

"You speak Russian?"

"Passably, yes. My wife is more fluent."

"Where did you marry?"

"Saint Michael the Archangel Orthodox Church, just outside McKinley, Ohio."

"You're a member there?"

"Yes, and I'm also ordained as a subdeacon, which is a minor clergyman."

"How long have you been a member?"

"Since August of 1981. I transferred my membership there from Holy Transfiguration in Rutherford, Ohio, when I moved from home to go to college. Those are the only two parishes I've been a member of from birth."

"And Miss Kozlov?"

I wondered if I needed to correct him or not and decided it couldn't hurt, especially if he was playing games.

"Mrs. Loucks," I replied. "We're married."

"And her church membership?" he continued.

"She's been a member of Saint Michael the Archangel from birth."

"May I see those other documents you offered?" Agent Franks asked.

I opened my carry-on bag, extracted the envelope, and handed it to him.

"Our birth certificates, copies of the documentation we submitted to get our marriage license, and a letter from her father. The supervisor took the certified copy of our marriage certificate."

"Where do you live?"

"In a small house on my in-laws' property."

"Where do you work?"

"I'm starting medical school in August."

"Paying for it, how?"

"I have savings from working since I was sixteen, and my parents and in-laws are contributing towards tuition, so I don't have to borrow money."

"May I see your tickets, please?"

I handed him the airline folder, which contained our tickets and the boarding passes from the three complete legs of our journey.

"How did you travel in Europe?"

"By train, except for taking ferries from Denmark to Sweden, Denmark to England, and then from England to the Netherlands. We were on boats other times as well."

"Did you have any meetings or spend any time with anyone other than as part of a tour or brief contact in a store or restaurant or hotel?"

"We met some Swedes in the Netherlands and had dinner and went dancing with them, then stayed with some friends from Ohio in their villa in Spain for a few days."

"Did you smoke marijuana in Amsterdam?"

"No. I don't smoke, and using marijuana would get me kicked out of medical school!"

"Are you carrying any drugs with you or in your checked luggage?"

"Other than my wife's birth control pills in her carry-on and a bottle of aspirin in my shaving kit in my checked bag, no."

"She has a prescription?"

"That's the only way to get them," I replied.

"I meant with her?"

"Yes, of course."

"Would you turn out your pockets, please?" he asked.

I suppressed a sigh and stood up. I took my slim wallet from my back pocket and my keys from my front pocket, then removed my fanny pack and opened it, placing everything on the table. He opened the wallet, removed my driving license, and then checked how much cash I had, which was a mix of several currencies as I'd kept the smallest bill from each country as a souvenir. He checked my traveler's checks as well, though there were only three left.

"Wait here, please," he instructed.

He gathered the paperwork I'd given him, my license, and the passport which he'd brought in with him, and left the room, closing the door behind him. It was then that I noticed there was a small camera tucked up against the ceiling in the room, and I suspected there were also microphones as well. I decided to simply fold my hands, rest my arms on the table, and wait, simply focusing on a spot on the wall behind where the agent had been sitting. Twenty minutes later, Agent Franks came back into the room.

"Thank you, Mr. Loucks," he said. "You're free to go."

I was tempted to ask questions, but I decided to 'get while the getting was good' as they said in old Westerns on TV. I took the proffered papers, license, and passport, put everything back in my pockets or bag, strapped on my fanny pack, and left the interview room. Elizaveta came out of the second room about a minute later, and we walked towards Customs.

"Mike..." she started.

"Later, Kitten," I said gently, taking her hand, "Let's just get out of here and find our friends."

We moved through the doors to the baggage claim, got our bags, and then got in line to see a Customs official. It took about fifteen minutes before it was our turn, and I didn't see any of our friends, so I assumed they'd had no delay after their passports were checked. I handed the agent the form that we'd filled out.

"Arriving from?" he asked.

"The Netherlands."

"Where else did you visit?"

I seriously wanted to tell him to just read the stupid form but realized that would likely get me in trouble.

"The Netherlands, Belgium, France, Spain, Italy, Switzerland, Greece, Austria, Germany, Denmark, Sweden, and England," I replied.

"Anything to declare?"

"Just the items listed on the form," I replied, hoping that didn't sound like I was being a smart aleck.

"Any food or plants of any kind?"

"No," I replied.

"Did you visit a farm during your time overseas?"

"No."

"Wait just a moment, please."

He signaled a uniformed officer who had a dog to come to his station. We waited while the dog sniffed our luggage for drugs, which I knew weren't there, and once the dog didn't bark or whatever he was supposed to do, the Agent waved us through. We made our way quickly out of Customs and into the arrival hall, where Clarissa, Abby, Sandy, and Pete were waiting.

"What was THAT about?" Clarissa asked me.

"They didn't say," I replied. "But from the questions the Border Patrol Agent asked me, I'd say they were concerned about Elizaveta's age. I don't know enough about the rules to even guess what else they were thinking."

"They asked me a lot of questions about my family," Elizaveta said. "And some questions about you. Stuff that was totally none of their business!"

"I got some of those, too," I replied. "I assume you answered?"

"I told the lady agent it was none of her business, and she said they could keep me there until I answered! I thought you didn't have to tell the government anything you didn't want to! You know, remain silent or whatever?"