Different Worlds - for the HOWDOWE Election Day challenge

[rachaeljurassic.livejournal.com]

Thanks spikesgirl, for beta-ing for me.

November, 1960......

Different Worlds

Immediately his shift had been over, Illya had headed for the agents’ common room. Since then he had been glued to the television.

Over the past few months he had become increasingly interested in the election campaign. He’d watched often at work and had even contemplated buying a television, but had dismissed that thought as excessively frivolous. Instead he had listened to his radio.

This was, in fact, the first place he’d been made aware of what was going on. He had initially thought that Sinatra’s ‘High Hopes’ was playing until he’d listened more carefully to the words. Something about a man named Kennedy and ‘the opposition’ going ‘ker-plop’. He’d paid more attention than usual to the piece broadcast immediately afterwards. Apparently this Kennedy was in a race with another man called Hubert Humphrey, and he had a song, too.

Gradually he’d pieced the story together. He could have asked one of his colleagues, but he didn’t want to look stupid, so he’d researched the election process in the New York Public Library. It was all very confusing. But it also began to make sense of a number of things he had seen.

During the months before he had caught short news articles showing politicians making speeches and meeting the public. It had not struck him as anything out of the ordinary, it was common place to see Krushchev or some other Party official meeting farmers, steel workers and the like. He also had no idea what a Primary was so he’d paid little attention. It wasn’t until close to the end of this process that he had heard the song.

Soon after that, Nixon had entered the fray and this was a man he had heard of. Before coming to the United States less than a year ago, he’d had a briefing on important issues in the country and this had included information on the Vice President. From what he’d gathered he didn’t seem to do very much. Eisenhower appeared to agree.

But nobody had thought to mention the election...or the campaign.

One thing that never failed to surprise him was how critical they all were about each other. According to each of them they knew what they were doing, and everybody else was wrong. This was not something he was used to hearing; back home such debates would happen behind closed doors while the Party presented a united front. He found it compelling and alarming at the same time.

How was one supposed to choose? He was rather glad he didn’t have to.

*****

Napoleon was not surprised to find Illya in the common room. He had noticed him in there often watching the news.

“Hello there,” he said as he came to sit next to the Russian.

“Oh, hello.”

Napoleon was relieved that the man no longer leaped up when he was caught watching the television. He’d also finally stopped calling him ‘sir’. It had been a few months since they’d got royally blasted in Illya’s apartment and since then they had been spending an increasing amount of time together. Despite this they had never talked politics.

“So, are any results in yet?” Solo asked.

“Quite a few, Kennedy’s in the lead.”

“It’s early days yet,” Napoleon replied.

They watched for a while as a pundit speculated on the results in Ohio.

“So,” the American said. “You’ve been watching a lot?”

“Yes, it’s very interesting.”

“And I suppose a bit of a novelty.”

“You mean the television coverage?” Kuryakin replied.

“Er...well, no, I meant the voting.”

Illya turned to look at Napoleon, a puzzled look on his face.

“You know, we do vote in the Soviet Union,” he said.

“Oh.”

“In fact I seem to have spent half my life voting.”

“Er...sorry, I wasn’t implying...”

“Local Party representatives, Regional Party representatives, heads of local Soviets, etc. etc. etc.” Illya paused. “Of course, sometimes there’s only one candidate,” he added with a wry smile, his head tilting to one side.

Napoleon smiled back, it had taken a while but he was beginning to pick up on the Russian’s sense of humour.

“Then again,” Illya continued. “Sometimes we have a choice.”

“Sure,” Solo replied. “But they are all Communists.”

“And yours are all Capitalists.”

“Well, true, but that’s hardly the same. The parties are very different.”

Illya regarded the other man for a moment.

“I know they are to you,” Kuryakin said, “but I have difficulty telling them apart.”

“Seriously?”

“It took me a month to work out that the Republicans were the more right wing.”

“Are you kidding me?” Napoleon wondered if he was on the end of another obtuse Russian joke.

“Well, they’re called ‘Republicans’, which I associate with revolutions, and their colour is red,” Illya explained. “What the elephant has to do with anything I really don’t know. Or that donkey...who would want to be a donkey?”

Solo was starting to think that Kuryakin was being serious.

“But,” he said, “The Republicans want fewer taxes and less government.”

“That wasn’t much help. The Soviet Union has a huge government and no taxes.”

“But that’s...hang on, no taxes?”

Illya shrugged.

“Well, I’ve never met a Soviet who paid taxes. I certainly never paid them until I came to New York,” Kuryakin explained. “It was a bit of a shock the first time I got a pay cheque here. At first I thought it might be a foreigner tax.”

“A foreigner tax...? No, we all have to pay them.”

“I know that now!”

Solo stifled a laugh.

“But,” the American said. “How do you afford all those State services? I mean everything is run by the State isn’t it?”

“Yes, but that’s the point.”

Napoleon stared blankly at him so Illya continued,

“Everybody gets paid by the State. Let’s say they paid me 100 rubles. I go out and spend my 100 rubles. The only place I can spend them is a State shop so they’re guaranteed to get their money back. Why take away a percentage before they pay me? It’s a waste of time and creates paper work.”

“Er...well, yes, I see what you mean. We could all use less paperwork.”

“Sure, but you haven’t seen bureaucracy until you’ve been inside Gosplan. In there paperwork reproduces like over sexed rabbits.”

Solo laughed openly this time, shaking his head.

“So, nobody pays taxes?” he asked, still trying to get his head around the idea.

“I don’t think so. Unless you make money from somewhere other than the State.”

“Like..?”

“The black market. I imagine they’re supposed to file tax returns...I suspect they rarely do,” Illya dead panned.

“OK, so, no taxes, I see the confusion” Napoleon brought the conversation back on topic. “But don’t the Republicans sound right wing to you?”

“They all sound right wing to me. It’s not like either of them are socialists.”

“True...”

“And Kennedy is always going on about this so called ‘missile gap’. He seems a lot more anti-Soviet. Not that Nixon’s pro-Soviet, but you know what I mean.”

“I suppose. But the government thing, wanting to reduce it,” Napoleon was become somewhat exasperated. “That’s conservative.”

“No, that’s communist.”

“But you just said you have a huge government.”

“That’s because we’re not Communist.”

Napoleon’s head was beginning to hurt.

“But you’re run by the Communist Party,” he said.

“True, but that’s like one of those...er...campaign promises. You’ll notice we are the USSR, not the USCR. Only the West calls us Communist, we never do. We are working towards Communism.”

“I see.” Although he wasn’t sure that he did.

“You know, it astounds me. People here are always going on about the evils of Communism but nobody seems to actually know what it is!” Illya exclaimed. “They think that Communism is the opposite of Democracy. Well it’s not. It’s the opposite of Capitalism. Dictatorship is the opposite of Democracy.”

“And now you’re going to tell me you don’t live in a dictatorship.”

Kuryakin went quiet. Napoleon wondered if he might have gone too far. Frankly he was amazed that the Russian was having this conversation at all. Solo had never mentioned politics because he had assumed that Illya would be reluctant to discuss it.

“No,” Kuryakin said after a moment. “I can’t really say that.”

Napoleon was startled by the admission.

“Obviously I never got to vote for Krushchev,” he continued. “But just look at all the money we saved not having to do all this campaigning.”

“Seriously? You prefer a dictatorship?”

“I didn’t say that. Although it has its good points.”

“Excuse me?”

Napoleon was really starting to hope that this was a joke.

“Things get done,” Illya explained.

“Get done?”

“Yes, none of this arguing and flipping between parties every few years. From what I can see half of the politicians are there to stop the other half doing anything.”

“Well...”

“That’s not very productive,” the Russian continued, building up a head of steam. “Do you think a democracy could have gone from a backward agrarian state to an industrialised superpower in forty years? In 1917 ninety percent of us were peasants, now we’ve sent a man into space.”

“But at what cost?”

That brought Kuryakin to a halt. He sat for a moment, contemplating his shoes. Napoleon shifted in his seat. ‘This is why you should never talk politics’ he thought. He was really hoping that they hadn’t just ruined a burgeoning friendship.

“You know,” Illya said quietly. “There was a popular expression when I was young...when wood is chopped, wood chips will fly.”

Solo frowned, wondering quite what he meant. Then it hit him.

“You can’t make an omelette without breaking eggs?” he suggested.

“Yes, that’s it,” the Russian replied. “It just depends on how many eggs you are prepared to break,” Illya added sadly.

Napoleon looked at the Russian, his head slightly bowed, an odd look in his eyes. Not for the first time he wondered at how different their lives had been. How one’s experiences shaped the way you looked at the world.

“I...er...have to go. I have a date,” Solo announced.

Illya nodded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he added as he rose.

Kuryakin looked up.

“Yes, of course,” he replied.

“Good,” the American said, hoping to mend some bridges.

Illya broke into one of his rare smiles, then nodded again before returning his attention to the television. Ohio had just been called.

Napoleon turned and left him to the news.

‘It’s a fascinating process,’ Illya thought. ‘Confusing, but fascinating...I wonder who will win.’