An Attitude of Gratitude
Nov. 22nd, 2012 08:50 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
mrua7.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
section7mfuThis was my first Thanksgiving story that I wrote last year, but never posted on LJ. There is a sequel to follow that I recently wrote called. "A Friend in Need."
The day was overcast and somber as a slight misting rain fell on the street that had over the years absorbed the oil and grease from countless cars that traveled upon it, making parts of it slick and slippery at times. It was early, yet the streets were busy and filled the din of engines and horns blaring.
Illya pulled the collar of his black raincoat up about his neck warding off the dampness as he continued walking.
The sidewalks too were busy, given that it was the American holiday of Thanksgiving, that was not surprising.
The chill and dampness was getting to him finally got to him and he decided that instead of walking, he would a cab to his destination and with a loud whistle and a wave his hand a checkered cab instantly pulled up curbside.
“Where to Mister?” The driver asked in a monotone voice.
“227 Bowery.
“227...I know that address,” he asked eyeing his passenger for a moment.
“Gonna slum on Thanksgiving. You rich people make me sick. You go down there and make like you’re doin’ a big deal. Then you go back to your cozy homes and the next day you forget about it. Outta sight outta mind.”
He could have been insulted by what the man said, but instead felt rather amused, “Rich?” he thought to himself,” I have never been called that before.” Knowing what the driver said was quite far from the truth; if he had to pay rent for his simple apartment with the salary he earned, then he might still be indeed a poor man.
Yet when he received his first pay check from U.N.C.L.E. it was exorbitant to him, compared to his earnings as an agent of the GRU. He smiled, thinking it was all relative.
Yet still, he was far better off living here in than he was back in Russia. The food shortages, the never ending lines waiting to buy things then finding out by the time you entered the State run store...they had run out of everything. Here he had his own apartment, there he shared a hovel with six other human beings. Here he had privacy, there none. He could not begin to even count the ways that he was better off living here.
”I am sorry my friend, you do not know me, nor do you know my motivations. Suffice to say, you are wrong in your assumptions.”
“Sorry Mister, I tend to get a little grumpy when I have to work the holiday and all, when I’d rather be home with my wife and kid. But I gotta pay da bills you know.”
“I understand.” His passenger answered sympathetically.
There was quite a bit of traffic congestion as people were heading out all over the city to their family gatherings and heading off the the Macy’s Parade. That he found amusing and he remembered the first time he watched with fascination, with all the huge balloons floating above the crowds, people dressed in costumes and the marching bands, not the military bands that he was accustomed to seeing back home during the May Day parades where one saw nothing military units rockets and artillery.
With the added traffic the ride that normally would have taken perhaps twelve minutes took nearly a half hour, with his cab driver stuck in a traffic jam and hitting the horn several times
“Sorry Mister, what can I say? It is what it is.”
“There is no problem. It is fine.” Illya said quietly.
The cab finally pulled up in front of the red brick building, and the passenger paid the small fare, then handed the cabbie a twenty dollar tip.
“Gee thanks Mister, I really appreciate this,” the driver smiled sheepishly.” I hope Thanksgiving is a good one for you.”
“Yes, you too, enjoy it with your family.” He smiled, as he turned to the large black double doors of the Bowery Mission and walked inside.
The tables were filled with the homeless and destitute in need of a good meal, and shelter; the mission offering both. Not just men, but women and children as well, old and young alike.
A young blonde woman was in the midst of a group of people, directing them to the steam tables to be served their turkey with all the trimmings, and handing out plates of food covered with aluminum foil to those who didn’t wish to stay there or to be taken to someone who was house bound.
Then she spotted him, standing there looking a bit lost and the fact that he was well dressed wearing a pea-coat and a black turtleneck and jeans made him stand out as he was also clean and clean shaven.
“First time here?” she smiled.
“Yes but I...
“Come on, I’ll get you a plate, you look like you could use a good meal honey.”
“Nyet...I mean no. I am not here to eat. I am here to help,” he smiled sheepishly. “I wish to volunteer my services.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.We get all types here, people down for different reasons. You don’t have to be poor to come here....sometimes people are just lonely or down on their luck. Anyway, my name is Claire,” she said offering her hand to him.
He accepted it, with a slight smile.” Hello Claire, my name is Illya.”
“Well I could use some help with serving the food, so lets put your coat in the office and get you an apron.”
Ten minutes later Illya Kuryakin was behind the counter with his sleeves rolled up serving out the hot meal.
The faces that passed him seemed happy, though there were some who seemed lost in their situation and unable to smile. A few gathered in groups at the tables talking and laughing amongst themselves, others sat alone and kept to themselves, muttered away having their own private conversation.
Claire strolled to all the tables, greeting everyone...asking some if they wanted another helping. Others she left a paper shopping bag at their feet filled with canned goods and staples for them to take home.
Several hours and nearly a seventy servings later Claire came over to him.
“Illya you’ve been at this a long time, you need to take a break.”
“No really, I am fine.”
“Nope, it’s an order. Break time. You need to eat too.”
“No the food here is for people who need it.” He had a headache and was a bit hungry, though he wouldn’t admit it. He was not in need like the people here and could wait until he got home to eat his planned take-out meal from Chang’s.
“Honey, I already said you look like you’re in need of a good meal yourself, now come on I’m eating my dinner too so you can keep me company.”
Even though he protested, she took hold of his arm and dragged him away. She filled up two plates for them then directed him to her office where they sat together at her desk eating their turkey dinners.
“So you’re not from here are you?” She asked after swallowing a mouthful of stuffing.
“No I am from...the Ukraine.”
“Really, my grandmother was Ukrainian? She taught me a few words like maty, bat’kp...babusya...that’s mother, father and grandmother right?”
“Dushe dobre_Very good.” he smiled.“ To tell you the truth, I am actually Russian but now days it is sometimes not wise to say that.”
“Yeah I understand, with all the tension between America and the Soviet Union. So Illya what brought you here today? I mean you’re from Russia, you don’t exactly do Thanksgiving there.”
“Very true. I sometimes spend the day with my friend but he is out of the country at the moment. After much thought I realized something about this holiday of yours. It is not just about having a turkey dinner, yes giving thanks for what one has, but it is more than that. It is about appreciating what we have and who we have in our lives. I do not need a big turkey dinner to be grateful.”
Claire could see that he was struggling for the right words.
“Where I come from there is much poverty...people struggling to survive from day to day. There is much despair and alcoholism among my people. Socialism was theoretically supposed to share everything among the people, so no one would want. But instead there is nothing but the haves and have nots. The purges by Stalin rid the country of its aristocracy and its bourgeois ways, but they were replaced with another sort of aristocracy, the politically connected elite.”
“That’s so sad. Tell me Illya do you miss your home...I mean it all can’t be that bad?”
“Home is where your family and friends are, and sadly I had neither there. No I do not miss it as it ceased being home a long time ago.”
“And what about here, is here a home now?” she asked.
“Yes I suppose it is now, I have friends here and one in particular that I can call my best friend, and I have my work.”
“And what sort of work is that?” she smiled.
He hesitated for a moment, realizing that he had let himself become too relaxed with the woman. “I work for an import-export company. It keeps me travelling quite a bit, but when I return to New York, yes it definitely feels like home.”
“You still didn’t really tell me what brought you down here today?”
Illya sighed. “The United States is a place of much prosperity and abundance, yet it still has its problems and poverty. When I first came here I discovered that very quickly. I live a comfortable life here and I am grateful for that, but thinking of my people back in Russia made me sad, knowing their sufferings.”
“At the moment there is nothing specific I can do to help them, so I decided to help those here who are in the same plight. Serving food to those in need is a small thing, but it is something.”
“Illya you’re a very kind man to offer your time, you have what I like to call an attitude of gratitude,” she said gathering up the dirty dishes. The two of them walked back out into the soup kitchen still filled with people and Illya resumed his place as he continued to help feed the hungry.
Once the last meal was served and the doors closed he helped the staff stack the chairs, sweep up and do the dishes.
Claire walked him to the door, seeing him off.
“Illya thank you for coming down to help, I wish we had another dozen like you.”
He blushed at those words. “Claire, I cannot make promises of any sort of regularity, but I would like to come again to help when my schedule permits.” Then he smiled. “Perhaps I can get my friend Napoleon to come with me.”
“Napoleon? That’s his real name...is he French?”
“No as a matter of fact, he is an American.”
“Man he must’ve had trouble in school with that name?” she laughed softly. “ Illya you and your friend Napoleon are welcome here any time.”
Something possessed her to lean forward, giving him a peck on the cheek.
”Happy Thanksgiving Illya.”
“Thank you Claire,” he smiled back,” A Happy Thanksgiving to you too.” He turned then disappeared through the red door this time..
Claire sighed with a smile as she locked up behind him, having no doubt that she would see him again.
The day was overcast and somber as a slight misting rain fell on the street that had over the years absorbed the oil and grease from countless cars that traveled upon it, making parts of it slick and slippery at times. It was early, yet the streets were busy and filled the din of engines and horns blaring.
Illya pulled the collar of his black raincoat up about his neck warding off the dampness as he continued walking.
The sidewalks too were busy, given that it was the American holiday of Thanksgiving, that was not surprising.
The chill and dampness was getting to him finally got to him and he decided that instead of walking, he would a cab to his destination and with a loud whistle and a wave his hand a checkered cab instantly pulled up curbside.
“Where to Mister?” The driver asked in a monotone voice.
“227 Bowery.
“227...I know that address,” he asked eyeing his passenger for a moment.
“Gonna slum on Thanksgiving. You rich people make me sick. You go down there and make like you’re doin’ a big deal. Then you go back to your cozy homes and the next day you forget about it. Outta sight outta mind.”
He could have been insulted by what the man said, but instead felt rather amused, “Rich?” he thought to himself,” I have never been called that before.” Knowing what the driver said was quite far from the truth; if he had to pay rent for his simple apartment with the salary he earned, then he might still be indeed a poor man.
Yet when he received his first pay check from U.N.C.L.E. it was exorbitant to him, compared to his earnings as an agent of the GRU. He smiled, thinking it was all relative.
Yet still, he was far better off living here in than he was back in Russia. The food shortages, the never ending lines waiting to buy things then finding out by the time you entered the State run store...they had run out of everything. Here he had his own apartment, there he shared a hovel with six other human beings. Here he had privacy, there none. He could not begin to even count the ways that he was better off living here.
”I am sorry my friend, you do not know me, nor do you know my motivations. Suffice to say, you are wrong in your assumptions.”
“Sorry Mister, I tend to get a little grumpy when I have to work the holiday and all, when I’d rather be home with my wife and kid. But I gotta pay da bills you know.”
“I understand.” His passenger answered sympathetically.
There was quite a bit of traffic congestion as people were heading out all over the city to their family gatherings and heading off the the Macy’s Parade. That he found amusing and he remembered the first time he watched with fascination, with all the huge balloons floating above the crowds, people dressed in costumes and the marching bands, not the military bands that he was accustomed to seeing back home during the May Day parades where one saw nothing military units rockets and artillery.
With the added traffic the ride that normally would have taken perhaps twelve minutes took nearly a half hour, with his cab driver stuck in a traffic jam and hitting the horn several times
“Sorry Mister, what can I say? It is what it is.”
“There is no problem. It is fine.” Illya said quietly.
The cab finally pulled up in front of the red brick building, and the passenger paid the small fare, then handed the cabbie a twenty dollar tip.
“Gee thanks Mister, I really appreciate this,” the driver smiled sheepishly.” I hope Thanksgiving is a good one for you.”
“Yes, you too, enjoy it with your family.” He smiled, as he turned to the large black double doors of the Bowery Mission and walked inside.
The tables were filled with the homeless and destitute in need of a good meal, and shelter; the mission offering both. Not just men, but women and children as well, old and young alike.
A young blonde woman was in the midst of a group of people, directing them to the steam tables to be served their turkey with all the trimmings, and handing out plates of food covered with aluminum foil to those who didn’t wish to stay there or to be taken to someone who was house bound.
Then she spotted him, standing there looking a bit lost and the fact that he was well dressed wearing a pea-coat and a black turtleneck and jeans made him stand out as he was also clean and clean shaven.
“First time here?” she smiled.
“Yes but I...
“Come on, I’ll get you a plate, you look like you could use a good meal honey.”
“Nyet...I mean no. I am not here to eat. I am here to help,” he smiled sheepishly. “I wish to volunteer my services.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.We get all types here, people down for different reasons. You don’t have to be poor to come here....sometimes people are just lonely or down on their luck. Anyway, my name is Claire,” she said offering her hand to him.
He accepted it, with a slight smile.” Hello Claire, my name is Illya.”
“Well I could use some help with serving the food, so lets put your coat in the office and get you an apron.”
Ten minutes later Illya Kuryakin was behind the counter with his sleeves rolled up serving out the hot meal.
The faces that passed him seemed happy, though there were some who seemed lost in their situation and unable to smile. A few gathered in groups at the tables talking and laughing amongst themselves, others sat alone and kept to themselves, muttered away having their own private conversation.
Claire strolled to all the tables, greeting everyone...asking some if they wanted another helping. Others she left a paper shopping bag at their feet filled with canned goods and staples for them to take home.
Several hours and nearly a seventy servings later Claire came over to him.
“Illya you’ve been at this a long time, you need to take a break.”
“No really, I am fine.”
“Nope, it’s an order. Break time. You need to eat too.”
“No the food here is for people who need it.” He had a headache and was a bit hungry, though he wouldn’t admit it. He was not in need like the people here and could wait until he got home to eat his planned take-out meal from Chang’s.
“Honey, I already said you look like you’re in need of a good meal yourself, now come on I’m eating my dinner too so you can keep me company.”
Even though he protested, she took hold of his arm and dragged him away. She filled up two plates for them then directed him to her office where they sat together at her desk eating their turkey dinners.
“So you’re not from here are you?” She asked after swallowing a mouthful of stuffing.
“No I am from...the Ukraine.”
“Really, my grandmother was Ukrainian? She taught me a few words like maty, bat’kp...babusya...that’s mother, father and grandmother right?”
“Dushe dobre_Very good.” he smiled.“ To tell you the truth, I am actually Russian but now days it is sometimes not wise to say that.”
“Yeah I understand, with all the tension between America and the Soviet Union. So Illya what brought you here today? I mean you’re from Russia, you don’t exactly do Thanksgiving there.”
“Very true. I sometimes spend the day with my friend but he is out of the country at the moment. After much thought I realized something about this holiday of yours. It is not just about having a turkey dinner, yes giving thanks for what one has, but it is more than that. It is about appreciating what we have and who we have in our lives. I do not need a big turkey dinner to be grateful.”
Claire could see that he was struggling for the right words.
“Where I come from there is much poverty...people struggling to survive from day to day. There is much despair and alcoholism among my people. Socialism was theoretically supposed to share everything among the people, so no one would want. But instead there is nothing but the haves and have nots. The purges by Stalin rid the country of its aristocracy and its bourgeois ways, but they were replaced with another sort of aristocracy, the politically connected elite.”
“That’s so sad. Tell me Illya do you miss your home...I mean it all can’t be that bad?”
“Home is where your family and friends are, and sadly I had neither there. No I do not miss it as it ceased being home a long time ago.”
“And what about here, is here a home now?” she asked.
“Yes I suppose it is now, I have friends here and one in particular that I can call my best friend, and I have my work.”
“And what sort of work is that?” she smiled.
He hesitated for a moment, realizing that he had let himself become too relaxed with the woman. “I work for an import-export company. It keeps me travelling quite a bit, but when I return to New York, yes it definitely feels like home.”
“You still didn’t really tell me what brought you down here today?”
Illya sighed. “The United States is a place of much prosperity and abundance, yet it still has its problems and poverty. When I first came here I discovered that very quickly. I live a comfortable life here and I am grateful for that, but thinking of my people back in Russia made me sad, knowing their sufferings.”
“At the moment there is nothing specific I can do to help them, so I decided to help those here who are in the same plight. Serving food to those in need is a small thing, but it is something.”
“Illya you’re a very kind man to offer your time, you have what I like to call an attitude of gratitude,” she said gathering up the dirty dishes. The two of them walked back out into the soup kitchen still filled with people and Illya resumed his place as he continued to help feed the hungry.
Once the last meal was served and the doors closed he helped the staff stack the chairs, sweep up and do the dishes.
Claire walked him to the door, seeing him off.
“Illya thank you for coming down to help, I wish we had another dozen like you.”
He blushed at those words. “Claire, I cannot make promises of any sort of regularity, but I would like to come again to help when my schedule permits.” Then he smiled. “Perhaps I can get my friend Napoleon to come with me.”
“Napoleon? That’s his real name...is he French?”
“No as a matter of fact, he is an American.”
“Man he must’ve had trouble in school with that name?” she laughed softly. “ Illya you and your friend Napoleon are welcome here any time.”
Something possessed her to lean forward, giving him a peck on the cheek.
”Happy Thanksgiving Illya.”
“Thank you Claire,” he smiled back,” A Happy Thanksgiving to you too.” He turned then disappeared through the red door this time..
Claire sighed with a smile as she locked up behind him, having no doubt that she would see him again.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-11-22 05:50 pm (UTC)