"The Light of a Star" Redux Part 3/conclusion

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

The lights were still on in the little grocery story, and Napoleon snapped his fingers, pleased at his luck. He opened the door, and a little brass bell, not unlike the one at Del Floria's tinkled its welcome.

Nodding his greeting to the older man behind the counter, he spoke to the man.

"You're Not closing yet are you? " Solo asked just to be polite, hoping the answer wouldn't be yes.

"Not for another half hour Signor." His accent was obviously Italian.

"Grazi," Napoleon thanked him in Italian.

"Take your time there isa no rush." The grocer smiled at him.

"You have Christmas dinner waiting for you, I hope? I don't want to keep you," Solo asked.

"Of a sort, I go to a neighbor's house since my Maria, she pass away. They Polish, so no antipasto or lasagna…not even a bowl of minestrone."

There was an audible sigh coming from the man. "I used to bring some Italian food, but they never seema to go over too good. They like their kielbasa and pierogie…"

"Sorry to hear that, but at least you have somewhere to go, that's important."

"And you Signor, out on Christmas Eve to buy food, you have no one you cana spenda the holiday with?"

"Oh I have...there's a couple of people with whom I'll be spending the next few days, though they don't celebrate. I will however do my best to convince them otherwise."

"Bene… now what can I getta for you Signor?"

Napoleon looked at the counter filled will all sorts of delights. "I'll take enough agnolotti for four, chicken breasts...for cacciatore, and some of those meatballs too. Umm, yes and some bruschetta as well."

"Ah, sounds like the makings of a fine feast!"

"That is the plan. Now if you'll excuse me, I don't want to keep you any longer than I need to. I just need a few other things." Napoleon grabbed a shopping basket, picking up some boxed spaghetti, cans of plum tomatoes and puree, oregano, garlic, several loaves of Italian bread. Salami, olives…something else? What was he forgetting?

He brought his treasures up to the counter, and snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering he needed butter, olive oil, mozzarella and parmesan...and most importantly, coffee, oh and a quart of milk. Napoleon realized they'd need breakfast so he grabbed a loaf of Wonder bread, a dozen eggs, package of sausage links and one of bacon.

As he passed by the fresh vegetables, he picked up a head of lettuce, some tomatoes, a cucumber. That would do. He could make croutons from some toasted bread.

"Perfect," he thought with a smile. “Oops forgot the dessert. Some cannoli I think. I'll be right back," he said the the shopkeep.

Napoleon disappeared to the back of the small store…

The brass bell rang it's greeting and a blond man walked inside, looking about nervously as if searching for something, or someone.

.

He turned to the shopkeeper, drawing a snubnose revolver from his pocket and pointing it at the man.

"Give me all your money Pops," he growled.

"Please Signor, it'sa Christmas...do not not do thisa on the eve of the Holy Bambino's birth. That will make it even greata sin. Are you hungry, I will gladly feed you, but please do nota hurt me...please putta the gun away."

"Don't push me old man! Now give me the cash or else!" He was a young boy really, perhaps only seventeen. His hair was unkempt and his old leather jacket was ill-fitting and not good for keeping him warm.

Napoleon turned to head back to the front of the store and as soon as he heard the words being bellowed he knew there was trouble. He put down his shopping basket, undid his coat, quickly drawing his gun from its holster. At the same time he ducked down, creeping along the aisle until the would-be robber was in sight.

The old man saw him coming, and though he tried to hide his surprise, his eyes widened at the sight of the dark-haired man with a gun in his hand.

Solo moved carefully but as bad luck would have it, he took one more step and the floorboard just had to creak.

Between the look in the shopkeeper's eyes and the noise, the robber turned, ready to fire his pistol. Napoleon dove forward, hitting the man with his shoulder, right in his midsection. The two men went flying against a display of boxed pasta, sending it flying helter skelter.

Solo had no time to use his Special, and knew he needed to disarm his opponent before anything deadly they wrestled, grappling for control of the gun as they rolled across the floor.

Finally Napoleon was on top of him and wrenched the gun free, turning it on the man.

"I'd hate to use this, it being Christmas Eve, but give me an excuse and I will."

"No worries Mista...I'm sorry. I needed the money for my motha. She's sick and we didn't have no dough for the medicine, you understand, don'tcha?"

Napoleon pulled the fellow up by his jacket, shaking his head. "Is that the truth?"

"God's honest truth...there ain't even no bullets in the gun, so I couldn't hurt the old man. I just wanted to scare him, understand? Please you gotta believe me?"

Suddenly feeling sentimental, Napoleon pulled out his wallet. "How much does your mother's medication cost?"

"Fifteen dollars…"

"Here's, twenty five. Get her her prescription and a nice Christmas present too."

The young man stood wide-eyed, not believing what was happening."

Napoleon tucked the pistol in his pocket,"I'll keep this if you don't mind...better to remove temptation."

"Yeah, sure Mista. I promise I won't do nothin' stupid like this again." He turned to the shopkeep," I wanna apologize to you, I'm so sorry, but I didn't know what else to do."

"Hey, nobody gotta hurt, that's what counts. Waita here justa minute." The shopkeep quickly gathered a bag of groceries, handing it to the boy.

"Here, you make a nice Christmas dinner for you mama, okay?"

"Thanks Mr. Valenti...wow this is like a Christmas miracle." The young man picked up the bag, after stuffing the cash in his pocket, and recalcitrantly backed his way out the door, disappearing into the night.

"Signor, how can I thank you? You save my life and his too?"

"No thanks necessary, I'm just glad I was here to stop something bad from happening.

Mr. Valenti packed up the groceries for Napoleon. "Please, take a these...on the house Signor."

"No sir. I pay my debts," Napoleon smiled, waving him off. He reached into his wallet, and suddenly realized he'd given away all his cash. Looking up in embarrassment, he knew he had to take the man up on his offer.

"See, Goda makes things happen for a reason Signor." Mr. Valenti handed the two paper sacks of groceries to Napoleon. "God bless you Signor. I have witnessed it tonight; he boy was right...a Christmas miracle."

"Well I don't know about that sir. I was just at the right place at the right time."

"Hey, who'sa to say God did not guide you here to me?" The old man winked.

Mr. Valenti saw Napoleon to the door, locking it behind him and turning a little sign that hung there to say 'closed.' He waved goodbye and disappeared behind his counter, shutting off some of the lights.

The snow was falling steadily now as Napoleon Solo put a good leg under it, heading back to the brownstone, now feeling quite light-hearted. All was right with the world, if just for this brief moment. Some good had been done tonight, there was a momentary peace that people were sharing. A holy and blessed peace, and one he hoped he could get two stubborn Russians to feel.

That would be his last endeavor of the evening, making dinner and having Illya and Yelena see the light of a star showing the way for everyone and giving the message that we're all part of a bigger picture, one where we have to look out for our fellow man.

They probably couldn't see it in the sky, but it's meaning shown clear….peace on earth and goodwill to all men, and women, of course.

Napoleon wondered if he had been indeed guided to that shop by a greater power, but a gust of cold wind distracted him from that fleeting thought.

He reached the door of the brownstone, rang the doorbell and gave his coded knock. Hearing Illya's voice call out to verify who it was; he answered.

"Yeah, it's me buddy, now open up. It's cold and I have a dinner to make."

The Russian helped him with the grocery bags, taking them to the kitchen and unpacking them on the table.

"You have the makings of several feasts here my friend." Illya cocked his head to the side when he removed two bottles of chianti from one of the bags."

Napoleon shook his head, smiling, as he hadn't seen Mr. Valenti pack those.

"Go ahead and open one tovarisch," we might as well enjoy some holiday cheer while I prepare dinner. Just need to cook up the chicken  the pasta...and warm the meatballs  and the garlic bread. It'll be ready in no time.

Solo took some mismatched mugs from the cabinet. "Sorry no wine glasses, but these'll do."

Illya's countrywoman wandered into the kitchen just as the wine was being poured.

"Chianti? I just adore that, though it has been long time since I had some. The last time was five years ago when I was in Rome with Papa…it was Christmas then too."

Napoleon handed her the drink and watched the woman's eyes close as she held it in two hands, sipping it; she smiled, recalling a distant and seemingly happy memory.

In no time the kitchen was warm and toasty from the heat of the oven and the burners on the stove. Napoleon chased Illya and Yelena to the sitting room, handing them a plate of bruschetta, salami and olives.

"Don't stuff yourselves," he laughed, knowing with Illya that wasn't possible.

"Go...shoo! Leave the master chef to his work. Sit and stare into the fire; it'll do you some good."

The Russian compatriots did just that, sitting on the sofa, sipping their wine and looking at the crackling fire. It was mesmerizing, to say the least.

"I remember the hearth in my grandmother's dacha," Illya whispered in Russian." When I was very young, before the Great Patriotic War, we would sit in front of it at Christmas. Papa would play his squeeze box after we said our devotions in front of the icon of the Madonna set on the mantle…." his voice trailed off and his eyes glazed over just a little bit as he sipped his wine.

"Do you still believe Illya?"

"Nyet." That simple answer was enough for Yelena not to ask more.

Napoleon called them into the kitchen, having the table set as best he could; he didn't have much to work with. Though it was filled with scrumptious food...plates of garlic bread, chicken,meatballs as well as a nice salad. He skipped making the croutons though. Napoleon had a heaping bowl of spaghetti in the center of it all, garnished with delicious smelling gravy.

They seated themselves, and Illya raised his mug, "To the founder of the feast."

"Ah, quoting a 'Christmas Carol' I see," Napoleon smiled."See there is a bit of the holiday in you wanting to come out tovarisch."

His partner put on a haughty air, acting as if he'd been insulted, but could only maintain that demeanor for a second or two before he started to laugh.

"Perhaps tonight, and just for tonight mind you, I will admit to you being right."

"My heart be still," Solo grabbed his chest."And you Yelena, how do you feel?"

"I must say Napoleon, the setting, the wine, the food, and the company have made me think of things that have long remained hidden in my heart. I feel as though I have seen a bright light tonight.”

"A Christmas star perhaps," the American nodded with a ray of hope in his heart.

"Perhaps…" Illya and Yelena replied in unison.

"Then may I raise my...umm, glass again?" Solo asked." Merry Christmas."

"S Rozhdestvom Khristovym!  S Rozhdestvom Khristovym!, " The two Russians chimed in, saying it twice as that was the tradition; they returned Solo’s toast. It really meant Congratulations on the birth of Christ, and not really Merry Christmas, but the feeling was behind it.

The light of a star and the joy in an American's heart called their spirit awake, if just for one night.

The thought of hardened hearts being softened was truly a gift and perhaps another little Christmas miracle.

Comments

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

Have always LOVED this! I think this is the fic you told me you put up yesterday, but it posted today.

Giving the robber all his money and then giving him his bag of groceries is so Napoleon. A very moving Christmas fic.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Thank you! I was thinking of you when I scheduled it....chuckle, when I told you I'd posted one of your favorites....that's when I'd actually scheduled it. Guess I was excited to bring it back. Some minor changes made to the original version.