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section7mfuPart I
Part II
The following Saturday found Illya on Ocean Parkway in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn across the street from the address that was in the envelope Napoleon had given him. There he stood on a cold New York City morning, frozen not by the temperature, but by his own indecision.
Ever since Napoleon had told him about Anya and given him the information, all he had done was think about her. Every time he thought he had made up his mind not to contact her, he would think of a reason to do so. Every time he decided he would contact her, another reason not to would rear its head.
Finally, he shrugged his shoulders and started to walk. Napoleon is such an optimist; he really thought this was a good idea. This is just another failed romance.
From behind him, a voice he thought he’d never hear again screamed his name. “Illya! Illya, wait!” He turned around to see Anya, his Anya, running across the street wearing nothing but slippers and a bathrobe. He began to jog towards her and she threw her arms around him as they met on the island that divided the road. “I knew it was you,” she cried, “I would recognize your hair anywhere! Oh, Illya! Where did you come from? How did you find me? Why were you leaving?”
Bozhe moy, she feels so good in my arms! Tears were standing in his eyes, but he brushed them away quickly before he put a smile on his face and held her at arms’ length to look at her. “Anya, you are just as beautiful as ever. And just as crazy! It’s ten degrees out here!”
She grabbed his hand and led the way back to her building. When they entered her apartment, Illya body relaxed into the warmth of it. “Take off your coat, Illya. Sit. Sit! I’ll make you some tea.” Her smile was infectious as she ran her hands through her now shoulder length hair. “I thought I was hallucinating when I looked at the window and saw you! When you turned to leave, I had to catch you! I would have run after you if I had been naked!”
“I am sure that would have scandalized your neighbors,” he observed with a straight face before breaking into a grin, “I am glad it did not come to that.” He accepted the glass of jam – sweetened tea she offered. “Thank you. You are as gracious as ever. And as beautiful.”
She blushed deeply. “I am so glad you are here. How did you find me?”
It was his turn to blush. “I did not, a friend of mine decided he knew what was best for me and looked for you. I had no idea you were still alive, let alone in Brighton Beach.”
She sat beside him on the couch. “Shortly after your leave ended, a KGB officer came to see me at home. He informed me that my relationship with you was finished and that if I knew what was good for me and my family, I would not be in Vladivostok the next time your submarine docked, so I left.”
“I am so sorry, Anya.”
“Do not be, Illyusha. I have made a good life for myself here. My only regret was that I did not have a chance to say goodbye.” She turned toward him. “The reason you started to leave is because there is no time for us in your life, yes?”
“Da.”
As she put her arms around him, her robe fell open to reveal her nakedness. “This time, my love, we will have a proper goodbye.”
It was going past five PM and Napoleon was flipping through his little black book when his phone rang.
“Hello?”
“It is I. Are you on your way out? I would like to stop by.”
“Sure, Illya, come on over; I’m staying in tonight. I’ll make us something to eat.”
“I will bring drinks.”
Forty minutes later, Illya’s coded knock sounded on Napoleon’s front door. He opened it to reveal his partner standing there with a bag containing scotch and vodka. They fixed themselves drinks and ate the ham and cheese sandwiches he made for them.
“I am surprised you do not have a date, Napoleon.”
“There’s a fight being televised tonight I want to see so I was looking to make a brunch date for tomorrow. There’s a tip for you, Tovarisch: Women enjoy brunch. Brunch says to them that I want to be in their company and don’t necessarily expect sex.” He winked. “It’s a great way to get sex.”
The Russian rolled his eyes. “I will strive to remember that. I went to see Anya this morning.”
“Good for you, Illya! So? What happened?”
Illya smiled. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
Napoleon’s brow furrowed. “What? Yeah, why?”
“You might wish to write this down as it is something you do not hear me say very often in our downtime: You were right. Anya needed closure and I…I guess I did, too. We got to say the things we did not have a chance to all those years ago. We can both go forward now. What was it you said the other day? The show must go on? It does and it can and it will now. I realized that though we are not together, Anya and I, we can love forever. Does that make any sense to you?”
“Of course it does. Clara and I love each other and I don’t really see that changing, so yes, moy brat, it makes plenty of sense.” He raised his glass. “A toast: To Anya, Brianna and Clara. Our lives are brighter because of our memories of them.”
They drained their glasses. Illya refilled his and said, “Thank you, Napoleon.”
“For what?”
“For being annoying, for thinking you know what is best for me, for ignoring my wishes sometimes, for being you. You are the best friend I never asked for, but am so grateful to have.”
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: We have each other.”
Illya grinned. “Apparently, forever.”
Part II
The following Saturday found Illya on Ocean Parkway in Brighton Beach, Brooklyn across the street from the address that was in the envelope Napoleon had given him. There he stood on a cold New York City morning, frozen not by the temperature, but by his own indecision.
Ever since Napoleon had told him about Anya and given him the information, all he had done was think about her. Every time he thought he had made up his mind not to contact her, he would think of a reason to do so. Every time he decided he would contact her, another reason not to would rear its head.
Finally, he shrugged his shoulders and started to walk. Napoleon is such an optimist; he really thought this was a good idea. This is just another failed romance.
From behind him, a voice he thought he’d never hear again screamed his name. “Illya! Illya, wait!” He turned around to see Anya, his Anya, running across the street wearing nothing but slippers and a bathrobe. He began to jog towards her and she threw her arms around him as they met on the island that divided the road. “I knew it was you,” she cried, “I would recognize your hair anywhere! Oh, Illya! Where did you come from? How did you find me? Why were you leaving?”
Bozhe moy, she feels so good in my arms! Tears were standing in his eyes, but he brushed them away quickly before he put a smile on his face and held her at arms’ length to look at her. “Anya, you are just as beautiful as ever. And just as crazy! It’s ten degrees out here!”
She grabbed his hand and led the way back to her building. When they entered her apartment, Illya body relaxed into the warmth of it. “Take off your coat, Illya. Sit. Sit! I’ll make you some tea.” Her smile was infectious as she ran her hands through her now shoulder length hair. “I thought I was hallucinating when I looked at the window and saw you! When you turned to leave, I had to catch you! I would have run after you if I had been naked!”
“I am sure that would have scandalized your neighbors,” he observed with a straight face before breaking into a grin, “I am glad it did not come to that.” He accepted the glass of jam – sweetened tea she offered. “Thank you. You are as gracious as ever. And as beautiful.”
She blushed deeply. “I am so glad you are here. How did you find me?”
It was his turn to blush. “I did not, a friend of mine decided he knew what was best for me and looked for you. I had no idea you were still alive, let alone in Brighton Beach.”
She sat beside him on the couch. “Shortly after your leave ended, a KGB officer came to see me at home. He informed me that my relationship with you was finished and that if I knew what was good for me and my family, I would not be in Vladivostok the next time your submarine docked, so I left.”
“I am so sorry, Anya.”
“Do not be, Illyusha. I have made a good life for myself here. My only regret was that I did not have a chance to say goodbye.” She turned toward him. “The reason you started to leave is because there is no time for us in your life, yes?”
“Da.”
As she put her arms around him, her robe fell open to reveal her nakedness. “This time, my love, we will have a proper goodbye.”
It was going past five PM and Napoleon was flipping through his little black book when his phone rang.
“Hello?”
“It is I. Are you on your way out? I would like to stop by.”
“Sure, Illya, come on over; I’m staying in tonight. I’ll make us something to eat.”
“I will bring drinks.”
Forty minutes later, Illya’s coded knock sounded on Napoleon’s front door. He opened it to reveal his partner standing there with a bag containing scotch and vodka. They fixed themselves drinks and ate the ham and cheese sandwiches he made for them.
“I am surprised you do not have a date, Napoleon.”
“There’s a fight being televised tonight I want to see so I was looking to make a brunch date for tomorrow. There’s a tip for you, Tovarisch: Women enjoy brunch. Brunch says to them that I want to be in their company and don’t necessarily expect sex.” He winked. “It’s a great way to get sex.”
The Russian rolled his eyes. “I will strive to remember that. I went to see Anya this morning.”
“Good for you, Illya! So? What happened?”
Illya smiled. “Do you have a pen and paper?”
Napoleon’s brow furrowed. “What? Yeah, why?”
“You might wish to write this down as it is something you do not hear me say very often in our downtime: You were right. Anya needed closure and I…I guess I did, too. We got to say the things we did not have a chance to all those years ago. We can both go forward now. What was it you said the other day? The show must go on? It does and it can and it will now. I realized that though we are not together, Anya and I, we can love forever. Does that make any sense to you?”
“Of course it does. Clara and I love each other and I don’t really see that changing, so yes, moy brat, it makes plenty of sense.” He raised his glass. “A toast: To Anya, Brianna and Clara. Our lives are brighter because of our memories of them.”
They drained their glasses. Illya refilled his and said, “Thank you, Napoleon.”
“For what?”
“For being annoying, for thinking you know what is best for me, for ignoring my wishes sometimes, for being you. You are the best friend I never asked for, but am so grateful to have.”
“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: We have each other.”
Illya grinned. “Apparently, forever.”
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Date: 2017-01-22 08:16 pm (UTC)