A time to live, a time to die
Feb. 3rd, 2014 10:37 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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section7mfuWhoops, this is a day late, but hope it's going to be okay. As you can see, it's probably the beginning of a much longer story. Would appreciate comments about whether this might be worth doing.
Illya looks back on a difficult season ....
A TIME TO LIVE A TIME TO DIE
Prologue
I think it began with Harvey’s death; yes that was the beginning of it all. A time to die.
It was certainly that. He was not an old man, but had seen a great deal of life and at the end, seemed grateful to just slip away into whatever eternity the calm smile on his face suggested. His only relative, a squirrel featured nephew proud to belong to the town of Loxville, Indiana, or so he told me what felt like a thousand times that afternoon, had slipped out briefly for what I guessed was a smoke in the street, and Napoleon, in normal fashion, was slightly late arriving. At any rate, Harvey seemed glad of the rest, affecting to ignore me, until his fingers moving on the sheet silently signalled my attention.
‘Time to go boy’ he rasped quietly, his still sharp eyes holding mine, his grasp surprisingly strong for one about to leave the world. ‘Look after the Boss, take good care of the family, right, and give that beautiful wife of yours a little kiss from the old guy, ok?’
Despite outward appearances, he was an entirely different person if one bothered to discover what lay beneath, something I understood only too well. ‘The Boss’ according to him was not Waverly, although his respect was instantly apparent when he visited the gun range. No, that accolade, at least in my hearing, was reserved for my partner only, for whom Harvey held a very long and very close affection, some of which seemed to rub off in my direction when eventually he took hold of me and made me the man I am today, at least in the firearms department, as he would say.
I think the word ‘raw’ would describe me then, at least I think that now. Then, I thought differently, and thinking that way, I was dangerous, or so he informed me after our first meeting.
‘You think you’re damn good, don’t you boy?’ he said, in a kind of rasping half-whisper that I thought owed something to chain smoking, ‘but you’re in danger, see, of becoming like some of them.’ He motioned towards the line of agents ranged immediately in front of us, the noise of their firing deadened by the thick transparent wall between us and them. I had been in New York for barely four weeks, my partnership with another agent far from settled, but I was anxious to prove a point, and I thought I could do it here, at least. He had watched me firing, and now had my scores in his nicotine stained hands.
If I thought I was going to be congratulated I was, in his words, ‘way off’. He stared at the line of men, punctuated by a single female at one end, focusing his eyes on one in particular, whom I suddenly realised was the American, Solo, who had accompanied me so silently back from England, and who had then made a study of avoiding me ever since.
‘You’re in danger’ he began again, keeping his eyes on Solo, ‘of becoming like the rest of them’. He indicated the others with his arm in a sparing movement so typical of him. I said nothing, feeling my eyebrows contract in spite of myself at whatever was coming, something I assumed was not going to be flattering to either myself or ‘the rest of them’ as he said. Without warning he turned away from the glass sharply, fixing me with a penetrating stare guaranteed to be found intimidating by most. However, something about him, something I recognised in myself at that exact moment, made me meet his stare. I said nothing, content to wait for what I later came to know as his ‘no holds barred’ way of talking.
‘Like you, most of these are damn good shots, but unlike him they’re starting to enjoy it’ he said slowly, watching me carefully. ‘The lady excepted, they think the damn firearm is an extension of their dick. He don’t have their problem, see? He knows the difference between the gun and his dick.’ I felt myself frown but I kept his gaze anyway. ‘The firearm is never something to be enjoyed for itself’ he said quietly, ‘remember that and you’ll die at peace with yourself.’
I gazed back at him now, the last time we would contemplate each other in this life, as I heard Napoleon’s step on the stairs. I realised then he had been waiting, had put all the strength that remained into that waiting for the man now standing in the doorway. I leaned over towards the bed. Harvey uncharacteristically stroked my hair, before I uncharacteristically kissed his forehead and then stood up. I left them together, joining Harvey’s nephew outside while he blew smoke in my direction and gabbled on about insurance rates and the benefits of house ownership. I felt no guilt in not informing him of his uncle’s imminent death; Harvey had got his last wish, and I was not about to deprive him of it.
When I look back on this time, there seems a season to it all, as the Bible says, but at least to begin with, there was an imbalance; there was a long time where war, hatred, killing and weeping gained momentum over birth, healing and peace. To begin with, ‘looking out for the Boss’ and ‘taking care of the family’ would seem to be two obligations that I was set to fail with seemingly disastrous consequences.
Illya looks back on a difficult season ....
A TIME TO LIVE A TIME TO DIE
Prologue
I think it began with Harvey’s death; yes that was the beginning of it all. A time to die.
It was certainly that. He was not an old man, but had seen a great deal of life and at the end, seemed grateful to just slip away into whatever eternity the calm smile on his face suggested. His only relative, a squirrel featured nephew proud to belong to the town of Loxville, Indiana, or so he told me what felt like a thousand times that afternoon, had slipped out briefly for what I guessed was a smoke in the street, and Napoleon, in normal fashion, was slightly late arriving. At any rate, Harvey seemed glad of the rest, affecting to ignore me, until his fingers moving on the sheet silently signalled my attention.
‘Time to go boy’ he rasped quietly, his still sharp eyes holding mine, his grasp surprisingly strong for one about to leave the world. ‘Look after the Boss, take good care of the family, right, and give that beautiful wife of yours a little kiss from the old guy, ok?’
Despite outward appearances, he was an entirely different person if one bothered to discover what lay beneath, something I understood only too well. ‘The Boss’ according to him was not Waverly, although his respect was instantly apparent when he visited the gun range. No, that accolade, at least in my hearing, was reserved for my partner only, for whom Harvey held a very long and very close affection, some of which seemed to rub off in my direction when eventually he took hold of me and made me the man I am today, at least in the firearms department, as he would say.
I think the word ‘raw’ would describe me then, at least I think that now. Then, I thought differently, and thinking that way, I was dangerous, or so he informed me after our first meeting.
‘You think you’re damn good, don’t you boy?’ he said, in a kind of rasping half-whisper that I thought owed something to chain smoking, ‘but you’re in danger, see, of becoming like some of them.’ He motioned towards the line of agents ranged immediately in front of us, the noise of their firing deadened by the thick transparent wall between us and them. I had been in New York for barely four weeks, my partnership with another agent far from settled, but I was anxious to prove a point, and I thought I could do it here, at least. He had watched me firing, and now had my scores in his nicotine stained hands.
If I thought I was going to be congratulated I was, in his words, ‘way off’. He stared at the line of men, punctuated by a single female at one end, focusing his eyes on one in particular, whom I suddenly realised was the American, Solo, who had accompanied me so silently back from England, and who had then made a study of avoiding me ever since.
‘You’re in danger’ he began again, keeping his eyes on Solo, ‘of becoming like the rest of them’. He indicated the others with his arm in a sparing movement so typical of him. I said nothing, feeling my eyebrows contract in spite of myself at whatever was coming, something I assumed was not going to be flattering to either myself or ‘the rest of them’ as he said. Without warning he turned away from the glass sharply, fixing me with a penetrating stare guaranteed to be found intimidating by most. However, something about him, something I recognised in myself at that exact moment, made me meet his stare. I said nothing, content to wait for what I later came to know as his ‘no holds barred’ way of talking.
‘Like you, most of these are damn good shots, but unlike him they’re starting to enjoy it’ he said slowly, watching me carefully. ‘The lady excepted, they think the damn firearm is an extension of their dick. He don’t have their problem, see? He knows the difference between the gun and his dick.’ I felt myself frown but I kept his gaze anyway. ‘The firearm is never something to be enjoyed for itself’ he said quietly, ‘remember that and you’ll die at peace with yourself.’
I gazed back at him now, the last time we would contemplate each other in this life, as I heard Napoleon’s step on the stairs. I realised then he had been waiting, had put all the strength that remained into that waiting for the man now standing in the doorway. I leaned over towards the bed. Harvey uncharacteristically stroked my hair, before I uncharacteristically kissed his forehead and then stood up. I left them together, joining Harvey’s nephew outside while he blew smoke in my direction and gabbled on about insurance rates and the benefits of house ownership. I felt no guilt in not informing him of his uncle’s imminent death; Harvey had got his last wish, and I was not about to deprive him of it.
When I look back on this time, there seems a season to it all, as the Bible says, but at least to begin with, there was an imbalance; there was a long time where war, hatred, killing and weeping gained momentum over birth, healing and peace. To begin with, ‘looking out for the Boss’ and ‘taking care of the family’ would seem to be two obligations that I was set to fail with seemingly disastrous consequences.
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