Dreams of the Past

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

For the Song Story prompt: Hold on Tight to Your Dreams.

Illya remembers a promise he made many years ago.

Dreams of the Past

Illya woke with a start. The dream was so vivid it seemed real.

He saw a nine year old boy he instantly recognized as himself back in the Ukraine at the state school in Kharkiv.  It was run specifically for orphans of the Great Patriotic War.

His time at that place was something he wished he could forget.

Illya hated life there. He never got enough to eat, the teachers were uncaring and mean and his coat did not keep him warm in the heavy and frigid Slavic winters. There were always children crying at night and he was one of them for the first three months he spent in the boys dorm.

Illya missed his family; all had died in the war.  He missed his Mother’s cooking and the larger portions of food at mealtime that he got at home.

In the dream, his nine year old self turned to him and said,  “You forgot about me.”

The dream stayed with him all day and night; he couldn’t get the images of half starved and cold children out of his head.

As he typed up a few mission reports, worked out in the gym and did some research for an upcoming mission his mind kept wandering back to his dream.

That night he dreamt of the orphanage again.

His dream self told him plainly, “Remember your  promise.”

Illya sat bolt upright in bed.  “How could I have forgotten?” He asked himself.

On a break at U.N.C.L.E. headquarters he used the computer to find a local orphanage in the New York City area. He selected one and phoned the director to ask what the children were in need of and what things the children themselves asked for most frequently.

After his conversation with the director, he carefully wrote down the name and address and made out his list.

It was spring yet and with winter being many months away; heavy coats would be purchased later for a visit in the fall. Illya was told that the children were bused to school during the week and received lunch there. Food was really not a problem as the U.S. government supplied most of it.

To fulfill ‘little Illya’s’ request he tapped into his savings account  and started collecting everything he’d wished he’d had when he was a child at his orphanage so long ago.

Boxes were obtained from the corner grocery store he frequented in which to pack the much needed supplies and they quickly started to take up every space in his tiny apartment. Some store owners even made donations when they found out the reason he was making his purchases. One box was filled with candy, two with pajamas of different sizes; one for boys and one for girls, and another with paper binders and brightly colored pencils. He bought baseballs and bats, kickballs and footballs. One toy store gave him a big box of board games and toys.

As usual the quiet Ukrainian did not share his project with anyone, though he did ask Lisa Rogers about who might he ask to find a ‘budget’ shoe store that sold quality children’s shoes. Lisa scratched her head and wondered why he needed that information but gave him the name of her married friend with 6 kids who worked in Section VII at headquarters.

Napoleon became suspicious as Illya started to decline lunch and dinner invitations and brown bagged it at work.

“I am just trying to save up a little money.” he explained to his partner; refusing to tell him the reason.

Solo started calling  him “Squirrel,” meaning that he was squirreling away nuts for the winter. Illya just shook his head and ignored him as usual.

.

At the orphanage, Saturdays were for playing in the fenced in playground and on Sundays adoption interviews took place; so Illya scheduled a Saturday in early June with the director as a day for him to bring in ‘just a few things,’ but hoped he wouldn’t be called away on assignment beforehand.

It was a sunny and warm morning when Kuryakin made several trips from a ‘borrowed’ white U.N.C.L.E. van to deliver the dozen or so of his ‘care packages.’

“I wish I could have brought more,” he thought to himself as he deposited the boxes inside the service entrance of the building.

The director was flabbergasted when she saw what their generous benefactor had brought. She stood studying the young blond man for a moment before she spoke.

“No one from the private sector has ever brought us such a donation in the twenty-two years I have been running this establishment.”

“Mrs. Farewether,” Illya began,  “I’ve spent  over half of my childhood in an orphanage much like this one, but it was poorly run and I made a promise to myself back then that when I grew up I would do whatever I could  to help orphans and make their lives a little better; to visit them, bring them more food and warm coats and to improve lives as sometimes they are ‘the forgotten ones.’ “   

“Well Mr. Kuryakin, I can tell you honestly that you’ve made a lot of our children happy today. The auditorium has been set up for you and the children will be ready and waiting at one o’clock. You’re welcome to join us for lunch beforehand.”

The food was quite good and he was happy to see the children were well fed.

After lunch Illya went back to the van to pick up his instrument and change his shirt. He dressed himself in a colorful light blue Ukrainian style ‘folk shirt’ with bright red trim around the wrists, upper arms and waist.  On the chest two wide red vertical stripes were embroidered with black acorns and red acorns outlined in black.

Illya sat on a tall stool in the front of the auditorium playing a Ukrainian folk song on his balalaika as the one hundred or so children shuffled in. They were talking loudly in the hall but hushed as soon as they heard the beautiful strange music, the likes of which they had never heard before, coming from inside.

Guided by the house staff, the little ones found their seats on the floor in neat little rows and listened attentively until the song ended;  they clapped so long and hard until their hands turned red.

The director introduced him to his rapt audience and he played another song, this time a childrens song that they recognized and sang along, “The Bear Went Over the Mountain.”

He paused after the second song to talk to the boys and girls and let them ask questions about his homeland and what it was like to be an orphan in the Ukraine. He tempered his answers making it out to be much better than it actually had been, so as to not to upset or frighten them.

He played few more songs and the children cheered with delight.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qn06W-iBfkQ  -balalaika music

“Perhaps when you grow up you will remember what it was like to be here and promise  yourselves to come back to help in any way you can?”

The children started promising they would and cheered loudly again after he played his last song. They crowded around him, wanting to touch his shirt and tell him they were glad he came. He responded; reminding them to “hold on tight to your dreams,” and smiled as he shook the outstretched little hands.

Napoleon Solo walked into the auditorium and announced that he could use a little help unloading the truck. Illya was shocked to see him and explained that “Mr. Solo is friend from the place where I work” and nodded to the director that he was okay.

Mrs. Farewether chose several of the older boys to help Mr. Solo with the task and Illya hurried outside behind them to see what was going on.

In the driveway was a large bright orange truck loaded with boxes and containers of coats and shoes, tricycles and assembled bikes, clothing, toys, playground equipment, and individual bags of goodies made up by the secretarial pool at U.N.C.L.E. There were containers of home baked cookies and cupcakes along with a case of Kool-Aid and bags of sugar, Fizzies, and bottles of juice.

Napoleon had seen his partner’s ‘list’ on his desk and Lisa Rogers told him about Illya’s strange request. He also checked the phone logs and called the school to find out when his friend would be there.

“How did you find out what I was doing Napoleon?”

Solo laughed.  “You cut me to the quick. I am a ‘master spy’ after all,” then added, “Where’s the parade? “ When he looked at how Illya was dressed.

“It is a shirt of my native homeland and I am proud to wear it,” he said defensively.

“Sorry. I passed the word at headquarters and everyone wanted to help, including Mr. Waverly.”

“Spasibo my friend. This is such a generous thing you have done.  I will surely need to thank everyone who was involved. The children will be so excited to receive all of this. It is so much more that I could have done on my own.”

Napoleon saw the biggest smile he had ever seen on Illya’s face as he watched the truck being unloaded.

”A little help?”  He asked and Illya quickly obliged, remembering that orphanage in Kharkiv and the promise he was fulfilling.

Comments

[ndcelt.livejournal.com]

You are a good storyteller, lindafishes. I actually gasped outloud when Illya's dream spoke to him to remember his promise and read anxiously to see where that childhood promise would lead in the present. Enjoyable story from start to finish.

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

You are most kind. And fast as I just posted. Wow-you gasped? I am so new to this and and nice comments like yours will keep me going! Thank you!

[ndcelt.livejournal.com]

I had **just** posted a Season 1 screen cap of Napoleon and Illya with my thoughts in a similar vein as your story when **poof** there was your new story right above it. Reading it was like an expansion of my just-posted-ponderings.

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

I read your post! BTW, mrua did the beta work for this and I forgot to give her credit. She has taught me a lot about writing gives me encouragement. Without her help I would not be writing.

[laurose8.livejournal.com]

Thank you for sharing this original and moving fic. A good extra, having Illya speak to them as a Ukrainian.

It was a very satisfactory twist when Naopleon bobbed up, and added the rest of Headquarters' contribution.

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

He is Ukrainian and so proud of it. I thought Napoleon would do this for his friend and for the orphans of course. He has a big heart too. Thank you so much.

[mrua7.livejournal.com]

Awww Gawrsh...you did a nice job with this kiddo and my pleasure to beta. You made it easy.

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

I meant every word. Thank you for all the help. Couldn't do this without you.

[duckys-lady.livejournal.com]

I really enjoyed your story from start to finish, and it seemed very true to the series. Thanks for sharing.

[lindafishes8.livejournal.com]

Yes. Sneaky Illya and Nosy Napoleon. Thanks for reading Duckyslady! And for your gracious comment.