section7mfu | A Change of Habit - Mood-Y Challenge (Reply)

The Mood is Bewildered
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At first glance it was difficult to identify the man speaking. His voice seemed to have created an atmosphere of calm among the young people seated around him, the resonance a soothing balm to an anxious crowd. Napoleon Solo had expected to see his partner here but...

“Illya?” He said it beneath his breath, unbelieving even as the name escaped. Kuryakin had gone undercover three months earlier and the preparation had included letting his already shaggy hair grow unhindered. Mr. Waverly did everything but put a gag in his mouth to keep from criticizing the young Russian; he was, after all, fulfilling the needs of the mission.

As Napoleon stared at the man whose speech was mesmerizing his unsuspecting disciples he was amazed at how easily his chameleon-like partner had become the hippie leader of a commune. His hair was long enough now that it fell loosely around his face, and his clothing consisted of faded jeans and a white linen shirt he hadn’t bothered to button. It was obvious from the crowd around him that several young women were particularly enthralled with their guru as he let his accent inflect his speech.

“You are here, and I am here... if we are honest with ourselves then we must admit that we are all, ultimately, here.” Illya looked out over the crowd, waiting for the thud of recognition. It was, of course, nonsense, but it was the nonsense they had all come to hear. This part of the ruse was harmless, or so it would seem; it was the involvement of THRUSH in the thriving youth culture that had caught UNCLE’s attention. These kids were easy prey for the unscrupulous architects within the Hierarchy who had willingly adapted to the demand for illegal drugs. Illya’s role was to find the ones heading up THRUSH’s drug business, and this was his way in.

Napoleon felt slightly conspicuous in a Brooks Bros suit and Italian loafers. To this anti-establishment group he was, in living color, the epitome of Establishment. No amount of chanting or ‘tea’, which he had learned was a euphemism for marijuana, could dissuade this crowd from believing that he was uncool, unhip and unwelcome. Illya spotted him and with a barely discernible nod acknowledged his presence.

“In the universe we are nothing, a speck in time that occupies such a small space as to make no difference. And yet, just being here is a statement that says to the universe ‘I matter and love matters.’ Can you dig it?”

A smattering of ‘yeah’ and ‘dig it’ ran through the crowd. Illya smiled and Napoleon could have sworn that some of them nearly swooned. They must be on drugs, that was his only avenue of understanding their response to his partner.

“I see we have a visitor...’ Illya turned the attention to the intruder on this tuned in group of seekers. Napoleon stood out like the proverbial sore thumb, and his partner was going to take some pleasure in playing out their disparate parts in this affair. The well dressed agent recognized scowls of disapproval from the youthful assemblage, causing an involuntary reflex; he shot his cuffs and jutted out his chin towards the scheming Russian.

“Is there something we can do for you? I hardly think you have come to join us.” That remark elicited a ripple of laughter from the crowd, and a smirk from Illya.

Napoleon had no recourse now but to respond. He had been sent here by Mr. Waverly to check on the progress of the long absent Russian, and now that he was here there was nothing to do but participate in whatever it was Illya had cooked up.

“No, no... I don’t intend to join your little group...’ Another ripple went through the youthful audience, this time one of disapproval. “I was hoping for an interview with you, Mr. Kuryakin. Perhaps we could sit down and discuss your ummm... work.” It was a not too subtle suggestion that the two agents sit down and have a pow wow concerning this assignment. Illya had been undercover long enough to find out something, surely.

Illya looked out across the faces in front of him, a smile on his face that reassured everyone.

“Yes, I believe someone from your office did call and ask about an interview. Now is a good time for a break.” Illya stood up and made his way through the still seated group of young people, his eyes scanning the room as he did so. Someone in this room was a THRUSH plant, but he still hadn’t figured out who it was. Yes, now was a good time to consult with his partner.

Napoleon, still profoundly bewildered by what he had just witnessed, exited the room and waited for Illya to join him on the porch of the old house that served as home to this little community. Neither man was aware of the young woman who silently rose from her seat and followed the blond, stopping just short of being his shadow as she slipped into the kitchen of the house, the window of which opened onto the porch. As the UNCLE agents spoke, Nancy Cummings listened.

“So, Mr. Kuryakin, you seem to have a captive crowd in there. What exactly were you talking about anyway?” Napoleon was a sophisticated man of the world, and no amount of hippie rhetoric would convince him of anything that Illya had just said to the group of young people in that room. Illya smiled slightly, his expression thoughtful rather than that of a man pulling the wool over a room full of sheep.

“I understand that the line of thought expressed in there is, shall we say, foreign to many people. It is merely a train of thought intended to provide a sense of well-being to a generation that has been caught in a turbulent atmosphere.” Napoleon was still bewildered at his partner’s role this time; his appearance, his speech... nothing said Illya to Solo.

“But what you said in there didn’t mean anything, tovarisch. You’re just feeding them a line and they’re eating it up as though it will actually help.” It was an impossibly vague line of thought, and Napoleon was certain it would lead to confusion eventually. He almost regretted UNCLE’s role in Illya’s little performance. The Russian had spent time in Paris during the height of the existentialist movement, and it wasn’t an entirely illogical point of view. He had even adopted their hairstyle, something that most people mistakenly mistook for a by-product of the 60’s and a certain British band. Paris had been very influential for Illya, and what he was doing now took him back to those days and the obtuse conversations he had enjoyed exchanging with students and faculty alike.

“Napoleon, I know who the THRUSH agent is, and she is basically a school girl, recruited on campus and thrust into something she doesn’t truly understand. I do not believe it will be difficult to dissuade her from the rhetoric of the Hierarchy.”

Nancy heard that and gasped loud enough for Napoleon and Illya to hear it. They both turned towards the open window and saw the girl with her hand clasped over her mouth. She was shocked to find out that Illya was an UNCLE agent, her instincts had said nothing about that. She had only followed him out of the room because she hoped to hear more of his wisdom as he counseled the dark haired man; she assumed he needed help to shed that suit and uptight haircut.

“Nancy, wait there!” Illya was on the move, he didn’t want the girl to get away or be completely disillusioned by the discovery of his true identity. In spite of the easy philosophy of love and just being, there was a sense of peacefulness that it provided to these young adults on the cusp of a very turbulent world view.

Nancy did stay put, hoping that her involvement with THRUSH, something she had not completely understood anyway, would not get her into trouble. As Illya came into the kitchen she was near tears, something he recognized as he took her in his arms and enveloped her in a hug that, upon seeing it, provoked even more bewilderment on the part of Napoleon. Who was this man?

The girl was caught between bliss and bewilderment herself, enjoying the embrace of this man she adored from a distance, and terrified of the repercussions of aiding what he seemed to oppose. She was confused.

“Nancy, sssshhhh.... Listen to me. Everything will be all right, you are not in trouble. THRUSH duped you into believing something that was not true; their intention was to create a drug cartel on campus, and they recruited innocent people such as yourself who would eventually do their bidding before you even understood what it was. I was only here to help you get out. Do you understand?”

She looked up then, into the bluest eyes she had ever seen, nodding her head as she imagined melting into them as though into a pool of cool water.

“MmmHmmm... I understand.” She had been so naive, but it was somehow worth it to just stand here...

Illya released her then, placing his hands on her arms and looking into her eyes with intention.

“I wasn’t lying to anyone, Nancy. But my friend Napoleon and I are UNCLE agents, and we need the names of the people who recruited you. Can you give us that?” Once again she was sinking into the blue, but shook herself free of the mental images and nodded her head.

“Yes, yes I can. I’ll do whatever it takes to stop THRUSH and ... I’m sorry if I did something wrong.” Illya kissed her on the forehead, creating a dizzy feeling for the little redheaded girl that made her afraid she might faint.

“Very good. Napoleon, I think our work here is about finished.” Napoleon was looking on, observing his partner in actions that seemed so foreign, so un-Illya like that he might need to relive some past affairs just to get this guru image out of his mind.

“Great. Nancy, let’s get you to our local office and get someone to start taking names and numbers. You can come with me and ... ‘ And what? Illya needed to vacate this place and do it without alerting everyone to his true identity. How would that be done?

“Umm... what exactly are you going to do, Illya?” The blond canted his head to one side in thought. He needed to attend to his group and make his exit without creating any problems.

“I shall work it out. All things must pass, and this is no exception.” He would say his farewell to the group and follow Napoleon and Nancy back to the San Francisco Headquarters.

The group reassembled when Illya returned to the meeting room, the large living room of the old house. Some were seated on a sofa or chair, but most preferred to sit on the floor as they anticipated a continuation of the wisdom the mysterious Russian was bringing them. As Illya looked around at the gathering, he wished he had more for them; more substance, more direction for lives that were threatening to unravel in this decade of war and rebellion to social dictates. Everything was changing, and the world might never return to its comfortable, predictable state of being. Young people in every country were bewildered at a future that had no identifying markers, nothing that resembled what their parents had known and practiced.

“I have been called away.” Just that simple statement sent a shock wave through the room. Illya looked at every face, genuinely concerned about each one of them and hopeful that they would find their way.

“Life is uncertain at best, and when we endeavor to occupy the space in which we find ourselves, to simply be present to it, then we must embrace every nuance of change that comes to us. Mine is to leave you all, but I will remember you. In the meantime, as a wise man has said, be here now. Always remember that.”

Illya nodded his head in recognition of the applause they gave him, exiting through a maze of outstretched hands, a few bold embraces and several well placed kisses.

Eventually everything about this affair was concluded with satisfaction, Nancy returned to classes free of the burden she had been loaded down with for several weeks while under the eye of THRUSH. Those who had recruited her were rounded up and sent to appropriate authorities, and Solo and Kuryakin were called back to New York.

On the flight back Napoleon noted that Illya had received a haircut, still longer than Mr. Waverly would like but at least not a ponytail following behind. His appearance bore no resemblance to the ill-clad, long haired hippie of a few days prior. Napoleon wondered at the transformation, both of body and mind. Illya no longer spoke in that dreamy, esoteric manner; he was back to his pragmatic, familiar Russian self. Napoleon was relieved until he thought back on the mesmerizing effect that his partner had on the group in that room; it was uncanny.

It was bewildering.