Work Text:
2015
Illya had been called pragmatic on numerous occasions, and dour by some, but he was Russian in every possible way, and that meant he had a great appreciation for art, for family, and for passion.
He and Napoleon had been partnered for many years, and that partnership had grown to encompass all of Illya’s heart and mind. Napoleon was the warmth in Illya’s hearth, the cozy glow of home when he was shut out in the cold that spies most often found themselves in.
That was so many years ago, a lifetime ago. A life ago, since Illya had in the preceding years assumed a new identity and moved to a small town in the Midwest. Napoleon had found him, though; a love so all-encompassing will always find a way.
Together, they lived and loved, for more than forty years. In that time, their lives changed, settled down, began anew. Illya retired from Midwestern State, but still had a need to do something with his time. That was how he found himself working as a docent at a small art gallery.
Illya discovered that he loved the modern art the small gallery showed. They all had such interesting styles, and against the white walls of the studio space some of the paintings glowed. One such painting drew Illya on a consistent basis. It was forceful and vibrant, almost violent in its composition; white and black slashing strokes bisecting the canvas, with a tender red heart almost throbbing in the background.
The more Illya looked at it, the more it reminded him of his and Napoleon’s relationship. The canvas had its scars, graphic and thick, but at the heart of it all was love.
He had saved up to purchase the painting, but three days before Valentine’s Day, it had been sold to an anonymous bidder. Illya was unhappy; he loved the strikingly beautiful canvas and had wished to hang it up in his and Napoleon’s bedroom.
Illya went home, dejected by the loss of the painting. His love was at work; even at this advanced age, he would still go in early to Solo and Associates to look over paperwork or chat with some of the team until late in the evening sometimes. Illya started his laptop, having gotten a text message from Jacob that the kids would be Skyping with him at around 5 pm his time.
Jacob’s children had children of their own now, and he was a surrogate grandfather – now great-grandfather. Thomas, the firstborn, was the proud father of a little girl named Emily, and Illya doted on her outrageously. It would be Thomas, his wife, and little Emily who would be joining Jacob on their Skype call.
He set up the camera. No matter how unhappy he was that the artwork was no longer in his grasp, he had something more precious than art – he had a loving partner and a wonderful family surrounding him. Jacob was the most devoted son that he could possibly have, and he loved him with all of his heart and soul.
The Skype call began, and he could see Thomas and his wife holding Emily in their arms. Jacob in the foreground, his hair greying at the temples.
“Hi, Doc!”
“Jacob, my boy! How is New York treating you these days?”
“Fine, fine. Tell Napoleon thanks again for letting me and the lovely stay in Aunt Amy’s apartment while the kids are getting settled in. Is he there?”
Illya laughed. “No, he’s at work. Tommy, bring Emily up closer to the camera and let a silly old man see her.”
Thomas took the baby from his wife’s arms and held her closer. “Here you go, Pop,” he said. Illya beamed.
“That’s my little girl. How’s the theater business going, Tommy?”
“Very well, Pop, thanks. We wanted to wish you and Pasha a happy anniversary but we’re not going to be around on Valentine’s Day, so we thought we’d do it today. I’m sorry he’s not there.”
Illya smiled. “Ah, you know your Pasha, Tom. He’ll never sit still. I’ll send my regards to him.”
They spoke for a few more minutes, until Emily woke up and began to cry.
“That’s my cue to leave,” Thomas said. “Say bye-bye to your Pop, Emily!”
Illya powered down the computer and went to work doing laundry and setting the table. Pauline lived closer to them now, in a small condo that Jacob had set up for her. She still made too much food and had given Illya a broccoli casserole the day before. He heated the oven and got the steak out, letting it sit at room temperature before grilling.
Napoleon would be home at any moment, and they could talk about his day, which was Illya’s favorite part of their meals together.
--
Valentine’s Day was on a Saturday this year. Gone were the days of romantic trysts at hotels, champagne soaked romps at cottages or lake houses. These days, Napoleon’s bad hip and Illya’s arthritis took precedence over everything. They had lived and loved a long time, and to Illya’s way of thinking, simply being together again after all they had been through was gift enough.
Napoleon was a sap at heart, though. Ever since their first Valentine’s Day together in Smithton, he had written out poems on a notecard and set them around various spots in the house, on campus, in hotel rooms. Every year, a different poem, a different sentiment that he shared with his love. Illya secretly loved it.
This year, Illya got up at his usual time – he had started to sleep in a little later when he reached his mid-seventies – and shuffled off to the kitchen for a cup of strong coffee. Sure enough, next to the coffee pot was a bright neon notecard.
Partner Mine, my Valentine, the one I will love ‘til the end of time
Put on your Sunday best, the suit with the vest, and follow the notecards to reveal the rest.
“Pasha,” he chuckled. “You’re outdoing yourself this year.”
He finished his coffee and did as he was instructed, finding another bright colored card in the suit pocket.
Follow this card to Jacob’s old home – a reminder that you’ll never be alone.
Illya smiled. Jacob’s old home could only be the little bungalow that he grew up in, the one that he had purchased from Pauline when she moved into her condo. He lived there now with his wife and their daughter Jennifer, who was a senior at Midwestern State.
“I guess I’m going to visit Jennifer,” he said aloud.
He was feeling spritely today. The weather wasn’t as cold as it had been in weeks prior, and he felt like walking. He knew that if he wasn’t feeling up to coming back home on foot, Jennifer would drive him home.
On his way, he cut through campus. He was struck by the beautiful of campus still, after so many years of living in Smithton. Leary Hill and the Old Red Barn were still as charming and inviting as they had been almost forty years earlier. He had lived in Smithton longer than he had lived in New York and Russia put together now. This place, this small, humble college town, was his home, and made all the better with Napoleon by his side.
Jennifer was home. She welcomed him warmly into the cottage, giving him a hearty embrace and wishing him a happy anniversary.
“Jenny, my dear, will you tell me what this is all about?”
The dark haired girl laughed. She looked so much like Jacob at that age. It struck at Illya’s heart. Time was a cruel master, he knew only too well.
“Pasha told me to keep you here for about an hour. I’ve already texted him, so you can’t weasel out of it.”
They sat in the little living room. Jennifer spoke of her studies, with Illya asking her if she thought about going on for her master’s. They chatted and laughed until the alarm on Jennifer’s iPhone beeped.
“Well, that’s our cue, Pop. I’m supposed to give you this last notecard. I’m going to assume that you’d like me to drive you home?”
Illya shook his head yes. He cleaned his glasses and peered at the notecard. This one was white with little red hearts drawn on it.
anywhere
i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling
“Strange,” Illya said, “This is definitely not written by Napoleon. I wonder what kind of trick he has up his sleeve this time around.”
Jennifer drove Illya home, where the front of the house was festooned with small, heart shaped balloons. “Surprise, Pop,” she said.
Illya walked into his home. Jacob and his wife stood in the living room.
“My dear boy…what are you doing here?”
“Surprise, Doc,” Jacob said. He had Illya’s old Martin in his hands, and began to play a beautiful song. Napoleon, his hair resplendently silver, was dressed in a suit. He held his hand out to Illya.
“Happy anniversary, partner mine. I have a gift for you.”
Illya shook his head. He would never get over all of these extravagant displays of love that Napoleon constantly lavished on him, but he would never want them to end.
They opened the door to their bedroom. On the wall was the painting that Illya had cherished.
“Jacob, the kids and I went in together and bought the painting. It is the right one, isn’t it, Illyusha?”
Illya nodded. He was overcome with emotion but didn’t want to betray his feelings. It looked even lovelier on the wall of their bedroom, surrounded by memories of a lifetime of love that the picture represented to him.
He was the luckiest man on earth, Illya thought.