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Illya laid on the cold cement floor with a bullet wound which had become infected, causing a fever to race through his body. He had been shot in the leg while trying to escape and then recaptured and thrown into the cold dungeon without medical care. They had stopped trying to interrogate him yesterday when his infection had caused his thinking to become muddled and chaotic because of the illness running through his system. What a way to spend Christmas Eve but then Christmas had never been kind to him before so why now.
Illya felt as if he was falling through the air and to his surprise he didn’t feel pain. Instead, he felt as if his body had detached from his mind, and they were each tumbling down. He was conscious that something was missing as if he had hidden it away for safe keeping.
Each second another memory flashed through his mind as he started the fall. Suddenly one stopped. He was a child of six. His father and brother were out fighting for the army, and he was the man of the house along with his mother, baby brother, and Бабушка (grandmother). Although forbidden by the Russian authority, his Бабушка was holding him on her lap and was pointing to the small decorations on the tree. Earlier in the day, they had strung popcorn adding it to pine cones, paper flowers, and red berries. She explained each of the items and what they represented.
“In school, they tell us that Christmas is not true. That trees are against the law,” little Illya told her.
“What is Christmas but love my Illyusha? And today we celebrate love.”
“So, the state is wrong then?”
“Illyusha, we must always be careful what we say around others. But yes, the state is not correct. We have a God who loves us and will always be there for those you love.”
The rest of the day was joyful with the four of them in their little out of the way cabin until later that night. A knock on the door woke Illya from his sleep. Listening to the men who brought the upsetting news. As the door closed, tears slipped from his eyes. His father and brother would not be coming home to him ever again. Anger turned to the God who was supposed to keep his love ones safe. This God had failed them all. Maybe the state was right after all.
The years keep racing past his mind until it stopped when he was 9. He was hiding in the field his mother and Бабушка told him to run to and hide. Watching his home and those of his neighbors going up in flames and the shots from the soldiers killing everyone in the area. He watched his family massacred on Christmas Eve. Tears ran down his face, and he shouted in anger at the scene in front of him. His mother and Бабушка believed that God would protect them. Well, he refused to believe in their God who allowed the Germans to destroy his family. A God wouldn’t allow this to happen.
Laying on the cold floor Illya could feel tears running down his face. No one knew where he was, and he wished he would be joining his family on this Christmas Eve without help but knew there was nothing after death. After all, if there was no God, then there was no heaven where loved ones would be waiting. He expected nothing else
Soon the air was moving again. He flew past his life on the street before the state had caught him and put him into an orphanage, his teenage years of loneliness and state ordered education. Then his Naval years and finally losing the last of his home.
Here he stopped once more as he was climbing the steps of the plane that would take him away from his beloved Russia. They were sending him to America to work for UNCLE. Knowing he would have to fight to prove himself, he didn’t understand why this so-called God of his family would allow him to lose the only thing he had left. He might not believe and agree with the government’s policies, but the land was in his soul.
He laughed to himself as his temperature began to rise even higher. Soul, if he didn’t believe in God why would he have a soul. The sound of voices calling him came in his feverous condition.
The smell he remembers from his childhood surrounded him then the voice of his Бабушка rang out in the room. “Illyusha, my Любимый внук (beloved grandson), why must you always have things proven to you. Yes, you have had many heartbreaks through your life, but I noticed you did not stop at any of the joyous times.”
“Now I am hallucinating. I cannot even die in peace. You are not real, go away and leave me to die in quiet.” Illya croaked out.
“Listen here,” his Бабушка spoke now in the voice he remembered when he was in trouble. “We had joy in our life. Remember them. The singing, dancing and laughing with your father and then later with just your mother and me. The friends you had on the streets, the joy you had in learning even in the hard times. And once you arrived in America, you met your best friend.”
“Napoleon,” Illya admitted.
Suddenly, he felt a soft hand stroking his hair. “Do not give up my Illyusha . Your friend is looking for you. Hang on for a little while longer.”
“He does not know where I am,” sadness could be heard in his voice.
“Have faith my Illyusha.”
He fell asleep once more feeling his Бабушка’s love surrounding him.
…………
Illya woke to his body shivering and a feeling an arm on his hand, “Бабушка?”
“Sorry pal, it’s only me. We’re getting you to an ambulance now. Sorry, it’s so cold, but the vehicle couldn’t get closer to the building.” Napoleon squeezed his arm.
Opening his eyes, Illya saw an ashen snow covered landscape and felt snow falling on him. “How?”
“Strange. Suddenly, I just knew. It was like a voice whispering in my ear. I still don’t understand it, but so glad I listened to it.” Napoleon confessed.
“Бабушка,” Illya whispered as he fell back into unconsciousness leaving Napoleon with a confused look on his face.
…………
“Hey partner, ready to go home,” Napoleon asked as he entered Illya’s medical room. He laughed as he saw the Russian already dressed with his gym bag packed. “Looks like you couldn’t wait. Car’s out front, ready?”
“Can we make a small stop before leaving?” Illya asked moving to the wheelchair required by medical to be released today.
Napoleon pushed the chair through the halls until they reached the door they needed. “Do you want me to come in with you?” he asked.
“Thank you, but this is something I need to do by myself.”
Illya stood and reached for the door handle. Taking a deep breath, he slowly turned the knob and stepped into the quiet room. Sitting in the last seat, he looked up at the nativity set. This was the faith of his family. The God who they worshiped to death. Reaching deeply into himself, he found his hidden desire and had to bring it up to his consciousness. Tears filled his eyes. He wanted to believe but was finding a hard time accepting it.
A hand on his shoulder, an offer of a handkerchief, and he had to admit maybe, just maybe; there was a God. He looked up at his partner and smiled. His heart felt a little lighter, and good memories once more filled his heart.