Illya Kuryakin hunkered down and pulled the blanket tighter to his chin. The night air was bitter against his face. His littlest sister, Svitlana, cuddled closer and he wrapped an arm around her. Papa had told him he was the man of the house while he was off fighting the evil Germans. It was a daunting responsibility for a seven year old, but Illya took his charge seriously. He worked very hard to help his mother and grandparents.
He'd spent the day helping Dedushka scrounge more firewood. It was getting tougher and they had to travel farther to find much of anything that would burn. Illya's arms, back, and legs ached from struggling to carry a load far too heavy for him. He didn't complain because men didn't complain about working hard.
And Taisia had helped as much as she could. She was only five, but she dragged along a branch with a determination that marked a true Kuryakin. She stumbled, she fell, but she never gave up, not until the branch was delivered to the woodshed for Dedushka to chop it up. Only then did she let tears of tiredness trickle down her cheeks and permit her older brother to comfort her.
His little brother, Vyetka, whimpered in his sleep and Illya reached over to rub the toddler's back. No doubt he was suffering similar hunger pains as Illya, the same as they all were. Dinner had been as always, a thin broth of old potatoes, cabbage, and a few limp carrots and too little of it to effectively put out the burning in his stomach. There had been some pickles, sour and bitter, but Illya had eaten as many as he was served without complaint, just as he had gnawed his way through his portion of the thick black bread. None of it did much to assuage his hunger, but he got as much as anyone else did.
There was a noise and Illya frowned, trying to place it. He couldn't and finally curiosity drove him to crawl from the warm cocoon of blanket and siblings and walk through the small dacha towards the noise.
Mama was huddled by the fire, a sad pitiful thing that barely managed to heat the main room of the small house where they lived and waited for Papa's return. He'd been here, not long ago, bringing some money and some meat, the first the family had had in months. Papa even brought something he called chewing gum, a treat he'd gotten from the American soldiers. Illya didn't see the point of chewing something you weren't supposed to swallow, but he pretended great excitement. It had made Papa happy. It had been wonderful to have Papa here, like the old days back in the city. Life was a little easier it seemed and Mama sang. Even Dedushka joked and Babushka had laughed. Illya and his siblings danced and played; it had been wonderful to play again. Illya had almost forgotten how.
Then one morning, Illya crawled from bed to find Papa was gone, off to rejoin his regiment as they pressed northward. A great blanket of depression fell upon the house again and the drudgery of just surviving from day to day resumed.
Illya stood there, pale and thin in the flickering light and watched his mother for a few moments, trying to deduce the best path to take. Finally he could bear the sad noises no longer.
"Mama?"
"Yes, Illyusha?" She wiped hurriedly at her eyes and turned to him, wiping her nose on a bit of rag.
"Mama, are you crying?"
"I am, little one."
He padded over to her, ignoring the bite of the stone floor against his bare feet. He sat down a respectful distance from her. He was far too old for hugging and kissing now. After all, he was the man of the family. He wouldn't be surprised if he would have to start shaving soon.
"May I ask why you are crying?" He'd learned that not everything the grownups did were topics shared with children.
"You are going to have another little brother or sister, Illyusha."
Illya took the news grimly. Their food was already stretched thin, with nothing left over. He nodded and sighed, knowing that it was the man's job to take care of his family. "She can have my food - I will share."
Mama smiled at that. "I don't think so, my little one, you already have next to nothing to live on now." She reached out and Illya glanced around quickly, making sure that there were no witnesses, then scooted closer to her, smiling as her arms enveloped him. "Someday, my brave little Illya Nickovetch, you will not know what hunger is. I promise you this."
There were times he feared the hunger searing his stomach would burn him up from the inside out. Illya hoped he lived that long to make Mama's words come true.
"Soon, some men from the Government are coming for you, Illyusha. You must go with them."
Illya felt as if he'd been delivered a blow and it was all he could do to keep from staggering back. "What have I done wrong?" He remembered when men from the Government had come to get Mr. and Mrs. Meir. They were convicted of crimes against the State and had been taken to be shot. He didn't want to be shot. He struggled from her embrace, his own tears trickling down his cheeks. "I'll... I'll work harder, Mama, I promise. I'll eat less, don't send me away, Mama, I'll be better. I won't tease Taisia and Vyetka anymore, just don't make me go."
"You misunderstand, Illya, you're not being punished, you're being rewarded. You're smart, my little one, so you will be educated and trained. You will be a valuable part of our future. Because of that, you will be taken care of... and us as well."
"I can be stupid!" he protested. Being ripped from his home didn't feel much like a reward to Illya, but he knew his mother's tone and knew of no way out of that trap. He was being sent away and another child would take his place. It didn't seem fair, but Illya had already learned that hard lesson in life.
"Never, ever do that, Illyusha," Mama said, softly. "Your intellect will save you from the lifetime of menial labor that possibly awaits your brother and sisters. Never turn your back upon what God has given you freely."
In the morning, two strangers appeared at their door and asked Illya many questions, ridiculous questions about the czars and the Germans, their country and even about the weather. Illya answered automatically, as he'd been taught and in the end, they had clapped his shoulder and told him to get his hat and coat.
The last thing he remembered about that morning was watching his mother as she stood with Vyetka and Taisia clutching her dress and crying, Svitlana watched with large round eyes as her brother was escorted outside and taken away in a big black vehicle. Illya set his jaw and never shed a tear. Fine, if they didn't want him; he didn't need them.
"What a bunch of crap. I wouldn't eat some of this shi... stuff if I was starving."
The protest drew Illya back to the present and he glanced down at the bowl of thin cabbage soup. The smell had triggered an inadvertent trip to the past for him. It had been a turning point in his young life, one that started him on a path that eventually led to UNCLE. It had been a wonderful thing his parents had done for him; it made him sad that he hadn't recognized that for many years.
The speaker was a young agent, possibly just out of Survival School. He still had that shiny new look that went with not having been kicked around enough yet. Illya glanced from the complaining agent to the array of food spread out before them in cafeteria style. Theirs was an international organization and because of that, there were selections from around the world. Curries, stew, stir fries, even shepherd's pie and fish and chips, along with a host of more familiar American offerings, were awaiting diners. The first time he'd seen such a display of food, he'd nearly cried.
Illya was careful to not waste food. He ate whenever and whatever he could, for experience had taught him that eating was a luxury not to be trifled with. That young agent had a world of experiences waiting for him. Napoleon watched the young agent leave the line and head for a table in the back where other young men sat, looking more like high school students than UNCLE agents.
"They don't know what starving really is," Napoleon said quietly, accepting a plate of stir fried pork and vegetables. "They've only been mildly hungry and think themselves ill used because of that. Wait until they find themselves stranded in the desert or alone in the jungle with nothing to eat except grubs and leaves. I suspect they will look back upon the food here more charitably after that."
"There's an old Spanish proverb that says the belly rules the mind," Illya paused to blow on his spoonful of thin broth. "It has always been the case with me. All that mattered was getting to that next meal. It took me a long time to realize that starvation of the soul was even worse. For so long, survival was the name of the game." He looked down at his lunch tray, filled seemingly with more food that he used to eat in a month. Mama had been right; he no longer knew what hunger was, at least not in the physical sense of the word. At times though, his heart still burned with the same sort of hunger he'd felt as a child - a sense of loss that he never knew the warm bosom of his family after that. He still went home, but he was more a stranger with a familiar name than family and he smiled grimly to himself. Just like Papa - he'd grown up to be just like his father.
The familiar feel of Napoleon's hand on his arm brought him back again and Illya hastily returned to eating his soup. He should have gone with a hamburger; that would have been a much safer choice today.
"Rocky trip down Memory Lane?"
Illya nodded. "It's my father's birthday. I called and he didn't know who I was."
"Oh, Illya." Napoleon squeezed his forearm. "That's terrible."
"His memory is not what it used to be. The years have been hard on him and I've been away for a long time."
Napoleon smiled sympathetically at him and nodded. "You know, you saved your family because of the sacrifices you made."
"We made, you mean. Don't forget Korea. We have both sacrificed a great deal for our families and countries."
"As you will." Napoleon sat back and looked around. "Tell you what, let's get out of here. Let's go do something."
"What?"
"Anything, live."
"What about all those reports?"
"My friend, the one thing living this long has proven to me is that the paperwork will always wait. Life won't. You and me, like it's supposed to be. Come on, what do you say?"
Illya grinned at him and nodded. "I say, thank you."
And for the first time in his life, Illya willingly walked away from food; he didn't need it as much any longer, for now his heart was full.
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