2022
It was a cold November late afternoon, the sun was low on the horizon and would be below it in less than a half – hour. Two old women sat on a bench, bundled against the cold and gazing at the three tombstones before them. One woman used to be a redhead, while the other had been a honey blonde; now, both heads of hair were platinum.
They had met years earlier and like their husbands, had become fast friends. The Quartet, as they had dubbed themselves, had traveled together, raised their children together and socialized together. Oh, they had other friends and acquaintances, but at the core of their lives, it was always The Quartet.
"April," the blonde said, "I want to stop in the church and light a candle before we go."
April Dancer Kuryakina chuckled softly. "So what else is new? We always do that." She struggled to her feet. "We should start walking though; it's almost six and the sexton will be coming to padlock the gate." She turned slightly to help her friend stand. "When did we get so old, Gale?"
"I think for me, it was when Napoleon died," she responded as she kissed her gloved fingers and placed them on his headstone. "He was full of life right up until Illya became ill and passed."
April bent to kiss Illya's headstone and then moved to do the same to Napoleon's. "I'm so grateful that you and he were able to make it to the hospital in time to say goodbye. I believe truly that Illya was willing himself to hang on until Napoleon arrived. We always said he was one stubborn Russian."
"I remember," Gale said as they began to trek towards the church. "We entered his room and you were holding his hand and Napoleon pulled up the other chair and leaned in to hug Illya and tell him goodbye. I could hear him say, 'I love you, Illya. Gale's here and she loves you, too. I'll see you soon, my friend. Take care.'"
April nodded. "It was like that released Illya, somehow. He exhaled and just…didn't inhale. He just died in Napoleon's arms with me holding his hand. He looked…at peace."
"He did," Gale agreed, "but when I finally got Napoleon to let go and he stood up, he looked like he had aged twenty years in sixty seconds. I knew then he wasn't long for this world, that I alone wasn't enough to keep him here. He didn't make it a week. He never told me his complete history with you and Illya, but I always knew his feelings for Illya ran deep. I used to tease him that I hoped Illya and I never fell overboard at the same time, because I wasn't certain I would be his first choice to save!"
The two women laughed briefly at their old joke as they stepped up to the front door of St. Joshua and were greeted by Father Torres. "How are you, Mrs. Solo and Mrs. Kuryakina? I haven't seen you for a while."
"Hello, Father. We were just visiting Napoleon, Illya and Napoleon's Aunt Amy."
"I have always thought what devoted nephews they both were to Miss Solo, to insist that they be buried close to her."
Gale smiled. "Right after Aunt Amy passed, Napoleon bought the four plots in front of her. He actually talked Illya into buying the two off him so that we'd be together for eternity. Wherever they are, Napoleon is probably ragging on Illya about not wanting the graves and then being the first one in."
Father Torres said, "It's still hard for me to believe they're both gone. I was so used to seeing the four of you at the major holiday services. Mr. Solo's death so soon after your husband's was shocking, Mrs. Kuryakina."
"My husband loved Illya like a brother and a best friend," Gale said as April nodded her agreement. "In some ways, it's a comfort to know that they still have each other. If you'll excuse us, Father, we'd like to go in and light candles. Our bus will be coming soon and we have to get to the bus stop."
"Of course. Good speaking with you both."
They entered the church, genuflected and moved to light candles. Afterwards, they sat in a pew and prayed for the souls of their husbands. On their way out, they each dropped money into the Poor Box. As they walked to catch their bus, April reflected once more on Aunt Amy's wisdom. She made her own funeral arrangements and chose where she wanted to be buried, probably knowing that Napoleon and by extension, Illya would follow suit. The boys always insisted that Aunt Amy didn't know what they did for a living, but if she didn't, how did she know to buy a plot next to the Church of Saint Joshua, the patron saint of spies?
"For Absent Friends"
Sunday at six when they close both the gates
a widowed pair,
still sitting there,
Wonder if they're late for church
and it's cold, so they fasten their coats
and cross the grass, they're always last.
Passing by the padlocked swings,
the roundabout still turning,
ahead they see a small girl
on her way home with a pram.
Inside the archway,
the priest greets them with a courteous nod.
He's close to God.
Looking back at days of four instead of two.
Years seem so few (four instead of two).
Heads bent in prayer
for friends not there.
Leaving twopence on the plate,
they hurry down the path and through the gate
and wait to board the bus
that ambles down the street.