The young blond child watched with unusually calm and patient blue eyes, looking out his bedroom window as he leaned his arms on the sill. Though the glass panes were of uneven thinknesss, distorting the images of the trees and the simple dirt road that passed their dacha; he could see well enough.
The skies were cloudy but not threatening, perhaps he could go outside to play today if it was not too cold; though it didn't bother him too much. His mother always worried about him catching a chill and getting sick, since there was no money for medicine...not that there was a doctor readily available. There was one in the city but that was far enough away by foot, the only way people could travel now days.
He went downstairs, being beconned to the back steps of the house by his grandmother. There was a lesson to be taught.
"See Illuysha, the sky is changing to just the right color and when the clouds roll in...not fluffy white clouds, but dark brooding ones...Ukrainian ones; then and only then it will snow.
"Russian ones too Baba?" The boy asked.
"Da,"she smiled,"Russian ones too." The child was fiercely proud of his Russian heritage...
Sniff the air," his grandmother said as he stood out back behind the dacha that morning, holding her hand. They looked out over the stone wall, still unfinished by Illya's father. He had gone with his eldest son Dimitry to the forest of Bykivnia and there, they were hunting mama said.
Illya did as his babushka instructed, raising his chin just a little and taking a breath of air through his nose.
"What do you smell boy?"
"Cold...there is a dampness in it."
"Good, breathe it in again...remember that smell."
Illya did as he was told, inhaling in the cold air; remembering it, though he couldn't quite put it to words to describe the destinctivness of it.
"That means snow is coming," Babushka smiled, pulling her heavy black shawl around her shoulders.
"But Baba, I see no clouds in the sky?"
"You don't need to, but they will come later...dark clouds, looming over the land, becoming grey and heavy. You will come to recognize that color and when the clouds will begin to shed their snow."
Illya looked out at the field of tall golden weeds beyond the wall, watching them sway and undulate with the winds that were picking up; beyond that was the edge of the forest; the tree branches too dancing to an unheard melody.
"See," Baba pointed to the sky."See that?"
"It is only a bird," Illya replied.
"Not just any bird, it is a whiskered tern and see another, and another. They are birds that live in the marshes along the Dnieper, as that is their home but today they come inland to seek the shelter of the stong trees….watch."
The boy saw more of them, others too...a lone night heron and perhaps a white-tailed eagle. Yes, they were coming in away from the water and disappering among the great trees.
"See Illuyshenka, nature will tell you much if you only watch with careful eyes.
He saw a single hart dash across the field heading into the woods as well and wished for a moment he had the rifle that leaned against the wall in the kitchen. Illya knew he could shoot it, just as papa had taught him.
It would mean extra meat for them...but alas, the creature was gone too quickly.
His memories drifted to that hunting party with his father, and remembered the thrill, yet the sadness of his first kill… a deer. Moments later though, his triumph was shattered as a wolf appeared from nowhere, driven careless by its hunger. It leapt for the boy, an easy target it supposed.
Papa killed it in mid-air and the beast fell at Illya's feet with a dull thud. He cried, it frightened him and papa buring him in his arms, comforting his fear as he picked him up.*
.
Now Illya Kuryakin knelt by the livingroom window in his apartment in New York city, he'd opened it and was taking in deep breaths of the cold air.
"What the hell are you doing tovarisch?" Napoleon asked as he sat on the sofa, going through several declassified files. "You're letting in the cold air...and you keep it cold enough in here as it is. Can't you turn up the heat. It's not like you have to pay for it. U.N.C.L.E. takes care of the bills. I know I don't have to remind you of that." He buttoned up his cashmere cardigan that he'd learned to bring when visiting the Russian's apartment in the winter months.
Illya looked out at the dark sky, the clouds had turned that particular shade of grey. Though the air was filled with the smells of the city, he could still detect it, that familiar scent his grandmother had taught him to recognize so long ago. He watched as a flock of pidgeons flew to the building top across the street...someone there kept a coop, taking care of them.
It was time for them to roost, they sensed it….the coming snow. Still Illya sadly thought, there were no cranes, no whiskered terms, marsh harriers or white tailed eagles here...no wolves either.
If he wanted to see any such creatures, he had to go to the Bronx Zoo to do that...
Kuryakin closed the window, turning to his partner. "It is going to snow."
Napoleon looked at him strangely. "The weatherman didn't mention anything on the report?"
"Trust me, it is going to happen. Would you like some tea to warm you?"
"I'd prefer coffee if you have it."
"No, sorry only tea," Illya apologized, heading to his small kitchen to put on the kettle.
Napoleon saw a sad look in his partner's blue eyes, thinking it shouldn't bother him about not having any coffee. "That's all right chum, a mug of tea will do."
"I serve it in a glass, the Russian way, perhaps with a little raspberry jam to sweeten it?" Illya stuck his head through the kitchen doorway.
"Sure, why not." Napoleon got up, stretching as he looked out the window.
"Well I'll be darned….hey Illya you were right. It's snowing."