Napoleon arrived at his partner's door carrying a couple of pizzas and a six pack of beer. It was a Tuesday night, but their Friday as they had just arrived back in New York from a successful affair that had them hopscotching from Morocco to Paris to Barcelona to Beirut for the last ten days pursuing an arms dealer who had managed to abscond with some of NATO's very sensitive documents.
After they had given their verbal report to Mr. Waverly, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand and advised them not to report back for duty until Saturday. As they departed the Old Man's office and walked down the hall to the elevators, several of the secretaries stopped them or rather, stopped Napoleon, to ask if he wanted to go out to dinner or to a movie or have a home – cooked meal, respectively.
The first time it happened, Illya was going to keep walking, but was held in place by his partner taking ahold of his jacket sleeve while he politely, but firmly, let the young lady know that he was unavailable until next week. The blond's ears had perked up at that, so when each subsequent encounter ended the same way, curiosity was killing him by the time they entered their office.
"Napoleon," he had asked, "have you made a date with Angelique? Or with some other woman I do not know about?"
"No. Why?"
"I have never seen you turn down so many dating opportunities before."
The brunet had just shrugged and said, "There is a season" before he began to gather files into his briefcase to take home. After a few moments he said, "I was thinking of dropping by your place with some food and hanging out with you. Is that okay?"
"Of course, it is. I will be home. I have some things to check in the lab. I will see you later."
"Eddie!" he yelled, "It's Navarre! Open the door; my hands are full." He turned and gave his full on smile to Illya's neighbor Edna who had opened her door.* He raised the beer in a salute just as Illya opened up and moved aside to let him inside.
"Nice piece of hammy acting," the Russian teased as he took the pizza boxes and unceremoniously dumped them on his coffee table, sat on his couch, opened one and grabbed a slice.
"Hey, I want your neighbors to know that we're just a couple of regular Joes who eat pizza and drink beer. Otherwise, why am I here? You don't even have a TV to watch."
Illya just shook his head and muttered "Americans" as he pulled a beer from the carton and opened it. He reached over and turned up the volume on his radio. "Be entertained with music."
"Oh, and don't straighten up on my account," Napoleon said sarcastically, "I'll just shove these books over and squeeze in here with you." As he began to pile up the magazines and books that were currently sharing the couch with his partner, he noticed one book in particular and held it up in disbelief. "A Bible, Illya? Really? Where'd you get this and what are you doing with it?"
Illya reached up and retrieved it from his partner. Speaking slowly and calmly like Napoleon was mentally defective he answered, "This is a book, Napoleon. I bought it at a book store and because it is a book, I am reading it."
"Alright, Smartass, I get it. Why are you reading it?" he retorted as he sat and helped himself to the food and drink.
"Partially because of you and partially because of The Byrds."
Napoleon furrowed his brows. "THRUSH?"
Illya poked the last of the crust into his mouth and drowned it in beer. Reaching for another slice he said, "No, there is a new band called The Birds. They have a record out called 'Turn, Turn, Turn.'"
"Haven't heard it yet. And what does any of this have to do with me?"
"When I asked you earlier today why you weren't accepting any of the invitations coming your way, you said 'There is a season.' What did you mean?"
"It's something my father used to say when I would ask why I couldn't do something I had asked his permission to do. The complete saying was 'There is a season and this ain't it.' After awhile, he shortened it to 'There is a season' and the whole family knew it meant the answer is no and there is no room for discussion."
The Russian smiled. "That is nice that you have that memory. Pete Seeger, who wrote the song The Byrds sing and your father both got their inspiration from the Book of Ecclesiastes. I was not sure when you said it today, but while I was reading and listening to the radio, that song began to play and I thought the words sounded familiar. The DJ said it was from Ecclesiastes and that is when I realized I had read them before, so I got the Book to see. It is Chapter Three. Surely, you have read it."
Napoleon looked a little shamefaced. "If I did, it was a very long time ago."
"Well, we are busy, though I have to admit, I always find it interesting that so many people who say they believe in the Bible have never read it cover to cover."
Taking another slice Napoleon asked, "Have you?"
"Yes. I have also read the Koran and the Torah in their entirety. Regardless of what I do or do not believe, those three Books have influenced people and shaped history for centuries. It is almost negligent not to read them."
Swigging his beer until the bottle was empty, Napoleon reached for another slice with his free hand and then replaced his empty with a full beer. "I'm embarrassed to say I've never quite thought of them that way, Tovarisch. Leave it to an atheist to give me some perspective on reading the Bible. I'll ask Aunt Amy if I can borrow hers."
"Do not shock Aunt Amy. You may borrow mine." The Russian smirked. "The next time I see Edna I must tell her about our 'Regular Joes' conversation."
"Shut up and pass the napkins."
*ref. "Eddie and Edna"
To everything - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to be born, a time to die A time to plant, a time to reap A time to kill, a time to heal A time to laugh, a time to weep
To everything - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to build up, a time to break down A time to dance, a time to mourn A time to cast away stones A time to gather stones together
To everything - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time of war, a time of peace A time of love, a time of hate A time you may embrace A time to refrain from embracing
To everything - turn, turn, turn There is a season - turn, turn, turn And a time for every purpose under heaven
A time to gain, a time to lose A time to rend, a time to sew A time to love, a time to hate A time of peace, I swear it's not too late!