No Choice

[svetlanacat6]

 

I should have said no... But I could not. No. But I didn't really want to.

 

His thought was wandering. Several times, in his whole life, he could have said : no. Others said that he should have. But happiness is elusive. Some of those things he had accepted had set him ablaze with enthusiasm. He had been blessed with so many successes... You easily get used to that. And you easily forget the few times you really should have said no.

So here he was, uncomfortably settled in a downy seat. This lounge was like a furnace. He was bored.

He should have said : no. But he could not. Period. Saying no hadn't been an option. It had been far beyond his power. It wasn't the first time. It wasn't such a problem.

He sneered inwardly. People usually considered him as a disciplined man. Someone who heartily obeyed orders. But it wasn't as simple. When he knew for sure that he had the control, that he could refuse, that he could say : no... It was easy to obey. It was... his choice. When you can say : no, you keep the control over yourself. Whatever happens... You say : yes. And that's okay.

Years ago, he hadn't said no to his bride. He couldn't. He hadn't said no to the war in Korea. He couldn't. And all hell broke loose. It had been deathly frightful. After... he had seen at it, that he would always keep the control. Trust... yourself. Trust your own judgment.

Then Uncle had recruited him. Survival School. Trust no one. Trust yourself. And ... trust Waverly. Leave it to him...

He sighed and got again the sheet of paper out of his pocket. First, a very small photo. Then, a drawing. The same young man. Fair hair, clear eyes... he looked doubtfully at the guy.

“You'll go to meet this young man at the airport, Mr Solo.”

YES.

“Yes, sir.”

“His name is Illya Kuryakin. He is Russian. He'll work with us, for the Uncle.”

YES.

“Yes sir.”

“You'll take him to the headquarter.”

YES.

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, Mr Solo... From now, Mr Kuryakin will be your partner.”

YE... NO ! NO!

“Yes, sir.”

*************************************************

 

Choice... As far back as he could remember, he had always known that it was a quite hypocritical word. Whoever told him 'Your choice.” meant that he had no choice.

Choice meant threat. If you made the good choice, everything was okay. If you made a mistake... the bad choice... and the bad choice was often the most attractive... Punishment.

It wasn't the point to answer “yes” or “no”. All he had to do was to guess which was the expected answer.

“Yes, I'll do that.”

“No, I won't do that.”

Come back home early, eat all the vegetables, stop teasing your siblings, obey the teacher's orders...

As he went along, choices had become more and more crucial.

Run away, to save your life. Eat whatever you get, to avoid starving. Obey orders, or die.

And always, more or less precisely... “Your choice!”

Choice, he had not. He had once sworn an oath. To himself. He had sworn to survive, whatever he would have to do. A challenge to fate.

But he wasn't soulless. He was divided in two: one part of him managed to obey, to give in to his superior's orders.

Lie, delude, seduce... Question, torture... Steal, sabotage.... Shoot, kill one way or another.

Coldly. Efficiently

And the other part... whose choices could have led him to death. But survive was the master word. To die honorably was great. Vainly great. Greatly vain. No use. He sometimes reached a compromise. Those were his victories. To bend the rules. And this part too gave him choices.

Overcome your weaknesses, and yield to force. Overachieve, and let the others overwhelm you. Stand out from the others, but lose yourself in the crowd. Be the best and let them undervalue you. Hide your feelings.

And he was educated in Paris. Then, in Cambridge. Then... then his government sent him to Uncle... A Russian spy became a Russian agent of the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement. In England. The same strategy. “Your choice!”... He had just to sit on the fence...

 

And now, here he was... flying to the USA.

New York Uncle headquarter...

“Your choice.”

Mr Waverly was the Number one, Section one.

“You'll be Mr Solo's partner. Napoleon Solo is Number one, Section two. He'll show you the ropes.”

Period.

And for the very first time... No choice.