Page 10 of Pioneer Summer

“What I said. Just keep it between us, okay? It’s not as bad now as it was back in Stalin’s day, but I could still get in deep trouble.”

“Of course!” Yura even sat up, then grimaced when his tailbone twinged.

“In this country everybody lives the same way they did fifty years ago: the Pioneers, the Komsomol, the Party ... I’m sure it’s frustrating for any progressive person here. And I’m not blind, either ... but there’s no other way ...”

“I don’t agree!” Yurka actually squared his shoulders as he turned to look Volodya right in the eyes. “There’s always a way.”

Volodya smiled. The smile was a bit smug and patronizing, but even so, it managed to make Yurka happy again.

“You usually don’t agree with anything anyway, Konev. But that’s no way to live, either. Of course there’s a way. You do what you’re supposed to: you join the Komsomol and then the Party, no matter how useless you think it is. But digging your heels in, trying to destroy the indestructible ...that’swhat’s useless.”

Yurka, who did tend to argue with everyone and disagree with everything, was suddenly at a loss for words. He had no desire to acknowledge Volodya was right; still, deep down, he abruptly admitted there was a grain of truth to Volodya’s words. Especially the part about it being useless for Yurka to resist.

More than that, though, he felt his attitude toward Volodya also change at that same moment. Suddenly the troop leader stopped seeming like a robot and turned into a normal person, one with his own worries and problems, things he didn’t always know how to cope with. Yurka liked it that they both had the same thoughts about certain things.

“Want me to help you?” he said, feeling a sudden urge to try and support Volodya.

“Come again?”

“I mean, like, helping with the little guys. So it wouldn’t just be this drama club here but your troop, too. Tomorrow, for instance: When you take them to the river, want me to come—” Yurka broke off, surprised at his own fervor. “Well, I just ... since you’re so worried about them ... ,” he added, trailing off awkwardly.

Volodya was also surprised—and delighted: “Really? That would be awesome!” But then he clasped his hands together. “How’d this end up being all about me and my problems, huh? That’s no good. Tell me something about you.”

Yurka was prevented from talking about himself by a piercing blast from a speaker mounted on a post. It wasn’t the trumpets of Jericho, it was the camp bugle calling everyone in for dinner. And the ground shook, but it wasn’t the insurmountable walls tumbling down; it was the thundering of Pioneer feet. Troop leaders shouted like generals to their armies: “Pair up! Column formation! Forward, march!” The camp burst into lively activity.

As soon as he heard the loudspeaker start crackling, Yurka’s conversation partner raced back to the movie theater to collect the rest of the drama club and lead them to the mess hall, while Yurka himself, groaning and sighing, stood up and walked into the first aid station to have Larisa Sergeyevna rub on some more ointment. For better or worse, he was going to have to make an appearance in his swim trunks tomorrow, even though he was embarrassed to show off his bruised backside to everyone.

Yurka knew that Troop One was also going swimming tomorrow, but for some reason, when he was thinking about his backside, he wasn’t worried about his own troop but about Troop Five. Or, rather, about the Troop Five leader.

CHAPTER THREE

YURKA MAKES A DEAL

Yurka was especially fond of mornings at Camp Barn Swallow. But only up until the point he had to emerge from under his warm blanket and drag himself outside to the camp washstand. Everything would be just fine ... The birds would be singing, the trees whispering, and the whole camp would be sleepy and melancholy ... But then they’d play a recording of the call to reveille over the loudspeaker, and although it was just a bugle, you might think, listening to it, that it was sinners shrieking in hell.

Regardless of the daytime heat, it got very cold at night in the woodsy environs. After warming up during the day, the ground cooled off, and by morning reveille a blanket of mist descended on the camp, along with a damp chill that was especially penetrating in contrast to the warm cabin. Even the kids whose parents had tempered them from birth with cold showers had to gather their courage to wash at the camp washstand, which was nothing more than a roof over a couple of metal troughs with faucets. The water from the washstand faucets came directly out of the ground, like water from a mountain spring, so not only was it not warm, it was so freezing cold it burned and made your teeth ache. But there was one indisputable benefit to washing with it: you definitely weren’t sleepy afterward.

Yurka, covered in goose bumps and wishing he could crawl back under his blanket, rubbed his face with his towel, gave an energetic “Brrr,” and threw his towel over his shoulder. He didn’t realize someone was talking to him until his gaze fell on Ira Petrovna.

“Konev! Are you even listening to me?”

“Ira Petrovna? What is it? Good morning!” Yurka could tell that Ira Petrovna was angry, but he wasn’t sure how he could’ve gotten in trouble already, given that he’d just gotten out of bed.

Irina rolled her eyes and ground through gritted teeth: “I’m asking you for the last time: Why did you tear up the lilacs yesterday? Hm?”

Yurka goggled at her in amazement. “What lilacs?”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know! The lilacs behind the power shed!”

“I didn’t tear anything up, Ira Petrovna!”

“Like hell you didn’t! Who did, then?” She looked at him suspiciously.

“I don’t kn—”

“You were late to dinner yesterday, and then I saw leaves and petals by the door to the cabin and a bouquet in a jar on Polya’s nightstand. And this isn’t the first time you’ve broken off lilac boughs, either! The lilacs are almost done flowering anyway, but now that you’ve torn them up, they look disgraceful!”

“But why’s it automatically me? Polya could’ve broken off those boughs herself!”

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