Page 106 of Pioneer Summer

It hadn’t ended when Yurka stopped playing with his toys. It hadn’t even ended when he’d encountered true injustice for the first time and let music be taken away from him. His childhood had ended recently, this summer at Camp Barn Swallow, when he met Volodya. Love had engulfed him, with all his thoughts and emotions, and it had overcome all his senses, to the extent that Yurka—Yurka, with his sharp ears!—hadn’t heard the heavy door of his childhood clanking into motion and crashing shut behind him. Because childhood was a time when life was clear and simple, when there were set rules, when there was an answer for every why and what-if. ButYurka had stopped being clear and simple to himself when he fell in love. He’d encountered questions that no one could give him an answer for. And he didn’t believe that anyone, not even his parents—not even doctors like the ones Volodya wanted to consult—could answer them.

Now, finally, he saw why grown-ups go back to Pioneer camps as troop leaders, why they sing the Pioneer anthem with all their hearts, why they proudly don their neckerchiefs and flight caps: it’s all so they can be, maybe not back in childhood again, but very, very close to it. But Yurka would never be allowed to come back as a camper, since he was too old; nor would he be allowed to come back as a troop leader because of his record. He would never come back again.

For the first time in five years he sang “The Pioneer’s Call: Always Be Prepared” absolutely sincerely.

The flag had come down. The closing assembly was over. The speakers poured out the tender, sad words of a song from Yurka’s favorite movie,Passenger from theEquator. Yelena Kamburova sang the song, “Who Dreamed You Up, My Starry Land?,” as the troops of Camp Barn Swallow gathered in little knots of people. Yurka turned his white gloves back in to Ira Petrovna and left his troop, heading toward his old hiding place by the unfinished barracks, where he still had an old pack with a few cigarettes left. He looked around to see whether Masha or Pcholkin were following him again, but the Little Octoberists and Pioneers on the square were busy with other things.

He walked along the Avenue of Pioneer Heroes to the intersection where even from a distance he could see his belovedVinside the apple, whole and untouched. Yurka thought about that letterV, and then about that personV, and then—speak of the devil!—Volodya caught up to him.

“Yura!” he said as he approached, panting a little. “Where are you going?”

“I ...” Yurka faltered. He remembered he’d promised Volodya he wouldn’t smoke anymore. Then he remembered he’d already broken that promise. But now deceiving Volodya felt completely wrong, so he admitted, “I’m going to get some smokes from my hiding place.”

“Yura!” Volodya said accusingly. “But you—”

“I know! I know I promised not to smoke anymore. That’s why I’m going to get them now: I’m going to throw them away! Honest.”

Volodya nodded approvingly. “Well, then ... good job.” Then he suddenly switched topics: “It’s hard to believe we’re going our separate ways tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Yurka frowned. “Don’t. I don’t want to talk or think about it. Not at all.”

“Okay. Then I’ll get to the point. I just remembered how after the last-bell ceremony in high school, our class buried a message for future graduates under a tree in our schoolyard ...”

“A time capsule? What did you write?”

“We talked about our time, our goals, what we were doing to build Communism, what other people were doing. We charged those future readers to remember the feats accomplished by the Soviet people. But I don’t want to talk about the message from our class. Let’s leave our own. Want to?”

“For the future builders of Communism?”

“No,” laughed Volodya. “For ourselves, of course.”

“For our future selves?” Yurka grew animated. “That’ll be great! But I have no idea what to write.”

“It doesn’t even have to be a letter, it can just be things that remind us of important events ... For example, the script of the show, my notebook, our notes ... Help me figure out what else to put in it. We’ll stick it all in the capsule and then in say ten years we’ll meet here and open it. Think how interesting it’ll be to come back as completely grown-up people—you know, as people who’ve made their way in life—and hold things from the session we spent together at Camp Barn Swallow. What a good memory of this summer that’ll be!”

“Yes, something that was important to our ... our friendship ... important to us ...” Yurka pondered. Then he exclaimed, “The music! I can put the music for the Lullaby in it. Maybe all that will still be important in ten years.”

“Of course it will! Especially when you become a pianist. But you keep thinking about what to put in there, anyway. I’ve got to go.”

“But when do we bury it? Where?” asked Yurka, lowering his voice. They were alone on the avenue, but he was still anxious: What if somebody was in the bushes, spying on them? “Tonight? Let’s ditch the farewell bonfire, it’s going to be such a madhouse, nobody’ll notice we’re gone ...”

“Yes, during the bonfire’s probably best. I’m still buried in things to do,” Volodya replied in almost a whisper, emulating Yurka. “But we’d better not just disappear. I’ll try to ask permission to go, if I get a chance.”

“But where, Volod?”

“The willow,” he whispered. “We’ll go through the forest to get to the shallows.”

“It rained last night, the river’s probably higher.”

“Can you check? I’ve got to go now. We’ll meet at dinner. And make sure to bring things for the time capsule tonight.”

“I’ll remember,” Yurka promised happily.

How to pass the time? What to do to keep himself busy until evening? How to live until then? It wasn’t fair: time had become the most precious of all precious things to Yurka, but he had to waste it trying to distract himself with all kinds of nonsense—whatever would keep him from thinking about parting from Volodya. It was still too early to pack his bag, and packing wouldn’t take more than half an hour, anyway. Yurka hadn’t brought that much with him. Should he take a walk around the camp and say goodbye to Camp Barn Swallow and then go check the river?

Yurka considered what to put in the time capsule as he headed out for his walk. He looked around, trying to think, but as soon as his gaze landed on some spot or other that was painfully familiar, he’d lose his train of thought. There was the movie theater, where so much had happened ... There was the power shed, shaded by green thickets of lilac ... There was the merry-go-round that had been drowning in white dandelion fluff but was now blanketed in yellow and green again ... There were the athletic fields, now covered in people, some exchanging addresses, writing them in accordance with tradition right on each other’s Pioneer neckerchiefs in ballpoint pen, others sitting and hugging as they said their goodbyes. Despite the crowd, it was unusually quiet for a Pioneer camp. All the campers looked hushed and sad, and spoke softly, and walked instead of running.They’re probably just saving their energy for the bonfire, Yurka thought. But he was subdued from sadness, too. Just one thing was making him edgy: he hadn’t seen Masha even once since the assembly ended. He’d been looking aroundthe whole time during his walk but he’d neither seen her distant silhouette nor heard her voice.

“What if she’s planning something?” Yurka whispered anxiously to himself. He kept walking.

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