Page 108 of Pioneer Summer

But she was interrupted again. From the athletic fields, where the Troop Five girls were playing badminton under Lena’s watchful eye, came a painfully familiar child’s voice: “You’we planning something naughty again, awen’t you!”

Well, that didn’t last long, thought Yurka.It’s like he never said thatryesterday!

Pcholkin was darting through the middle of the court, keeping the girls from playing and bumping into them, and Olezhka was chasing him.

“Hey! Yuwka!” Olezhka caught sight of Yurka and the group and ran over to them, almost crashing into Vanka. “Yuwka! I saw Pcholkin wunning off with matches fwom the kitchen!” The panting Olezhka looked very concerned.

But Pcholkin was long gone. And instead, an angry Lena was approaching, hands on hips and tailed by Sashka, who was chewing something.

“What happened now?” Lena asked Yurka.

He shrugged. “Olezhka says that Pcholkin stole matches from the kitchen and is planning some kind of sabotage again.”

Lena rolled her eyes and sighed. “That little scoundrel! I’m so sick of—” she began, then cut herself off. But seeing all the kids’ mischievous looks, she added, “He doesn’t even let me off easy on the last day!”

Yurka snorted. “He should study to be a construction engineer. He’s always building up to some kind of prank.”

“As long as he doesn’t blow himself up with whatever he does! Yur, could you maybe go find Volodya, please, and tell him? I have to stay here with the troop.”

“But where is he? Why are you alone with the kids?”

“He’s in the woods, helping get the final bonfire ready.”

Yurka didn’t want to go find him. There would be a lot of people there, too, and then that little spy Masha would probably be shadowing him ... So what was left for Yurka to do, then? Just look at him some more, like he’dbeen doing all these days? So that today, on the last day of session, he could finally just be tortured to death by thoughts of their parting? No. That would only make it harder for him. But he couldn’t refuse Lena, either!

“By the way ... whyareall you great big lunks sitting here instead of helping the troop leaders get the bonfire ready?” said Lena, frowning.

She reminded Yurka so much of Ira Petrovna in a bad mood that Yurka was actually taken aback. He hadn’t known that Lena could also be stern like a typical troop leader.

“Nobody asked us,” mumbled Mikha lamely.

“Do we need to help?” said Vanka, surprised.

Out of the corner of his eye, Yurka noticed Mitka and Ulyana sidling into the bushes, trying to escape.

“You always need to help! Get over to that bonfire,” barked Lena. Then, after the group had moved some distance away, she shouted after them, “And tell Volodya about Pcholkin!”

Yurka resolved firmly that he was not going to help with the bonfire. He made his excuses to the rest of the kids and headed over to the path to the river. But then he gave in to a sudden impulse and went back to Olezhka, put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, and said, “You’ve done a really good job! I believe in you. You’re going to be an excellent Pioneer and then the best Komsomol member ever!”

A wide, proud smile spread across Olezhka’s face. He declared, “Thank you, Yuwka! And you’we going to be an excellent pianist! I believe in you, too! Pwomise you won’t quit playing music, and I’ll pwomise not to be lazy with my speech thewapist like I used to be. I’ll twy as hawd as I can!”

“Okay, I promise!”

“And I pwomise, too!”

Yurka winked at him, ruffled his hair, and headed for the river.

He left the courts and headed slowly down the path leading to the beach. His head was completely empty and his soul was, somehow, completely calm. It was as though Yurka had frozen inside, gone numb, but he liked the feeling. He just walked slowly through the sparse trees, the square pavers passing underneath him one by one.

The thing keeping him from falling into utter despair was hope. It burned inside him, bright and warm, like a torch in a pitch-black cave. Yurka wascertain that he and Volodya would see each other again. And Masha wouldn’t be there, and nobody would forbid Yurka from being near Volodya in whatever way he wanted.

When the path of gray concrete pavers ended, a narrow, sandy path continued on. It was smooth and even, but it wasn’t long, only about ten meters down to the beach. Yurka turned off toward the boathouse and was about to walk to the willow, but he couldn’t just pass by that dearly remembered place. He moved the wooden gate aside, slipped through the boathouse, and walked down the dock, which creaked underneath his feet. The boats rocked back and forth on the water. Yurka went straight to the one he and Volodya had hidden in. It felt like the boat had happened an eternity ago, but he remembered that kiss so clearly, as though it had just happened. Yurka touched his lips with the tips of his fingers; his lips were warm, as though someone’s breath had warmed them.

It took effort for him to make himself turn around and leave the boathouse. The flood of thoughts that came rushing to his head here made him feel both sweet and sad at the same time. They were what he wanted to leave in the time capsule, all these moments: the boat underneath the canvas, the kisses in the curtain, Volodya’s warm words, his happy smile, his quiet but deeply sincere confessions ... He wanted to leave them here, shut the lid tight on them, and bury them in the ground so he could be sure they’d be preserved, never to be forgotten. So that in ten years, when they met again, they could dig it all back up and be right back here again, the last summer before his childhood ended.

Yurka made it to the willow easily. The previous night’s rain, contrary to expectations, hadn’t raised the level of water in the river very much, although Yurka still had to pull his shorts up high to make it across the shallows. The ground under the willow was damp; the rare rays of sun that penetrated the branches hadn’t had a chance to dry and warm the ground yet.

It was getting on toward dinner, but Yurka didn’t want to go back. He wanted to sit here alone, all alone, gazing unseeingly at the river. He was amazed to see the amount of movement in it: the lazy current, the smooth ripples of waves, the bright flashes of evening sun reflecting on them ... It all seemed neither chaotic nor meaningless. Yurka stayed on the riverbank right up until the bugle, trying to understand the systematic interplay of waves inthe river current and determine what meaning there could possibly be in it. But he eventually did get up off the ground and make up his mind to go back. He had promised to tell Volodya, after all.

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