Page 109 of Pioneer Summer

By the time he had gotten back across the shallows and made his way to camp, another bugle call announced the end of dinner. Yurka raced over to the mess hall and saw Volodya among the crowd pouring out. The troop leader, surrounded by the little boys of his troop, was looking around. Seeing Yurka, he waved.

“Here.” Volodya handed him two little sweet poppy seed pies. “Why weren’t you at dinner?”

Yurka swallowed, salivating: he had only now realized how much his walk had sharpened his appetite. “Thanks!” he said, and in a lower voice, he added, “I went to the willow. The shallows are fine, but the ground under the willow is cold and damp.”

“Got it. I arranged with Lena for her to take the kids to the bonfire and then get them to sleep herself. She wasn’t thrilled but she agreed, so that’s all taken care of. We’ll sit at the bonfire with everyone for a little bit and then head to the willow with the capsule. Just get permission from Irina!”

Masha came out of the mess hall. She noticed them standing next to each other and scowled, glaring right at Yurka. But he just rolled his eyes, then remembered to ask Volodya: “Did anybody tell you about Pcholkin yet? About his sabotage?”

Volodya smiled. “Right. It’s funny, actually: Alyosha Matveyev had been tasked with getting the matches and bringing them for when we light the bonfire. Pcholkin found out about it somehow, got them from the kitchen, and brought them himself. Olezhka just assumed that Petya was planning an act of sabotage and wanted to catch the hooligan. Turns out Olezhka’s a partisan, too! Seems like he really got into his part in the show.”

“How about that! Pcholkin? Pcholkin helped? It’s suspicious, almost ...”

“I thought the same thing at first. But then Pcholkin announced that it wasn’t fair for Olezhka to get all the glory, not only for being great in the show, but also because everyone was encouraging him and praising him for working so hard on being accepted into the Pioneers. Petya wants some glory as well, and there are things to praise him for, too.”

“Wow, you did a great job training him!” Yurka giggled.

“What’ve I got to do with it? It wasn’t me ...”

“Oh, yes it was.” Yurka nodded fervently. “You’re his troop leader, which is pretty much like his older brother. You set an example for them. Everyone changes, and when there’s a troop leader like you around, the only way to change is for the better.”

Volodya’s cheeks turned pink, and Yurka was abashed. He’d wanted to say different words to Volodya—ones that did not, of course, include “troop leader” and “older brother.” But there were people there. And Masha. Yurka was trying to say “I love you” without saying the word “love.” He was so sick and tired of all this damned secrecy ...

The Pioneers were singing their anthem about soaring campfires and midnight-blue skies. Evening had come. It really was midnight blue. And it was no exaggeration to say the bonfire was soaring up into the inky sky, throwing sparks so high, they mingled with the stars ... Whenever a point of light winked out, you couldn’t tell at first whether it was a spark going out or a meteor burning up.

It took the troops a long time to get into formation. It took them a long time to walk to the broad clearing in the forest. It took them a long time to take their seats on the benches arranged in a circle.

The opening song, the anthem of the session, had already been sung once, but now everyone started it up again, sitting like first graders with their backs straight and their hands in their laps. It was the official part of the evening. As long as the administration was at the farewell bonfire—the camp director, the educational specialist, the phys ed instructors, the musical director, and the other adults—the Pioneers were inhibited and bored. But Yurka knew the adults would leave soon and then there would be ... well, maybe not mayhem, but it would get a lot more lively. In the meantime, nobody was even allowed to stand up from their seats. The only thing left for Yurka to do was sing and look around for Volodya.

As per tradition, Troop Five was directly to the bigwigs’ left, while Troop One was to their right. So Yurka didn’t have to crane his neck and peer around; he just had to turn his head a little. Volodya wasn’t looking at him.His stern gaze was directed at the boys in his troop. They were sitting quietly and sadly; they probably didn’t want to part from their friends, either. But they were the ones who would definitely be coming back!

It didn’t take long for the bigwigs to wish everyone a good evening and depart. Olga Leonidovna threatened that if the Little Octoberists got back to their cabins any later than nine thirty, or the Pioneers any later than eleven, she wouldn’t let them into session next year. Then she left, too.

Everyone immediately burst into lively activity and moved to sit wherever they wanted, but still without mixing up the troops. Someone produced a guitar, which changed hands several times among those who could play. At first everyone sang fun children’s songs. Then they switched to pop songs. In unison the Pukes demanded Modern Talking, but even if somebody knew the music to one of their songs, it turned out that nobody actually knew the words. Volodya suggested some Time Machine, which earned him an indignant “Eww!” from over half of the Pioneers. Yurka didn’t suggest anything. As a result, they all sang Alla Pugachova hits and songs from the Jolly Fellows album again.

Despite all this demonstrative fun, the sadness was literally tearing its way out of Yurka, no matter how much he tried to stuff it back down deep inside. And he wasn’t the only one feeling sad: almost everyone there was too. After all, this was the last evening for everyone, not just for him.

The last evening is special for many reasons: everyone becomes kinder and gentler, everyone tries to think about what’s most important, to be with the people they care about the most. Everything feels a little different: the sky is so very starry, the smells are so very pungent, the faces so kind, the songs so sincere, the voices so pretty. And everything really is that way, because you’re seeing it all for the last time.

Someone passed Mitka the guitar.

“It’s always very sad to say goodbye,” he said as he took the instrument. He strummed it with his thumb and said musingly, “Well, what about this one ...” He cleared his throat and looked at everyone sitting around the bonfire, pausing on the daring couples who were holding hands or hugging. He chuckled and looked tenderly at Ulyana. “This one goes out to everyone who fell in love this summer.”

As soon as everyone heard the familiar song’s first few chords, the protests began. The wave of indignation washed along the rows of people. “Mitya, don’t! Play something else!” begged Ira Petrovna. Zhenya, who was sitting next to her, nodded his agreement.

Yurka recognized the song, too, and burst into hysterical laughter. He appreciated both the joke itself and how cruel it was. Before Volodya, he might’ve done something like that himself ... but now ...

In a low, husky voice, Mitka began singing the lovers’ final, parting duet fromAthena and Venture:

“You’ll wake with the dawn’s first ray,

When you sense it’s my time to leave;

I’ll always be there in your memories,

We’re parting forever, though it’s hard to believe ...”

It was as though something snapped inside Yurka. He was hurting, but he was also jeering at himself. This song was the last drop, the just-to-be-sure shot to the head—as though his own private sadness weren’t enough! He would’ve covered his ears with his hands if it wouldn’t have looked so stupid.

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