Page 110 of Pioneer Summer

They were only on the second verse, but to Yurka it felt like an eternity. He was unable to regulate his sadness anymore. It engulfed him. The only thing he was capable of making himself do right now was not look at Volodya.

“Storms wrack the seas and rage in my soul;

I cannot accept that we’re parting forever ...”

The Pukes were huddled together, swaying slightly in unison. Ulyana was beaming as she sang the woman’s part of the duet—she had finally been allowed to sing something fromAthena and Venture. Even Mikha, sitting next to Yurka, was sighing sadly (or maybe sniffling).

“The sea’s forlorn waves roll and surge;

In your deep brown eyes there is grief.

How I wish I could stay here with you!

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

Yurka had deep brown eyes, just like the doomed heroine of the song. He couldn’t help it: he looked at Volodya. Volodya was listening, mesmerized,eyes looking directly ahead into emptiness. He was whispering the words, singing along, but Yurka could clearly read Volodya’s lips:“You’ll always be there in my memories.”Volodya wasn’t saying this as a message to Yurka—he was saying it to himself—and Yurka caught a glimpse of utter, impenetrable despair in his eyes. Volodya was not glad he would never forget. Yurka understood this, and his heart went painfully tight from this understanding, almost like it was stopping for a few seconds. No matter how optimistically he announced that he would always remember, that he would never forget, was that really a good thing? After what Volodya had told him in the unfinished barracks? Maybe it really was better to forget, or at least try to get it out of his head, make himself try to ... but no. No. Of course not. He wouldn’t be able to.

Meanwhile, Mitka kept dragging out that endless song. The faces around the bonfire, illuminated by the flickering scarlet glow, were filled with melancholy and with good, tender sadness. It seemed Yurka was the only one who felt that everything good was going to end when camp did.

Volodya focused his gaze on Yurka, and their eyes met. Drowning out the guitar, the Pioneers sang:

“Our words make the very heavens shake,

So frightening it is to say them aloud ...”

“You’ll always be there in my memories,” whispered Volodya. There was no way Yurka could have heard him, but in Yurka’s heart the words nevertheless rang out in Volodya’s voice, clear as a bell.

Then, suddenly, Yurka realized that the line Volodya was whispering was supposed to go the other way around: “I’ll always be there in your memories,” and that now it was Yurka’s turn to say the next line of the song ... say those words ... make that promise ... “We’re parting forever, though it’s hard to believe.”

But Yurka didn’t want to! He didn’t want to sing that, or to say it, or to even think it, but of their own accord, his lips whispered, “We’re parting forever ...”

The song ended. The other campers indignantly took the guitar from Mitka, complaining that they didn’t want to sing such sad songs anymore.Volodya gazed unblinkingly at Yurka, and it seemed like the world around them simply didn’t exist. Yurka couldn’t tell what emotions were behind Volodya’s eyes. This was more than despair and sadness; it was almost physically painful for Yurka to look into those eyes.

Volodya abruptly stood, walked over to Yurka, and reached over as though he wanted to take Yurka by the hand, but he caught himself. “I’m going to help Lena after all. I’ll take the kids to the cabin and come right back ...” Then, lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, “In about twenty minutes, come out onto the path to the beach, but make sure nobody sees you. We’ll go the long way, through the woods, so nobody tags along.”

Once Volodya and Lena had led Troop Five away, Mitka picked up the guitar again, but Ira Petrovna convinced him not to sing any more sad songs. “Then let’s do girls’ choice! Maids, invite your squires!” Mitka called out, and strummed the first few notes of the immediately recognizable “Ferryman.”

Yurka wanted to move so he was sitting somewhere on the very edge of the clearing and wait quietly for Volodya to come back, but Ksyusha walked up to him. “Yura, shall we have a dance?”

Yurka didn’t have any energy left to be surprised. He nodded automatically, took Ksyusha’s hand, and led her to the bonfire where the other couples were dancing. Ksyusha put her arms around his shoulders, but this time she didn’t do it the way she had at the other dance—she didn’t hold him like a Pioneer. If something like this had happened earlier, Yurka would’ve burst with pride, but now he felt nothing. He just turned in circles, moving his feet to the rhythm of the music, holding Ksyusha by the waist. He was like a robot. He didn’t even understand the question right away when she asked him, “Yurchik, listen ... So a certain someone told us about how Masha and you are having some issues, and you—”

“No duh we’re having issues!” Yurka broke in. “But there’s no ‘Masha and me.’ ”

“Really?” Ksyusha said, feigning surprise. “Is it true you fought that time because she’s stalking you?”

“She just follows me around; the one she’s stalking is Volodya.”

“No way!” Ksyusha was so surprised that she bumped into a nearby couple—Nastya and a beet-red Petlitsyn—and stepped on Yurka’s foot.

“Well, yeah,” said Yurka simply. He cast his eyes around the clearing and saw Masha sitting all alone on a bench by the bonfire, her hands in her lap, staring at the ground. She looked so sad and lonely that for a second Yurka even felt sorry for her. But then he realized that Masha’s sadness was nothing in comparison to the time with Volodya that she’d made him lose and the fact that now they were parting. She vanished from his thoughts immediately.

“She’s stalking Volodya? What a nightmare! Where’d she get that idea?” said Ksyusha indignantly. This was definitely news to her. “What kind of idiot do you have to be to go after a troop leader like that? Or anybody, for that matter; doesn’t have to be a troop leader ... Doesn’t she have any pride?”

“Sometimes people who are in love behave very recklessly,” Yurka replied. For some reason, this made him smile. He remembered his own first and most reckless act: when he’d kissed Volodya, back then, behind the power shed. But how was all that working out for him now? Was that fleeting, transient happiness worth such a painful parting, one he’d recall for the rest of his life?

After they danced, the Pioneers played a game of babbling brook, lining up in two rows facing each other, clasping hands with the person opposite them, lifting their hands high to make a tunnel, and taking turns running through the tunnel, still holding hands with their partner. After the game, somebody started trying to get everyone to jump over the bonfire. Yurka was asked, too, but he declined. He was paying careful attention to what Masha was doing. She had apparently cheered up a little when Svetka from Troop Three called her over to the bonfire to join in the game. Thanks to that, Yurka was able to slip away unnoticed. Or so he thought.

When he got to the beach, he had to wait. Volodya was held up for about ten minutes. As soon as Yurka started to think they’d missed each other, he made out the familiar silhouette in the darkness. A silhouette with a backpack.

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