Page 114 of Pioneer Summer

“About what?”

“About the fact that Zhenya’s married but he’s seeing Ira.”

Volodya shrugged. “He loves her. I don’t know if anybody else sees it, but it’s completely obvious to me. Yesterday they had yet another fight and I was stuck in the middle as their go-between. Irina would come and complain to me and ask if she was doing the right thing.”

“Oho! So you’ve turned into a couples counselor now?” laughed Yurka.

“About right.” Volodya shrugged dismissively. “Almost a full-blown matchmaker. But I didn’t want to; Zhenya made me.”

“So? What did you tell her?”

“I ... I told her to think about her own life and not look around to see what everyone else thought. The people around you will always judge you, always say something, but maybe it’s worth just not caring what other people say, at least sometimes. Because if she’s happy with him, then let her be with him.”

Yurka stopped short. “Did you actually tell her something like that?”

Volodya also stopped and turned to him with a smile. “Yes.”

“Is that what you really think?”

“Yes.”

Something started simmering inside Yurka, something between anger and hurt. The memory of their conversation in the unfinished barracks was still too fresh. “So that’s what you think ... Huh ... ,” he said slowly. Then he added angrily, “But at the same time you’re convinced you’re some kind of monster and can’t allow yourself to be happy, right?”

“That’s totally different, Yur—”

“That’s exactly the same thing!” shouted Yurka. “You were saying you’re afraid to cause me harm, and that’s the exact same way Ira’s afraid of harming Zhenya. You look around at everybody else, just like she does, and you think you’re bad just because the people around you do! But you won’t listen to me when I try to convince you otherwise! Why not?!”

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand everything! Stop treating me like a child! You’re only two years older than me! Look how I’ve changed. That’s you. You changed me. Just three weeks ago I was afraid to even get close to a piano, even though everyone tried to talk me into it: my mother, my father, my relatives ... They even tried to force me to play! But you were the only way I could get over my fear. But now you can’t get over your fear, even though I’m asking you to! I’m asking you to do it for me! So don’t go saying I don’t understandit. I understand perfectly why you’re so afraid. I’m afraid, too! But I can overcome that fear—” He broke off and breathed out a ragged breath, as though all his fury had suddenly evaporated. Then, quietly now, with lowered eyes, he added, “Because I fell in love.”

Volodya froze and looked at him in astonishment. Then Yurka felt uncomfortable with what he’d said and how he’d said it: it was like he’d dumped everything on Volodya, and so harshly, too ... He knew this was not the time to talk about everything in a big heart-to-heart, but on the other hand, when would it be?

And now it was apparently Volodya’s turn to be lost for words. He just grabbed Yurka’s hand and pulled him forward, to where they could see the slope down toward the water and the lush foliage of the willow.

Once they were inside the tent of the willow’s branches, Volodya pulled the blanket out of the backpack and tossed it on the ground. Then he got out the time capsule, his notebook, and a pencil. He said, “All right. We need to write something to ourselves when we’re ten years older.”

Yurka sat down on the blanket. Volodya joined him and pulled off his damp sneakers. Yurka did the same. Then he took the pencil and notebook and wrote on the last page, “No matter what dont loose each other.”

“Look at these mistakes, Yur!” grumbled Volodya. “‘Lose’ has oneo, not two, and you need an apostrophe in ‘don’t.’” Yurka looked at him reproachfully. Volodya added guiltily, “But that makes no difference right now! No, don’t correct it; it’s actually better this way. You can see it was written by the young hooligan Konev.” Yurka could hear his smile in his voice. “Then you’ll remember him ten years from now ... And now it’s my turn. Here, shine the light over here.”

With one hand Volodya took the notebook and held it as he bent low over it. With his other hand he wrote in neat, compact handwriting, “No matter what, don’t lose yourself ...” Then his hand started shaking. Yurka, forgetting he might blind Volodya, shone the flashlight on Volodya’s face. He jerked away from the beam of light but not before Yurka saw that Volodya’s eyes were wet.

“Volod, don’t cry, or else I’ll start up too ...”

Without waiting for him to finish, Volodya seized Yurka’s shoulders and drew Yurka in, holding him tight. Volodya buried his face in Yurka’s neck and mumbled something unintelligible.

Yurka choked at the pain that had flared up again. Maintaining his self-control with some difficulty, he put his arms around Volodya. The only word he could understand of Volodya’s feverish whispering at his neck was a quiet “Yurochka ...”

If this had lasted even a minute longer, Yurka would’ve lost it, too. The helplessness and grief were making him want to either cry or scream. But Volodya quickly got hold of himself and said, “You’re right. This isn’t doing us any good right now. It’ll wait, it’ll all wait till later.”

He picked up the notebook again and kept writing. Yurka sniffed as he held the flashlight on the notebook so Volodya could see. “Stay just the way we were in ’86. Volodya will graduate from his institute with honors and take a trip to America. Yura will go to conservatory and become a pianist.”

“Done,” said Volodya. Then he asked, “What else should we put in the time capsule?”

Yurka extracted a damp sheet of paper from his jeans pocket: the music he’d copied out for himself so he could practice. “Here’s the Lullaby. It’s the most precious thing I had during this session.” He put the music into the time capsule.

Volodya rolled his notebook into a tube and put it in. The notebook had the corrected script with all the notes, with his own personal thoughts jotted down over the course of the session as well as his wishes for their future selves.

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