Page 115 of Pioneer Summer

“And one more thing,” said Yurka, digging in his pocket. “Here. I think this should go in, too.” He produced a white lily, now crumpled and missing a few petals—the lily Volodya had given him. Volodya nodded and placed the flower carefully at the very top of the time capsule, sitting on the notebook.

“Is that everything?” Volodya asked quietly.

Yurka thought for a moment: Was that really everything? Or was there something else that should be left here for safekeeping? Yurka shook his head. “No. There’s one more thing.”

Yurka clutched the Pioneer neckerchief knotted around his neck and tugged at it fitfully, trying to untie it. But his hands were shaking, and instead of loosening the knot, he made it even tighter.

Volodya reached over silently to help him. Yurka said gloomily, “How ironic. When I was accepted into the Pioneers, a Komsomol member tied my tie on. And now a Komsomol member is taking it off.”

A cool breeze touched Yurka’s bare neck, making him shiver. Volodya misread the reason for Yurka’s reaction: “Are you sure you want to put it in the time capsule?”

“Yes.”

“But your neckerchief only costs fifty-five kopeks, you know. We agreed to only put our most precious things into the time capsule,” said Volodya sarcastically.

“That was what it used to cost. Not anymore.”

Volodya smiled and said, repeating Yurka’s own words, “Get a load of that! So how much does your Pioneer neckerchief cost now?”

“It’s priceless.” Yurka saw Volodya’s smirk and clarified, “No, not because of the story of duty it tells; because it’s a piece of my childhood.”

“Will you help me?” asked Volodya. He took Yurka’s hand and put it on his own neckerchief, which was ironed, and crisp, and neat, and warm from his body heat. After both their neckerchiefs had been taken off, Volodya took them and knotted the ends together. Yurka remained silent. He studied the strong, tight knot and guessed that Volodya had imbued some kind of secret meaning all his own into it, but figured it was unnecessary to ask about it.

Volodya sighed, put the neckerchiefs into the time capsule, put the lid on, and said, “It looks like you really have grown up, Yura.”

The rain-dampened earth yielded easily, and even with their child-size shovel they were able to dig their hole quickly. They put the time capsule in. Yurka watched the clods of earth slowly covering up the tin’s little rectangular lid. Too late, he remembered that his neckerchief was where the Pukes had written their addresses. Mikha and Vanka, too. But this thought flitted out of his head as quickly as it had entered it. Right now that was completely unimportant. Volodya was way more important. Yurka watched him take his penknife and cut something into the bark of the willow tree right over the place the time capsule was buried. Yurka trained his flashlight on the tree, moving the circle of light around on the trunk, revealing a small, uneven set of Cyrillic initials inside it:Yu+V.

Seeing those letters was painful, because in just a few hours this spot, on this tree trunk, underneath this tent of willow branches, would be the only place where he and Volodya would remain together. In real life they wouldbe headed off their separate ways, to their separate cities, which were almost a thousand kilometers away from each other.

Yurka stopped caring then about what Volodya thought of himself or what Volodya was afraid of. It became imperative for Yurka to hold Volodya close. So he did. He pulled Volodya tightly to him, with no intention of letting go, even if Volodya tried to get away. But Volodya didn’t push him away. On the contrary, it was as though he had just been waiting for this moment. He eagerly hugged Yurka back, pressing close and breathing shakily. “Yur ... I’m going to miss you so much ...”

Yurka wanted to ask him to be quiet so as not to hear such painfully sad words. And besides, why couldn’t they stay here forever, under their willow? Why couldn’t he hold on to Volodya forever, breathing in Volodya’s own dear, familiar scent, so they would never, ever part?

Volodya clutched Yurka so tightly, he rumpled Yurka’s T-shirt. He stroked his warm hands along Yurka’s back and breathed on his neck, making Yurka cringe from the ticklish sensation. Then Volodya abruptly leaned in and kissed the hollow under Yurka’s earlobe. Yurka shuddered, then recoiled. He remembered how Volodya had insisted he didn’t want all this touching, all this tenderness, and now here he was doing it himself ...

He removed Volodya’s hands and sat down on the blanket, wrapping his arms around his knees and then resting his chin on them.

“Yur, what’s wrong?” Volodya sat down next to him. “What did I do?”

“Nothing.” Yurka shook his head. “It’s just ... you and I have so little time left, but I don’t know what I’m allowed to do. Because you forbid me from doing anything.”

Volodya moved very close, put his arm around Yurka’s shoulders, and drew him in. “What do you want to do?” he whispered.

Yurka turned his head and rubbed noses with Volodya. “To kiss you. Is that allowed?”

“That’s allowed.”

Volodya closed the distance between them himself, pressing a warm, tender kiss to Yurka’s lips. Yurka squeezed his eyes shut, found Volodya’s hand, interwove his fingers with Volodya’s, and held on tight. He felt as though the moment he let go of Volodya’s hand, the moment he let that kiss end, theneverything would end: his feelings would fizzle out, his heart would turn to stone, the air would turn to jelly, and the whole world would stop dead.

But the kiss did not end. Volodya’s lips parted and the kiss became wet and soft. Yurka opened his mouth, too, and sighed. He felt like smiling. It was so sweet that all those irrelevant mournful thoughts vanished immediately. The murmur of the water in the river, the rustling of the wind in the leaves, even the loud beating of his own heart—all of it went quiet; all of it ceased to exist. The only thing left was that dizzyingly real kiss and the distinct desire ringing in his head like an invocation:Let this kiss never end.

Yurka didn’t know how he ended up lying on his side on the blanket. He only knew the kiss had ended because a cold chill had just touched his wet lips. He opened his eyes. Volodya was lying next to him, one arm around him, looking at him: his cheeks, his lips, his eyes. Yurka thought for a moment that maybe he had fallen asleep for some amount of time, but no—only a couple of minutes had passed. He’d just lost track of everything. It had been so good, though. He wanted more.

Volodya turned to lie on his back and looked up at the sky through the willow leaves. Yurka studied the way the weak light outlined Volodya’s profile in a silvery silhouette. Then he moved closer. Volodya didn’t move; he just sighed heavily. Yurka moved even closer, and still closer, until his whole body was pressed up against Volodya’s. He almost asked permission to put his arms around him but then cursed at himself:To hell with all that!As soon as tomorrow came, he’d regret he hadn’t taken Volodya in his arms, but by then it would be too late.To hell with awkwardness and shame!

Yurka laid his head on Volodya’s shoulder and put his hand on his chest. He opened and closed his fingers hesitantly, stroking him. Volodya shuddered.

“Yur ... you’re too close.”

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