Page 127 of Pioneer Summer

Although who knew? Maybe it had all been for nothing. After all, so many years had passed. Maybe both the willow and the time capsule were already gone. Why had he even come here, anyway? Why had he come looking for something that had been lost and forgotten ages ago? But he had to go back, sooner or later. Maybe it was too late for them, but for Yura himself, nothing had actually ended yet. He’d come back to clear his conscience, to bring this to a close, to be honest with himself above all and know he’d done everything he could to find Volodya. He was late, of course, and not just by a day, or a year, but by a whole ten years and then some. And all that might be left linking him to Volodya was preserved here, under the willow. Assuming the tree hadn’t been cut down.

His fears proved groundless. It was still there, bigger and more beautiful than ever. Its heavy branches, with lush foliage just beginning to turn yellow, bowed down to the ground. So tense with anticipation he could barely breathe, Yura went down the slope to it. He parted some branches and slipped through to stand in the space enclosed by the tree’s drooping boughs. His heart fluttered: everything was the same! Just like then! With just one difference: it was colder, quieter, without the burbling of the river. But the willow still hid Yura from the rest of the world, just like it used to.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE TIME CAPSULE

The Cyrillic initialsYu+Vcarved into the trunk had turned dark and rough and were stretched out like an old scar. Tentatively, tenderly, Yura ran his fingers over it. Then he grabbed the shovel. The damp earth yielded to it easily. In just a couple of minutes he heard the shovel clank against the metal lid of the time capsule. He heaved a sigh of relief: it was here! He pulled it out and opened it, his hands dirty from the digging and the rust from the battered old tin. He shook its contents out onto the grass.

First the faded neckerchiefs emerged. Then came the dried-up, crumbling remnants of the lily, along with a Komsomol pin and a pair of broken glasses. But they hadn’t put either the pin or glasses in the time capsule back then ... Yura clutched the glasses, remembering how right here, right under this same tree, he’d once taken them off of Volodya’s face, as carefully as if they were a priceless artifact. Mentally, he reviewed his list: it hadn’t had glasses, but it had had the notebook. Where was it? But Volodya’s notebook, with the scary stories, and the script, and “Yurochka,” and the wishes for their future selves, was not in the time capsule. What did come falling out of the capsule next—and this was something Yura never expected—was a neat little bundle of letters tied up with string.

He picked it up with shaking hands and untied the string. His throat went dry, his blood pounded in his ears, and a whole swarm of questions started buzzing in his head: What were these letters doing here? Where did they come from? Volodya must have put them here, of course—who else? But that meant he’d come and opened the time capsule! That meant he’d been here!

But when?! The answers were waiting.

The topmost letter, in a standard Soviet-era letter envelope, was addressed to Yura’s old address in Kharkiv, with Volodya’s old Moscow apartment asthe return address. But it had no stamps or postmarks on it. This was a letter Volodya had written but not sent; the contents allowed Yura to guess when.

I didn’t offend you in my last telegram, did I? You always told me that if I pushed you away again, you’d disappear for good. Did I really push you away? Because you disappeared. And if that’s what happened, then good for you. You finally learned to keep your word.

But it was all for your own good! My father got into some serious trouble. He got involved with the wrong people. A bunch of criminals. Not willingly, of course. They came to him demanding money in exchange for protection. But my old man’s a Soviet-style, principled guy, and he told them to take a hike. They’re the opposite, though, completely unprincipled, so they “gave him a taste” and set fire to one of our properties. Then they threatened to hurt our family. Yura, when I wrote you those words, and then sent that telegram, I was trying to keep you safe! Our mailbox isn’t inside our apartment, you know! They could’ve found your letter, gotten you mixed up in everything, too—and you’re what’s most important to me. I was scared for myself and for my mother and father, of course. But I was also scared for you. It still scares me to think of what they’d have done to you if they’d found out who you are to me. And if they’d started threatening to hurt you ... What would I have done?

I know now that it wouldn’t have been worth the hassle for them; Kharkiv had its own criminal groups, obviously, so ours wouldn’t have bothered encroaching on foreign territory. But that’s now ... back then it was different ... and I wasn’t the only one who was afraid of my own shadow. The whole family was terrified of even leaving the apartment.

Well, whatever happens, I suppose it’s all for the best. It wasn’t what I wanted. I miss you terribly and I don’t want to lose you. But it’ll be better this way. I want you to get yourown life in order, I want you not to let me distract you, not to think about me. I want you to find a girl. Because what do you need me for? All you get from me is pain. I hold you back. I get you off track and distract you, when you should be living your own life. Don’t think badly of me. And forgive me for everything I’ve done. I’ve never forgotten you, even for a minute, but you’ll be better off without me.

As Yura’s eyes ran along the lines, every word pulled him deeper and deeper into the past. He remembered what he’d been like back then, and what Volodya had been like. Now, in this changed new world, all that seemed forgotten, completely unreal, but back then ... how important it had been!

Volodya had never sent this letter. Now Yura understood why: Volodya had been afraid for him. Volodya had been protecting him and didn’t want to get him in trouble. And because of Volodya’s fear, Yurka had spent ages trying to guess what he’d done wrong and why Volodya had cut him off so abruptly ... but the reason turned out to be absurdly simple: Volodya wanted to keep him safe. Volodya was afraid somebody might hurt Yura, so he thought he would keep Yura safe by abandoning him.

The following three letters had stamps and postmarks. They had been addressed to Yurka’s Kharkiv apartment, but the return address showed letters and numbers instead of a street: MU-1543. Military Unit 1543. So Volodya had done his obligatory two years of army service. The first of the three letters was dated the beginning of August 1991.

I can just imagine your face when with no warning you get a letter from the army. But why not? I’ll have to do my army service sooner or later, so why not now? I can’t say I like it here; I do regret that I had to go unenroll from my institute just one semester before I graduated. Don’t worry, though: I’ll enroll again once I’m out. The thing I regret more than that is how it had to end between us. It had to, Yura! It wasn’t what I wanted!

I know you’re angry at me. But I also know you’re reading this anyway. Don’t be angry. When I get back to civilian lifeI’ll explain everything, you’ll see. I’m sad here. Write me at least a couple of lines. But ... you have to write very carefully. You understand. Write soon. I’m waiting.

But the response Volodya was waiting for would never come. Yura sighed. He’d never gotten these letters because by then he’d already moved to Germany. How awful Volodya must’ve felt, not to get any response to his letter. But there were two more letters sent from the military unit. Yura opened them one by one.

At the end of August 1991, Volodya wrote:

I don’t know why you aren’t answering me. I hope it’s just that you didn’t get my first letter. Maybe there’s a problem with the mail?

It’s hard for me here, far from my family and friends ... and without hearing from you. It’s especially difficult because of my problem. My surroundings are ... having an effect. You’re probably asking yourself how I’m dealing with those fears of mine here.

That problem of mine hasn’t gone anywhere, of course. Nothing helped. I wrote you about that, you should remember. After the thing happened, the thing I can’t tell you about in a letter, the thing that made us have to leave Moscow, my father suggested that for my own safety I should do my army service. He added that in the army they’d make a man out of me for sure. You’re the only one who knows I’d had a “relapse.” I didn’t tell my parents. That’s why my father wasn’t worried about me, and I convinced myself I wasn’t worried, either. Now I remember the last three years and shake my head at how naive I was, thinking that I could get rid of my problem so easily. But now that I’m here, in the military unit, there’s no chance of me overcoming it. Although, on the other hand, the army does temper you. There’s nowhere to hide from my fears here, I’ve got to learn to live with them.

Write me soon, I really want to hear from you.

Yura knew Volodya was talking in a coded way about his “disease” and that it was very difficult for him to be in the army, surrounded by men. He also knew that it was hard for him to understand just how difficult it was. In the former Soviet republics everything was much worse as far as attitudes about LGBT people; it had been then, and it still was now. He knew that people’s opinions were changing only slowly and with great difficulty, not like in the West. But trying to cure homosexuality as though it was a mental disorder—that was inhuman. The doctors could’ve caused Volodya irreparable harm! And then the army ... it had to have been no joke for Volodya, fighting his monsters—thinking that he himself was a monster!—to spend two years surrounded by men. Now Yura was consumed with regret that he never got those letters. He wished so badly he could’ve gone back and supported Volodya, told him that there were lots of men like him, told him that where Yura lived, they were accepted by society.

The last letter from the military unit was dated March 1992. It was very short:

“Still no answer. Did you move? Or is it that you hate me? How are you? What’s going on with you? Have you met a girl? Maybe you’re already married? I really hope so. I hope you’ve found yourself and your happiness. It’s hard for me to believe a whole year’s almost gone by. I have leave in April and I’ll come see you, Yura! I’ll come see you right away!”

That last line made Yura narrow his eyes thoughtfully, calculating the dates: that was when Volodya had come out to look for him but hadn’t found him.

The rest of the letters were in regular white envelopes without stamps or addresses. The only notes on them were dates written in pencil.

Yura opened the oldest of them, dated May 1993:

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