Page 131 of Pioneer Summer

“Of course I am. Aren’t you?”

“Did you become a pianist?”

“Believe it or not, Volod, I did!” Yura smiled. “I did!”

“Then I’m not afraid of being disappointed.”

There was a pause. “Okay, wait there—”

The call was cut off, replaced by rapid beeping. Yura was left standing there, confused, looking stupidly at the screen of his phone.

He redialed Volodya’s number, grateful at the thought that now, after so many years, he could. But Volodya didn’t answer.

Why isn’t he picking up? Did his battery run out?thought Yura. He bent down over the time capsule and set about collecting the opened letters. Then he noticed one more piece of paper in the capsule. He’d already gotten excited—one more letter!—when he saw he was mistaken. He unfolded the piece of paper. It was the sheet music for the Lullaby. A sad smile came unbidden to his face: It had almost ended everything once, but then, later, it was where everything began.

He carefully smoothed out the paper so he could put it away with the other papers back in the time capsule, but then he froze on the spot, the music clutched in both hands. He’d caught sight of someone’s silhouette through the wall of willow boughs.

Yura stood up mechanically and walked out from underneath the willow tree. A man was standing about ten meters away. From this distance Yura could only see that the man was tall. The man took a step toward Yura. Yura took a step toward him. It was hard to make out the man’s features through the misty drizzle, but with each step closer, just like when a photo is developed, his features became sharper and more distinct. Yura’s hand trembled. He wanted to look at the picture from the theater and check it, compare the man he saw before him with the man he would’ve wanted to see. But he wasn’t holding the picture. And even if he had been—so many years had gone by! Still, no matter how a person changes with time, there’s always one thing that remains, one thing that lets you recognize him: the eyes. And those eyes, even though they weren’t hidden behind glasses, were his. Volodya’s eyes.

“How?” whispered Yura soundlessly. He looked to the left, at the roofs revealed in a gap in the woods, and thought of the billboard again, and suddenly he understood.

The camp was Volodya’s now. This was Volodya. He’d grown up, he’d changed, but it was really him!

Volodya, flustered, was smiling and looking at Yura, frozen a few steps away. It was as though he couldn’t believe it. Yura couldn’t believe it, either.

Yura wanted to hug Volodya, but for half a second he still hesitated. He briefly wondered if he should ask permission, then decided to hell with all that. They hadn’t seen each other for twenty years, and Yura had every right to just go on and hug him, no permission needed. So he did.

And nothing in the world was more important than that moment.

As it had back then, twenty years ago, time stood still around them, holding its breath. All that existed was the two of them, the pattering rain, and the wind whispering in the willow leaves. Volodya placed his hands tentatively on Yura’s back at first, as though he couldn’t believe this was really Yura. Then he returned the embrace fiercely, heaving a long sigh of relief into Yura’s shoulder, as though he were rolling a massive rock off his soul.

After a long minute, Volodya took Yura by the shoulders and held him at arm’s length. He studied Yura’s face as though still doubting it was really him. Then Volodya glanced down at the sheet music still clutched in Yura’s hand, looked back directly in Yura’s eyes, and smiled. “Are you going to play me a Lullaby?”

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