Page 19 of Pioneer Summer

“You think they’ll go to sleep?” asked Yurka after they walked down the cabin’s front steps.

But Volodya didn’t respond. He headed briskly to the merry-go-round resting on that same dandelion field directly in front of the cabin. Carefully, so the merry-go-round didn’t squeak, he sat down on it and started running the toe of his sneaker along the ground, raising flurries of white fluff. Yura settled down next to him, then asked: “Why are you being so quiet?”

“I asked you not to overdo it, didn’t I?” said Volodya accusingly.

“So where do you think I overdid it?”

“What kind of question is that?” With one forefinger, Volodya angrily shoved his glasses back up. “Everywhere, Yura. Now they’re so scared, they not only won’t go to sleep, they’ll probably also wet their beds!”

“Oh, come on! What are they—little guys that can’t make it to the toilet?”

“Of course they’re little guys! How are they supposed to go to the bathroom when you literally forbade them to open their eyes?”

“Don’t exaggerate. I think they’re just pretending. Even Sasha is lying there nice and quiet, and he’s the most sensitive one of all. But even if I did scare them, so what? There’s no drawbacks to peace and quiet!”

“We’ll see what drawbacks come up tomorrow morning.”

“But what drawbacks? There aren’t any! And they liked it, since they asked for another one tomorrow.”

Music was playing on the stage in the distance, but the wind was blowing in the wrong direction, garbling the sound, so Yurka couldn’t tell what song it was. The alluring sound of happy voices was mixed in with the music.

Giving in to an old habit acquired back when he was still in music school, Yurka started loosening his fingers by tugging on each one in turn and popping his knuckles. Impatience seized him: if only they could just get tothe dance already! He’d managed to extract Volodya from his troop cabin; another five minutes and they could be at the dance, where Ksyusha was. But Volodya didn’t look like he was going anywhere. Yurka couldn’t restrain himself and tried to hurry Volodya along. “So? What are we sitting around for? Let’s go to the dance!”

“No,” Volodya refused categorically. He nodded at the cabin’s dark windows. “I let Lena go to the dance and I’m not going anywhere until she gets back. I can’t leave the children here by themselves.”

“Ouch, denied! Too bad,” said Yurka slowly, disappointed.

“Why is it too bad? Why ‘denied’?” asked Volodya, perking up. “What, were you counting on me or something? But we didn’t agree on it beforehand, and you know I don’t even like dances, anyway. Wait, hold on ...” Volodya furrowed his brow, then straightened suddenly as he remembered something. “Somebody already invited me today. Ulyana. Yes, that’s right, it was Ulyana first, and now you. Tell me what you’re up to!”

“Nothing. It’s just that the girls were begging and pleading with me to bring you. They just want to, you know, dance with you ... and everything ...”

“Wait, what kind of ‘everything’?” chuckled Volodya. “What other things would I be doing with them?”

“You know very well what other things,” said Yurka with a wink. “What is it? Don’t you like them? Not any of them? Not even a little bit? Or are you already going out with someone? Is it Masha?”

“Where’d you come up with that? No, that’s got nothing to do with it! I’m a troop leader, and they’re Pioneers. So there’s your ‘other things’ for you. Look, why are you sitting here? Nothing’s keeping you here. You could go, have fun.”

True, Yurka thought, mentally nodding to himself: the music would go on, even without Volodya. For most of the Pioneers, the nightly dances were the most anticipated event of the summer. They were for Yurka, too—usually. But now he was suddenly doubt-stricken. What would he do there? Watch the girls dance with each other as he sat off to the side, too afraid, despite all his outward daring, to ask anyone to dance? And who would he even ask? Last session there’d been Anechka, but this session there was neither her nor anyone else who was even slightly appealing. He’d been planning on getting the promised kiss from Ksyusha, but without his end ofthe bargain—Volodya—there’d be no deal. So what was there to do at the dance if he wasn’t going to dance? Sit over at the edge of the dance floor with Vanka and Mikha, having boring conversations about boring things? Or repeatedly crisscross the dance floor with his buddies? They were fun, sure, but he was tired of them ...

It turned out there was nothing, and nobody, for Yurka to even go to the dance for. He could’ve kept trying to convince Volodya, but, to tell the truth, Yurka didn’t feel like going to a dance anymore. He’d deliver his part of the bargain some other day. Today he felt just fine right here, under a clear night sky, where not a single cloud hid the stars’ bright light or the moon’s thin sliver.

“Won’t it be a little depressing for you to sit here all by yourself?” he had the inspiration to ask, so as not to sit in silence.

“I was going to read the script, but there’s not much light.” Volodya patted his shorts pocket and nodded at the single source of light, a dim bulb over the porch. “So yes, it probably won’t be much fun.”

“Then I’ll sit here with you for a while.”

“Sure, go ahead,” Volodya said indifferently.

“You don’t sound very glad about it, even though you were just saying it’ll be boring ...”

“I am glad. I’m glad, of course.” Volodya’s words were affirmative, but Yurka thought he seemed ill at ease.

The wind changed, bringing the music with it—a wildly popular duet between Alla Pugachova and Vladimir Kuzmin about the night sky in spring and two falling stars. Although it was summer now, not spring, they still got it right: there were falling stars. Yurka noticed several of them, but he didn’t make a wish. He wasn’t superstitious, first of all, and secondly, he knew they weren’t even stars; they were meteors. There was a whole twinkling vista of real stars, a whole Milky Way of them. As he gazed at the sky, Yurka pondered the paradox of Volodya, who said he was glad but was glad in total silence, without a single emotion on his face. Yet being silent with him wasn’t boring, and neither was talking with him.

Volodya sighed, then softly sang a few words of the song, mockingly but perfectly in tune with the music. He broke off and asked, “So, hey, Yur, is that estate far from here?”

“What esta—oh, that estate. There actually isn’t any estate.” In the dim light it was hard to tell at first, but then Yurka saw how Volodya’s face had fallen and asked in surprise: “You actually believed that?”

---