Page 36 of Pioneer Summer

“But what about you?! Who areyouslinking around with?”

Masha stopped in her tracks. “‘Slinking around’? You’re the one who’s slinking around! And it’s none of your business anyway!”

“It is my business! Because Ira thought you and I were going off together to fool around. Not only that, she had a fight with Volodya about it. So now your little nighttime strolls are his business, too. Why did Ira think that? Who are you slinking around with? Where do you go? And what’s it got to do with me?”

“How should I know?! Ask Irina. And ask about me. Not her, I mean—ask Volodya. Because I can’t ask him myself—first of all, it’d be improper, what would he think? And secondly, I never get the chance to talk just to him. You’re always there. So help me out, huh? But let’s make it worth your while. What if I let you play the piano? Not for the whole show, just for one song. But not the Moonlight Sonata, of course—something easier ...”

Yurka could’ve kept himself under control if not for that last thing.

“‘Something easier’?” he echoed. “Easier?! Am I hearing things, or did you just say you’re better than me?”

“What do you mean? Of course not! I just—”

“That’s some imagination you’ve got there! You don’t just think you’re better than me, you think you’re better than everybody! You think you’re the only one worthy of him? You think the earth revolves around you? That Volodya just went and fell head over heels in love with you?!”

“I don’t think I’m better than everybody,” said Masha, growing angry. “But why not me? Look around! Who else could he fall in love with? You?!” she scoffed.

Yurka rolled his eyes and clapped his palm to his forehead in disgust. “Polina, for instance. You mentioned her.”

“So itisher!”

“I don’t know! But what even makes you think he’s fallen in love at all?!” Yurka had gotten so angry and worked up that he didn’t notice the tears welling in her eyes. What he did notice were the flashes of yellow back behind Masha, in the bushes: the enemy’s shoulder boards.

“Hide!” he hissed, and took off running.

When the enemy spies had passed—Yurka recognized one of them as Vaska Petlitsyn from Troop Two—Yurka searched for the grass they’dtrampled to see where to turn off the path toward their base. He found it and headed that way.

Masha, radiating her anger at him with every bone in her body, followed without a word. Around twenty minutes later, Yurka, who’d been relishing the silence, led them to the enemy camp.

Troop Two’s base was in an area where the deciduous forest transitioned to a coniferous one. Needles and pine cones littered the sand on which they’d pitched their tents, and there was a smell of resin in the air. Yurka dove into the thick bushes again and watched the enemy camp from a distance. He didn’t see anything of much interest, though. They were doing the same things as Yurka’s troop. A couple of girls were busy by the campfire. Petlitsyn and his partner were walking through the middle of the camp, evidently headed toward the commander’s tent. Semyon, the other phys ed instructor, was doing the kids’ physical fitness tests: jumping, squats, push-ups, stretches. Most of the kids were by the yellow flag, standing on the lookout.

Yurka didn’t spend too long in his hiding spot. He indicated the enemy’s position relative to his own troop’s base on his handmade map. Then, after checking his compass, he traced a path between the two. Now he and Masha would have to get back safe and sound to their own camp so they could pass the information on to Ira, their troop commander, and begin their attack.

He felt he’d been squeezed dry, like a lemon. A lemon that was dirty, dusty, and totally fed-up. He and Masha eventually made it back to base, although on the way there they came across three different sets of enemy fighters whose whispered conversations revealed that the rest of his troop’s spies had been neutralized. Once he realized that he and Masha were all alone and a whole lot depended on them now, Yurka got truly scared. But the fear that he and Masha would be caught, thus delaying their troop’s attack, was a rational, “good” fear. And for the time being it covered up the other fear, the “bad” one, the one that was irrational, profound, shameful: his fear that something was wrong with him.

They got back to their base and gave Ira Petrovna their information. The businesslike troop leader had taken a moment to show off the captain’s shoulder boards on her uniform jacket and was now dividing her fighters into three groups: the first would stay in camp to protect their flag; she’dlead the second directly to the Yellow base; and she ordered the third, led by Zhenya, to go the long way around and approach the Yellow base from behind. To Yurka’s great delight, Ira took Masha with her but assigned him to Zhenya. Their trek was long and dreary, so all he remembered of it was a jumble of endless forest, his comrades’ uniform shirts, lots of whispering back and forth, and his worry that the noise made by a dozen kids would get them found out and captured. But the troops successfully moved into position and stayed there to lie in wait until the other half of their forces approached from the front. Zhenya lay on his stomach under a bush next to Yurka and whispered feverishly: “The Yellows aren’t expecting an attack from behind. We have the advantage. We’ll get the flag before Irina does.” Yurka snorted to himself. He felt like adding,And lay it at her feet!

As soon as they heard the first signal that their fighters had arrived, Yurka and his detachment moved out. But what ensued was a playground scuffle rather than an organized attack: everyone collided with everyone else in a wild free-for-all. Yurka got caught up in the melee like in a centrifuge, then darted in and out of the confusion, somehow managing to tear off two boys’ shoulder boards. He wounded Mitka by getting his right shoulder board and killed Petlitsyn by yanking off both his shoulder boards at once.

Thanks to Irina’s prayers and Vanka’s hands, the Yellow team flag was soon theirs. Yurka’s team formed up, started singing army songs, and marched back to home base. Ira was glowing with happiness. Zhenya was out of sorts because one of his fighters had been the first to make it to the flag, not him, so he was trailing along behind, cursing softly. But Yurka was laughing and singing along with everyone else as they belted out the familiar Pioneer song about strong, happy young people working together as a troop to accomplish their collective goals.

Still, no matter how happy he was, he was so exhausted his legs were like wet noodles. He wanted peace and quiet. Once he got back to the victorious hubbub of his troop’s base, he quickly ate dinner and hid in his tent, away from the clamor. He stretched out on his stiff mat like a starfish, arms and legs akimbo.

He drew his sleeping bag up over his head and tried to go to sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come, prevented not so much by the noise around him as by his own thoughts. Now, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t drown them out.Although he’d been able to push them aside during the day, while he was busy, he was no longer able to escape his thoughts now that he was alone.

And what he thought was that he had to find the courage to stop deceiving himself. It was impossible that what had happened at morning exercises was just a little bit of early morning awkwardness. Because his interest in looking at Volodya, hisdesireto look at Volodya, had been so deep and profound that even now he still got a pleasant tingle way down in his chest whenever he thought about it. But what was that? What was he doing? It wasn’t right to look at people that way ... especially not to look athimthat way. Yurka felt uncomfortable admitting it, but if he quit making excuses and was honest with himself, he didn’t want to stop looking at Volodya at all.

He sat up abruptly. He threw off his sleeping bag, rubbed his face with his hands, and violently raked his fingers back and forth over his scalp. Not because his head itched, but because he wanted to rip these shameful thoughts out of his head. He didn’t want them! Yurka disgusted himself.

Outside his tent, dusk was falling. He heard the sounds of camp: somebody strumming a guitar, the soft strains of a happy little song, the racket of dozens of Pioneers talking all around him. Yurka even thought he could clearly distinguish the voice of chubby little Sashka somewhere nearby, opining about the buckwheat kasha they’d had for dinner.

“The evening’s just getting started, soldier, but you’re already going to sleep?” At first Yurka thought he was dreaming Volodya’s voice. But Volodya really was standing over him, wearing the exact same uniform jacket as Ira but for two differences: the buttons on Volodya’s jacket were shiny, and his shoulder boards didn’t have a captain’s insignia. Yurka was awfully flustered, but he tried to greet Volodya calmly. Still, he couldn’t disguise the nervous tone of his voice as he spoke: “Comrade Lieutenant, sir! Good evening, sir!”

“FirstLieutenant.” Volodya smiled. He turned slightly to display his shoulder boards and pointed at the stars.

“Oh, I see,” said Yurka, feigning admiration. He lay back down. “You still alive?”

“Mostly. But they gave it their darndest! Listen to this: I forgot to get my pass, so I went to Central Command to pick it up and my own troop was on watch. But they insisted I show my pass! They grabbed my arms and legsand started pulling in opposite directions and hammering their fists on my back. They don’t realize that even though their fists are small, they can still hit pretty hard. So now my whole body hurts! My shoulders, too. Can you stretch them out for me?”

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