Page 39 of Pioneer Summer

Yurka was certain that waking up at five a.m. was beyond him. Sure, he’d force himself to, but it wouldn’t be so much waking up from sleep as much as coming back from the dead. Even on regular mornings it wasn’t exactly the easiest thing for him to wake up, and this time it would be even harder, after such a stressful day ... But his fears weren’t borne out. All he had to do was crawl into his tent for his weariness to make itself felt. The moment he put face to pillow, he fell asleep. But his sleep was troubled: even in slumber, thoughts of Volodya wouldn’t leave him in peace. All night Yurka tied Volodya’s neckerchiefs, constantly getting the knots wrong. Then he brushed against Volodya’s neck. Volodya got goose bumps all over from the timid touch of Yurka’s fingers. And then, in real life, Yurka’s whole body was suddenly covered in goose bumps too, and he jolted awake in a panic.

He opened his eyes and sat up, breathing heavily and trying to figure out where he was and what time it was. Around him was nothing but pitch-blackness and utter silence except for the wind that whistled outside the tent, rustling the treetops.

Yurka crawled out of the tent quietly and carefully, trying not to wake up Vanka and Mikha. The first thing he did was read his watch in the light of the moon. Four fifteen. Yurka sighed. He would’ve gone back to sleep, but there wasn’t a speck of sleep left in him.

The sky was just beginning to brighten. Yura estimated that dawn wouldn’t be for another thirty minutes or so, but the beginnings of a pale glow in the sky already signaled the new day.

There was nothing he could do. Yurka headed out to look for a place to wash his face. He found the DIY handwashing station hanging on a tree near the field kitchen and splashed water in his face. A shiver ran down his whole body. He was seized by the urge to go back to his tent, tuck himself tightly back into his sleeping bag, and not go anywhere.Fishing? The river? Who needs that? It’s totally freezing out here!

He walked over to the tents. But not to his tent. He’d decided to find Volodya.

The three Troop Five tents were arranged end to end in a triangle. Yurka peeked into each tent in turn. One tent was the girls’ tent; the other two were for the boys. But Yurka didn’t recognize Volodya at first, since he was wrapped tight in his sleeping bag all the way up to his ears. Next to him lay the snoring Sashka, the wheezing Pcholkin, and Olezhka, whose nose whistled with each breath.

Yurka stepped carefully around the boys and knelt right next to Volodya. The disheveled sleeper looked funny, sillier than Yurka had ever seen him before: evidently he’d been reading his notebook before bed and fallen asleep, since the notebook was lying on his chest, and his flashlight, still on, was on the ground beside him. He hadn’t even taken his glasses off. They’d slipped down his nose and were evidently bothering him from the way he frowned and jerked his head as though dreaming of something unpleasant. Yurka couldn’t help it and laughed, but as quietly as he could, trying not to wake Volodya.

Volodya opened one eye, blinked, and opened the other. He looked up, blankly at first, then in suspicion, and then in horror: “Did I oversleep?!” He sat up sharply.

“No, just the opposite: still ten minutes to go.” Yurka snorted a quiet laugh again.

Volodya adjusted his glasses. Then he put his finger to his mouth to shush Yurka and looked meaningfully first at the sleeping boys, then at the exit from the tent.

Once they were both out of the tent, Volodya asked in a whisper, “Why’d you wake up so early?”

Yurka shrugged. “Don’t have the foggiest idea. I just did.”

Volodya looked at his watch and said, “Never mind. It’s already four thirty anyway. We need to wake the kids. Will you get them up while I go wash my face?”

Yurka nodded and went back into the tent. While he was waking up the kids, Volodya dispatched his lingering sleepiness and collected the fishing gear.

It was Yurka who led their little group to the river: Volodya, as it turned out, didn’t know his way around the wooded area very well, while Yurka knew of a great little fishing pier not far from the camp beach. By the time they’d made their way there, it had gotten light out.

“Do you all remember how you need to behave, guys?” Volodya lectured. “I’ll remind you. No jumping and no running on the pier. Sit calmly. Fishing isn’t a game. Fish like quiet. If you shout, you’ll scare them and you won’t catch any!”

But the kids seemed to have no intention of misbehaving: they still hadn’t really woken up yet and dragged themselves after Yurka, half-asleep and yawning every other minute.

At the river, the reeds rustled and the frogs’ croaking was deafening. Yurka took a deep lungful of fresh, damp air and stepped out onto the pier. The boards creaked a little bit under his weight. The rays of the rising sun sliced into the morning mist blanketing the water. Where the pier met the shore, there was a thick rind of pond scum with a nondescript little bird hopping around on it. Yurka was amazed the bird didn’t fall through the precarious surface.

He’d never thought in a million years that such idyllic stillness could exist in the same space as the Troop Five boys. But that morning, on the fishing pier in the river, peace and quiet reigned. Neither the rascal Pcholkin nor the reckless Sashka had the slightest intention of getting into trouble. They sat on the wooden planks and held their fishing rods and watched their bobbers like hawks, determined not to miss it if they got a bite.

But the fish weren’t biting. So far the only thing biting was Yurka. He was biting the inside of his cheek, trying to stay awake. He gave a huge yawn, then joked, “Are the fish still asleep?” In the past half hour, only Olezhka had gotten a nibble, but he hadn’t managed to yank his fishing pole up fast enough. The fish got away, leaving a hook with half a worm on it.

“What a smawt fish!” exclaimed Olezhka, not a bit dismayed. “It bit the wowm but didn’t get caught on the fishhook!”

From time to time Yurka would lose track of the world and slip into a doze. His general lack of sleep, on top of yesterday’s exhaustion, was making itself known now.

Volodya, sitting right next to him, kept up a quiet murmur of encouragement for the campers: “Don’t worry about it. The main thing here isn’t the fish—it’s the fishing!”

Those were the last words Yurka heard clearly. He didn’t realize he was falling asleep. He’d just been watching his bobber, but now his head had fallen to one side, and he’d closed his eyes, and a sweet, delightful contentment spread over his whole body ...

“I got one! I got one!” Sashka’s loud voice burst into his cozy, sleepy little world.

“Pull it out!” squeaked Olezhka.

Yurka opened his eyes and found that his cheek was resting on something hard and warm ... Volodya’s shoulder. Yurka jerked his head up and looked around. His fishing rod was lying on the pier next to him; behind the boys’ backs, a few small perch were wiggling in a net. Volodya looked at him without a word.

“Whoops, looks like I, uh ... fell asleep ... ,” said Yurka lamely, looking at the shoulder he’d just been resting on.

“Really? I didn’t even notice,” said Volodya, feigning surprise. He looked pleased and was barely able to keep from laughing. “You can sleep some more if you want ... Stripey.”

---