Page 44 of Pioneer Summer

“Makes sense,” admitted Yurka. He turned the boat toward the little beach area. Still, he was flustered. Getting undressed ... although, no, there wasn’t anything weird about it at all. They were both boys. Yurka had gone skinny-dipping a hundred times. And not just that, he’d also been naked while showering or changing in gym and at camp, and he’d never felt self-conscious in front of his comrades before. But comrades were one thing; Volodya was something else entirely. And this was Yurka’s first time for this kind of something else.

And no, it wasn’t self-consciousness he was feeling—not at all. Despite all their talk about religious traditions, regardless of Volodya’s seemingly improper interest, Yurka wasn’t self-conscious. No, he was simply so excited, he was paralyzed.

Still, mindful of the previous day’s awkwardness, he turned away as Volodya undressed, and he didn’t take off his own clothes until Volodya dove into the water.

Yurka jumped in, submerged himself completely, and bobbed back up. He’d barely had a chance to wipe the water out of his eyes when Volodya took off for the far shore and quickly drew close to it. Volodya’s arms hit the surface so powerfully that he sent gouts of water splashing, like a fountain; tiny rainbows winked in and out of existence as the spray sparkled in the sun.Now, that’s a butterfly! Brisk and bold! Wish I could do that!thought Yurka enviously. His eyes were drawn to Volodya’s shoulders. Out of nowhere he had a surge of utterly genuine delight: seems a skinny guy, but then, wow, what strong shoulders ... !

Yurka just kept standing there in water warm as milk fresh from the cow. He didn’t move a muscle as he admired how Volodya swam, how graceful and natural he looked, how free and uninhibited he was. He watched while Volodya paused, took off his glasses, and held them tightly as he dived. And then what Yurka had been admiring yesterday morning showed there above the water for a second, completely bare, uncovered by cloth. It was just a moment, too fast for Yurka to actually see anything, but suddenly his heart was in his throat and a jolt of excitement ran through him. He froze.

The realization of what was happening to him hit home. He stood rooted to the spot. The realization was so plain and simple that it stunned him. How had he not seen this yet? How could he have only now realized the answer to a million questions at once? The answer was so simple! Because who was Volodya to him? A friend. But not just any friend. The kind of friend you think about to sweeten your falling asleep and brighten your waking up. The kind of friend it’s so pleasant to look at, the kind you just keep admiring, the kind you can’t tear your eyes away from. The handsomest person in the world, the kindest, the smartest—the best in any and all ways. The kind of friend it’s even interesting to just sit quietly with. That’s the kindof friend Volodya was to him. A friend who heliked, in that strange, stupid, conventional sense of the word. A friend who was more than.

No. That can’t be!Yurka didn’t believe it. That kind of thing didn’t happen between boys. He’d never heard about anything like it, not from anyone. Even the guys from his building didn’t joke about this, and they knew everything about everything and joked about everything. Yurka simply did not believe that a friend, who was a guy, could be so drawn to another friend, who was also a guy ... that they ... that he ...

Yurka thought he’d been scared before. After those morning calisthenics, for example. But in hindsight that wasn’t actually that big a deal—just apprehension, really. What he felt now was true fear. Why was this happening? What was it? What was it called? Was it called anything? No matter what it was, no matter what it was called, it was unnatural! This kind of thing didn’t exist and couldn’t be happening to him. Maybe Yurka was the only guy this had ever happened to. Maybe it was some kind of psychological illness? Or just that he was exhausted? In this session of camp, Yurka had worn himself out, drained himself to the last drop; he’d worked his neurons so hard that his brain must’ve just sputtered and died. He’d go back home, take some time to sit around and do nothing, and everything would be dandy again. Yurka was already eager to go home, except that he really didn’t want to say goodbye to Volodya.

What he did want was to share his fear and his discovery with his best friend. Yurka wanted to tell him something private and precious: “I like you. I’m glad you’re here.” But even imagining saying those words to Volodya was scarier than jumping into icy water from a thirty-meter platform, worse than diving headfirst into the abyss. But what if he actually did it? What if he just threw caution to the wind and told it like it was? What would happen then? In his heart of hearts, Yurka knew exactly what: Volodya would laugh, thinking he was laughing with Yurka, but he’d actually be laughing at him. That’s what would happen.

And even if Yurka suddenly discovered a gift for eloquence, even if he was able to explain what “like” and “glad” truly meant, but explain that he wasn’t asking Volodya for anything, he was just telling him, out of pure happiness, just so he’d know ... Even so, Volodya would understand none of this. He’ddo whatever he could to try to understand, but he wouldn’t, his mind wouldn’t process it. Of course not; Yurka’s own mind couldn’t, either ...

How could he explain this to Volodya? How could he understand it himself? So far, the only thing Yurka knew for sure now was that he’d never abandon Volodya, he’d never forget him, he’d never leave him. The kilometers would be no obstacle. Yurka would remain his devoted friend, always and everywhere, no matter where his life took him, be it to another continent, or the moon, or Asteroid B-612. Now Yurka would need Volodya even more. When Volodya wasn’t near, Yurka would feel the loneliness and emptiness even more. And Yurka would inevitably feel sorrow. He and Volodya would both feel it at some point, but Volodya’s sorrow wouldn’t be because of the complicated, unreasonable Yurka. It’d be because of some simple, reasonable girl.

Yurka stood stricken. He was afraid to move. He watched Volodya and thought, and thought, and thought some more. His head was spinning, his eyes were dazzled. The water droplets burned in the sun like sparks. The splashing roared in his ears. Stunned, Yurka watched as his best, most special friend snorted and huffed and laughed. But he himself couldn’t move a muscle. His whole body had gone numb as he stood up to his waist in the water, hands at his sides.

Volodya soon noticed Yurka’s strange behavior and came over. Yurka stared at him fearfully and did a very stupid thing: he covered his groin with his hands. Why did he cover it up? What was he hiding it from? He was in a pond, where nothing could be seen through the cloudy water! But it was instinctive, from a sense of shame. Because it wasn’t just his body that would be completely exposed ...

Volodya’s brow furrowed. “Yura, is everything okay?” He touched Yurka’s shoulder, which was cold even in the sun. “Is something wrong with your foot?”

What lie could Yurka offer? That he’d cut his foot? No. Volodya would ask to see it, but there was nothing to see. That his head was spinning? Volodya would just send Yurka to sit in the shade, but how would that be any better? What could possibly make anything better for him now?

“It’s nothing. It’s fine,” Yurka mumbled faintly.

“You’re all white ... Did you get a leg cramp? Here, let me help.” Volodya came right up close to Yurka and put his hand down into the water, reaching for Yurka’s leg.

“No, don’t, it’ll pass in just a second. It’s not a cramp, it’s just ... it’s just that I ... I’m tired, and everything’s just off somehow. Like we didn’t make it to the bas-relief, for example.” Yurka went red. And he did go red: heat singed his cheeks as though somebody’d put a hot water bottle on them.

“Of all the things to worry about ...” Volodya said dubiously.

A few minutes later they were both dressed and back in the boat, Yurka fervently grateful that his problem had gone away before they were out of the water. Volodya, still unsure what was wrong, tried to reassure Yurka: “We’ll make it out there another time. Give me the oars.” At this, Yurka just smiled wanly.

The trip back was much faster, since the current itself moved the boat along. Volodya was singing to himself, a song Yurka didn’t recognize. He wasn’t even trying to listen to it and figure out what song it was; he was looking at the water and thinking about “like.”

Suddenly, Volodya exclaimed, “Look at that willow!” He pointed over to the shore. “See it? That huge one there, like a tent—no, like a whole house! I’ve never seen one like that!”

He was pointing at a place where the riverbank came smoothly down to meet the river. A small sandbank that gave easy access to the water was half covered by a weeping willow, its densely leaved branches bending down all the way to touch the river. “Let’s stop, Yur,” he said.

“Then we won’t make it back in time for the bugle. You said so yourself,” replied Yurka quickly. But seeing the animation in Volodya’s eyes, he offered, “Maybe tomorrow?”

“But what if I can’t get a boat tomorrow?”

“Then I’ll try to remember how to get there on foot along the bank. I guarantee we can get there without the boat.” Yurka searched the steep part of the riverbank and then scanned along the top of the cliff. “I know there’s got to be a path over there. It starts at the shallows by our beach. The troop leaders don’t let the little kids use it, but that makes sense, it’s dangerous. The bank is sandy and crumbles out from under you, and falling down a cliff that steep would be pretty bad.”

“Let’s try to go there tomorrow, then?” Volodya suggested impatiently.

Yurka stopped dead in his tracks. “Since when have you been such a thrill seeker? You looking for adventure?”

Volodya shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m just following your example.”

Later that day, Yurka went out to find the willow. In an attempt to rid himself of the nagging, alarming thoughts about “like,” he memorized every bend in the path, every rise and fall, every ridge and stone. His search for the tree ended up taking some time.

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