Page 61 of Pioneer Summer

The troop leader was standing near the stage behind a tall speaker, which was why Yurka hadn’t noticed him right away. As expected, Volodya was talking with Ira Petrovna. From a distance it was impossible to hear their voices or tell what emotions played on the troop leader’s face, but Yurka could see Masha walking slowly and hesitantly toward them. She stopped and said something to them as she wrung her hands behind her back and shifted from foot to foot. Volodya nodded to Masha. Ira clapped Volodya on the shoulder, smiled, and walked away. Volodya bent slightly toward Masha and extended his hand gallantly.

Time stretched like syrupy fruit kissel dripping from a spoon. Yurka, frozen in an awkward position, saw Volodya leading Masha slowly, oh, so slowly into the middle of the dance floor ... he saw the girls looking enviously at them ... he saw Volodya carefully place his hand on Masha’s waist, keeping her at arm’s distance ... and a hot wave of hurt and anger rose inside Yurka again.

The Pioneers made a wide circle around Volodya and Masha, who swirled around the dance floor alone. Yurka observed them, flustered. His imagination added details, putting the dancing pair in a spotlight among dozens of lights, and all the stars were out, and the moon shone only for them, singling them out ...

You’re jealous, whispered his subconscious helpfully, naming the feeling that burned inside him. That was it, that was the same terrible sensation Yurka had felt today while spying on them through the window of the movietheater. It was jealousy, and the sting of it was far worse, far more painful, than ever before.

“Traitor! Liar!” raged Yurka. “He said he wouldn’t dance with anyone, but he betrayed me! And that’s not even dancing: he’s just pressing up against her! Masha, of all people! That stupid little ditz Masha! A friend, he says! Look what kind of friend he is!”

Meanwhile, the speakers were pouring out Alla Pugachova’s languid and—in Yurka’s opinion—dreary voice as she sang “Ferryman,” about pairs of lovers stuck on opposite banks of a river. The song was coming to the end, where she just kept repeating the phrase about how the ferryman would never be able to unite so many separated lovers, since there were so many of them but just one of him ...

“And there’s just one of me, too, hanging around by myself in this tree like a—a macaque! Like an idiot!” Yurka finally lost it. He grabbed hold of an apple growing on a nearby branch and yanked it free. He threw it at Volodya without aiming. He was sure he’d miss and the apple would hit the ground and explode, spraying them both with juice. But it traced an almost perfect arc through the air and hit Volodya smack in the shoulder.

What happened next took just a few seconds.

Yurka realized that he absolutely had to get out of the apple tree, because if they found him there, they’d throw him the hell out of camp! He’d never climbed down from a tree so fast. He dove down to the ground as nimbly as a circus acrobat and escaped the dance as fast as an Olympic runner.

But Yurka only thought he’d escaped. A few minutes later, red as a lobster, he stopped and looked around. There was a little windowless shed nearby. Yurka ducked around the corner of the shed and leaned back against the whitewashed wall to catch his breath. Only then did he sense the sweet smell of lilac and hear the humming of electricity. The power shed.

“Yura!” came a nearby call. “I know you’re here! I saw you go this way.”

How on earth did he catch me?thought Yurka, despondent, but decided it didn’t make any sense to try running again. Even if he evaded Volodya today, he’d still have to deal with him tomorrow.

“I’m here! Over here!” he called out.

Volodya walked up to him. Yurka assumed a very guilty mien and ducked his head low. But Volodya didn’t look angry; more like confused. He rubbedhis bruised shoulder and looked at Yurka, perplexed. “Why did you throw an apple at me?”

“I’m sorry,” Yurka said sincerely. “I didn’t mean to, honest. I didn’t think I’d hit you. Did it hurt bad?”

“Well ... I felt it,” chided Volodya. “Why were you in the apple tree?”

“I was looking for you, and I could see better up there.”

“And ... ?” prompted Volodya, expecting further explanation.

“Masha was driving me mad,” Yurka admitted truthfully. “She invited you to dance, and you accepted.”

“So?”

“You said you wouldn’t dance with anyone! But then who did you dance with but her, even though you know how much she irritates me!”

“Yura, I don’t understand what the issue is.” Volodya rubbed his eyes wearily. “Explain so it makes sense.”

“The issue is that I saw you in the movie theater today! I saw you comforting her!”

“You were spying on us?”

“Yes! I was spying on you!”

“What for?”

“What difference does it make? First you hug her and stroke her hair, and now you’re dancing with her ... What next? Do you like her?”

“No,” Volodya replied firmly. “And anyway, what do you care what Masha and I—”

“But you said we were friends!”

“Of course we’re friends. But what’s that got to do with this? Yura, for the last three days something’s been up with you. I’ve been asking, but you won’t talk. And now you’re out to get Masha. But what you did just now—that’s too much!”

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