Page 75 of Pioneer Summer

“Who knows what could happen? Something could! Do you have any idea what kind of things I was imagining?”

“Like what? That I went to drown myself?” Yurka chortled.

“And you think that’s funny? Want to see how it felt to be in my shoes? Because I can do that for you. I can do that for you right now!” It was clear that Volodya was barely holding himself back from shouting at the top of his lungs: he was breathing heavily, and his hands were shaking—possibly his whole body, too.

“Okay, okay, calm down. I’m here, nothing happened, everything’s fine.”

“I thought I’d strangle you as soon as I saw you!”

“Don’t worry so much. It’s just me. I mean, I understand that you are responsible for me—”

“What the hell does responsibility have to do with it! You’re a living human being and you’re my ... my friend. And especially after everything that happened yesterday ...”

“Then strangle me, if you want! Just quit freaking out.”

Yurka faltered to a halt in mid-sentence. He was flustered. Volodya had suddenly put his arms around him.

“I’m not angry anymore,” he said quietly. “I stopped being angry as soon as I saw you play.”

He released Yurka from his embrace, making Yurka almost groan aloud in despair. Yurka wanted it to keep going; he wanted their embrace to be permanent; he didn’t want to let Volodya go at all. Yurka, still on his knees, shuffled closer to Volodya and took his shaking hands in his own.

“If you had just heard me play instead of seeing me, you would’ve kept wanting to throttle me,” Yurka said half-jokingly.

“Don’t talk nonsense. You play really well,” said Volodya. Tenderly and very, very slowly, as though he were trying to sense the warmth of Yurka’s hand with every cell of his skin, he ran his fingers along Yurka’s palms and whispered, “Yura, take care of your hands. They really are delicate.” He lifted Yurka’s hands, then bent down his head and kissed them tenderly.

Yurka was terribly embarrassed. His face started flaming and he could feel himself going red all the way up to the crown of his head. His cheeks were burning—but forget his cheeks: his fingers spasmed and then turned to stone, so he couldn’t straighten them. That was what made him good and truly self-conscious. Yurka cast about frantically for something to say and seized on the first thing that came to mind. It was also the stupidest thing. “Yoursare too! I mean, I like your hands a lot too. They’re so soft ... as if you ... as if you moisturize them.”

“No,” chuckled Volodya. It looked like he’d finally been able to relax. “I don’t do anything special to them.”

Yurka’s vision was going blurry from how close he was to Volodya. He desperately wanted to kiss him but was too shy to ask. He shifted in his seat, moving carefully closer to Volodya, and lamely mumbled something without even knowing what he was saying. “Nothing at all?”

The main thing was to talk, to distract Volodya with conversation—didn’t matter about what—and keep nudging closer.

“No,” said Volodya slowly, flustered. “Well, maybe I wash them in really hot water sometimes ...”

Yurka was willing to swear he’d seen Volodya raise his eyebrows, even in the dark. Now Volodya was very close, just a couple of centimeters away, but kept making no move to kiss Yurka. It was as though he were waiting for something. Maybe the thing to do was just ask directly?

But Yurka, in his impatience, whispered something completely different—“Really, really hot water?”—and edged just a teeny bit closer.

Volodya was sitting in the exact same place in the exact same position, stroking Yurka’s hand and looking at Yurka with flashing eyes. “Almost boiling.” He smiled. “Why?”

“Maybe I should, too?” Volodya was already too close. Yurka couldn’t breathe.

“No, it would hurt you,” Volodya said seriously. Then he laughed. “Yura, what are we even talking about?”

“I don’t know ...” Yurka exhaled heavily, decided to hell with his shyness, and pressed his lips to Volodya’s.

Suffocating from nerves and rapture, Yurka was afraid Volodya would push him away again. But that didn’t happen. The kiss was innocent and very long. But even if it had lasted an eternity, it wouldn’t have been enough for Yurka.

Suddenly, Volodya reached out and touched a lock of Yurka’s shaggy bangs and said, “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.” He smoothed the lock of hair, then stroked Yurka’s ear and temple tenderly. It was ticklish,but felt so good that Yurka moved his head, pressing his temple up under Volodya’s fingers. It was like he was a cat asking to be petted.

Volodya chuckled quietly. He took Yurka’s hands in his own again. Without speaking, he ran his nose along Yurka’s cheek. There was more pleasure and tenderness in that gesture than in all their kisses combined, making something inside Yurka burst open.

They stayed there, hiding behind the statue, kneeling in front of each other and holding hands, until the sky went from black to inky blue. Volodya started and looked around at every sound, even though it was always obvious that it wasn’t footsteps but the wind, or pine cones falling in the woods, or someone rattling their shutters far, far away. But no matter how dangerous and scary it was, he probably wanted to stay just as much as Yurka did.

Afterward, Yurka couldn’t get to sleep for a long time. His wildly joyous thoughts made his heart do a frenzied tap dance. As if it were possible to fall asleep when everything was rumbling and rattling inside him, and his internal voice was refusing to shut up, and on top of that it wasn’t whispering, or burbling, but shrieking with happiness! When his hands just itched to open the window, and his feet ached to carry him to the troop leaders’ room, and he wanted to wrap himself, legs and arms and all, around Volodya and never let him go. Although—no, it would be better to steal him away, to drag him off into a dark corner and then wrap himself around him. But, actually, it didn’t matter where they twined themselves together: Let them do it in the middle of the main square, as long as nobody bothered them! Yurka never managed to figure out the best way to turn into twining ivy and wrap around Volodya, since he finally fell asleep. His dreams were just as confused.

Yura blinked a few times and looked around. It had started raining again, and the wind had picked up a little and was blowing cold droplets into his face. The cracked asphalt led farther, to the athletic fields, where the morning calisthenics had been held. The fields hadn’t fared much better than the rest of the camp. But one thing that had been preserved amazingly well was the big banner stretched out over the podium where the phys ed instructors had stood to demonstrate the exercises. The banner was sheltered from the wind and rain underneath a long awning, so on the faded cloth it was stillpossible to discern athletes crossing the finish line, as well as the sloganALL WORLD RECORDS MUST BE OURS!

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