Page 85 of Pioneer Summer

“What’s up there? Seems like all there is over there is forest.”

“See that spire? There’s a tiny little gazebo up there at the very top.”

“Are you sure there’s a way to get up there?”

“It’s okay, there’s a path. It’s true that you have to scramble in places, but—”

“Are there any snakes up there?” interjected Volodya.

“—there aren’t any snakes up there,” finished Yurka, in sync with him.

As they went up the steep incline, they had to help themselves at times by pulling on some roots that were sticking out of the ground. Once, something happened that made Yurka’s heart leap into his throat: a gnarled dry root he was holding on to broke off underneath his weight, so he almost went tumbling downhill like a stone. But the rest of their journey was without incident, and soon they came upon some steps cut into the ground that led directly to the little gazebo.

The rickety little edifice wasn’t especially attractive: a plain wooden hut, its green paint peeling in places. Inside was a small table surrounded by uncomfortable, narrow benches. Everything was plain and mediocre. What made the little gazebo unique wasn’t its construction, but the fact that it was covered with writing on every possible surface: walls, beams, benches, table, floor ... The writing was everywhere, outside and in.Seryozha and Natasha, Session One, 1975. Dima + Galya, Fourth Session, 1982. Sveta and Artur were here: Camp Barn Swallow, Session One, 1979.A great multitude of names, dates, and numbers, written in different handwriting, in different colors, with different paints, pencils, and pens. Many had been cut into the wood. Many others had hearts around them.

Yurka walked over to the far corner of the gazebo and called Volodya over. He leaned over the edge and pointed out into the distance. “This is what I wanted to show you. Look.”

It was as though the hut was clinging onto the very edge of the precipice: a steep overhang of bare earth that fell for many meters until it met a thickly forested area that also fell steeply away, all the way back down to the water. Out past that, stretching for many kilometers, all the way to the horizon, was the steppe, cut here and there by the ribbon of a meandering river. The water, reflecting the overcast sky, was gray and white, but here and there, where the sun pierced through the clouds, the water sparkled and flashed with reflected rays. The grass, all dried up from the summer heat, was plastered flat in ayellow carpet as far as the eye could see, except for occasional spots with hints of green.

From here they could see the place they’d just been: the glade with the bas-relief, and the pool where they’d gone to see the lilies, and, of course, the camp.

Yurka sneaked a look at Volodya to see his reaction. He was gazing out into the distance, enchanted, breathing slowly and deeply, his face showing utter tranquility.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Yurka, moving toward the little table in the middle of the space.

“Very. But how did you find out about this place?”

“Strange you’ve never heard about it. You are a troop leader, right?” Yurka leaned back against the table and hefted himself up to sit on it. He kicked his feet back and forth as he told the tale: “This is called the lovers’ bower. Some girls from the senior troops told me about it two years ago, and all the troop leaders know about it—at least, the ones who aren’t at Camp Barn Swallow for the first time. It’s always been sort of like a tradition for camp couples to come here before the end of the session and write their names ... I’ve never understood it, but I came out here one time just out of curiosity, to see it with my own eyes.”

“What didn’t you understand?” asked Volodya, moving close to him. “It’s all very symbolic. You look at these names and you really can feel the romance—all these lovers. Can you imagine how much feeling has been concentrated here over the course of many years? How many tender words have been said?”

Yurka was on the verge of giggling at Volodya’s sentimentality, but he met Volodya’s eyes and went still. Volodya was looking at him so earnestly, so longingly, that it was as though ... as though Volodya was talking about them? Volodya leaned over, braced his hands on the table on either side of Yurka, and pressed the tip of his nose to Yurka’s. He closed his eyes and breathed out ... then breathed in, slowly and deeply ... and at that, Yurka’s heart started thundering so frantically that it seemed about to pound right through his chest. He brought the space between them to a minimum and stole a quick kiss. “Want us to leave our names here, too?” he whispered.

Volodya shook his head. He rubbed the end of his nose on Yurka’s again and murmured quietly, “Don’t. Wouldn’t be good if somebody from our session saw it. I’ll remember it anyway, Yur, without writing anything at all.”

Yurka put his arms all the way around Volodya and pressed his lips to Volodya’s neck, when suddenly Volodya shuddered and dropped his hands from Yurka. Yurka flinched, looked down, and saw that Volodya’s arms were covered in goose bumps. Both of them, completely covered, all the way up and down. Volodya looked away. To keep from making Volodya feel even worse, Yurka pretended he hadn’t noticed anything. And Yurka decided that to make sure Volodya didn’t feel as uncomfortable as that ever again, he’d never do that again—never touch Volodya’s neck.

They went back to camp the same way they had come. Although Yurka knew an easier way, the boys had left the boat onshore, and it had to be returned.

By the time they got as far as the river, the wind had picked up, covering the water in little ripples. The sky to the east went dark.

“It’s going to rain soon,” said Volodya, looking up. “We need to get back quick.”

“We’ll get back quickly now that we’re going with the current,” Yurka said, hoping to calm him.

He got into the boat and took the oars. Volodya pushed off from shore and hopped in.

They did get back quickly. Yurka put his back into the oars, the boat flew along, and it wasn’t fifteen minutes until they were tying up at the dock.

The wind had gotten stronger. The first raindrops plopped down from the gray sky.

“It’s going to come down any minute now!” said Volodya, raising his voice. “We probably won’t make it to camp. Let’s get under cover here at the boathouse!”

“You tie up the boat, I’ll go get some canvas.” By now, Yurka had to shout to be heard over the wind.

Yurka raced off the dock and flung open the door to the boathouse. He grabbed the canvas, and before stepping back toward the dock he glanced out to the window facing the beach. There was someone out there.

He ducked down, then poked just his head back up and took a better look. The person was approaching the boathouse. It was Masha.

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