Page 91 of Pioneer Summer

“What is this? Are you going to forbid us from talking to each other, too?!” interjected Yurka.

“Yura, don’t start,” Volodya requested warily. “Please. Don’t get in a fight. That’d be just what we need ...” He shook his head nervously, blinked hard, turned on his heel, and strode quickly to the kitchen.

Yurka peered up balefully at Masha as he helped the camper on kitchen duty pick the bigger shards up off the floor. Masha stood there, arms akimbo, until Ksyusha grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her over to join the Pukes.

Yurka took advantage of the situation to follow Volodya.

It was quiet in the kitchen. The only sound was the bubbling of the water being brought to a boil to wash the breakfast dishes. Yurka dumped his shards into the trash and went farther into the kitchen, looking for Volodya. Volodya was standing at the stove over an enormous vat as big as a cauldron.Yurka couldn’t see his face in the clouds of steam rising from the vat of water. Volodya was still as a statue, holding his right hand so low over the boiling water that the skin was turning red.

“Hey, what are you doing? That’s hot!” Yurka hurried over to him in consternation.

Volodya swiveled around abruptly. His face was contorted, as though by a spasm, and his glasses were fogged over. Yurka’s confusion gave way to alarm. Whatever Volodya was doing, it was very strange! And then came a wave of fear:What’s he doing? What’s he doing that for?

The steam had fogged up the lenses of Volodya’s glasses, so Yurka couldn’t see Volodya’s eyes. It was like Yurka himself was floating in a fog, he was so confused and scared by the unreality of what was happening. For a split second he even thought that the steam might be cold, and so, to test it, Yurka held his own hand out to the vat of boiling liquid, lowering it almost all the way to the water. “Ow!”

“Move your hand! You’ll burn it!” Volodya swatted Yurka’s hand away from the heat. “I’m—it’s okay for me. I’m ... tempering my hand.”

His harsh voice brought Yurka back down to earth immediately, even though what he was saying made no sense. People tempered their children with cold water, not hot. A moment later Volodya’s glasses cleared up, the fog evaporated from the lenses, and Yurka could see his surprisingly calm, even slightly detached expression.

“But tempering’s cold. Do people really temper themselves with boiling water—” began Yurka doubtfully. He didn’t get a chance to finish.

“I’ve been doing this for a long time, but you aren’t used to it. You’ll hurt yourself,” warned Volodya, settling into his usual supercilious troop leader routine. Yurka actually sighed in relief at the familiarity. But then Volodya carefully took hold of Yurka’s wrist, brought Yurka’s hand to his lips, squeezed Yurka’s hand, and blew on it, whispering, “Take care of—”

“Your hands,” Yurka finished, rolling his eyes.

“—yourself.” Volodya smiled and quickly kissed Yurka’s thumb.

Yurka was so abashed that he didn’t know what else to do other than turn it into a joke: “Oh, but, see, I love myself too much to—”

“So do I,” Volodya interrupted him.

But Yurka didn’t have a chance to process the meaning of those words.

“What are you doing in here?!” came an indignant screech. Masha was standing in the middle of the kitchen, so angry that the steam could’ve been boiling out of her, not out of the vats of water.

Yurka was just readying himself to vent his rage on her when he felt a brief but very warm touch on his forearm. Volodya quickly squeezed him and let go.

“That’s enough. Don’t get into it again,” Volodya said quietly. It seemed like he was about to say something else, too, but Yurka left without waiting for Volodya to finish. Yurka’s rage was roiling inside him even more furiously than the water boiling in the giant vats, but since Volodya had asked him to, he would find a way to stop. Yurka would do anything for him. He would sacrifice everything for Volodya, give Volodya everything. The best of everything. He’d give Volodya everything that was tastiest; he’d give him the sky, the air. All the music would be for Volodya. All of Yurka would be for Volodya. Everything that Yurka had, or had ever had, or would ever have. Everything that was in Yurka, everything that was useful and valuable in him, all that was wonderful and good—his entire soul, his whole body, all his thoughts and memories—he would give it all to Volodya if it would help keep Volodya from looking so despondent and nerve-wracked.

But Masha—Masha dared to forbid them to even speak to each other! It was bad enough that she’d been around all day yesterday, but now she’d evidently decided to start openly hounding Yurka, following at his heels, without shame and without hiding it.

Yurka wandered away from the mess hall, listening to Masha’s footsteps behind him and growing increasingly irritated. They only had two days left, today and tomorrow, and now they couldn’t spend even those tiny crumbs of time together because of her. Because of her, they had to just look at each other from a distance; they had to feel misery instead of adoration. And after Volodya’s strange behavior with the boiling water, it wasn’t even misery, but alarm.

What did he do that for?!fretted Yurka.He’s doing it because of her. It’s all because of her!

The sound of her heels on the asphalt behind Yurka clanged in his head like an alarm bell. Every time she sighed, he shuddered in revulsion, asthough he were hearing not someone’s breath but someone’s nails running down a chalkboard. His nerves were as taut as violin strings:And now we can’t even talk ..., Yurka thought to himself. Behind his back, her low heels clacked. One step ... another ...She’s decided she can control us, has she?!A step ... another step ... and another.And now she’s following me around. She forbids me from even standing in front of him!A step. Another step. Another.No way. That’s enough!

Yurka couldn’t take it anymore. He jerked to a stop in the middle of the path. “What do you want from me?!” he shouted, unable to restrain himself.

“For you to stay away from him. He’s a good person, a Komsomol member, but you’re a freak and a creep! You’re ruining him!”

“Who, me? What about you? Who do you think you are? You don’t get to decide who he is or what he and I do!”

“It’s not my decision, it’s everyone’s! The whole camp knows what a good person he was until you got your hooks into him!”

“We’re friends! And friends—”

“That’s not friendship!” she screamed. “You’re leading him astray, you’re turning him into a psychopath, you’re seducing him! Yes, that’s right! You’re seducing him!”

---