Page 43 of Pioneer Summer
“What are you doing?” Volodya asked in surprise.
“Everything’s fine. Help me. Part the reeds in front of us, just don’t cut yourself.”
The bottom of the boat scraped in the shallows as they passed through the patch of reeds. A small pool of water opened up before them, thickly carpeted in duckweed and water lilies. The river’s current didn’t flow into the pool, so the water was still, which allowed the river flora to flourish. Yurka’s oars got tangled up in the plants, and he had to stop every so often to pull them in and clean off the chunks of slimy algae clinging to them. But he knew this place, and he knew why he’d brought Volodya here. It wasworth it, regardless of the swampy water’s particular odor and the clouds of buzzing mosquitoes.
Pond skaters darted along the water’s surface. A deafening croaking arose from the reeds. The pond was covered in the usual yellow water lilies. A few especially pushy frogs had taken their seats right on the water lilies’ waxy leaves and were observing the boat as it floated past. Yurka scanned the perimeter of the pond with great attention.
“Look! A heron!” he shouted, gesturing toward a part of shore that was thickly covered in reeds.
“Where?” Volodya poked the bridge of his glasses and squinted in the direction Yurka had indicated.
“It’s right there. It blends in really well, the little stinker! You can barely tell it apart from the reeds.” Yurka took hold of his hand, held it out toward a wall of reddish reeds with a long bill sticking out of it, and ordered, “Point your finger!”
Volodya obediently pointed his index finger, and Yurka took hold of his hand, fine-tuning the direction he was pointing.
“Oh, I see it!” Volodya exclaimed happily. “Would you look at that!”
“What, haven’t you seen one before?”
Volodya shook his head. “Nope. What a funny little guy, standing there on one leg! It’s pretending it’s not even there.”
As Volodya watched the heron, Yurka caught himself musing that he was still holding on to Volodya’s hand, but he really didn’t want to let go of it ... And come to think of it, Volodya wasn’t pulling his hand away, either ... But eventually Yurka had to let go so he could take up the oars again and guide the boat farther in and closer to shore.
“Here we are,” he announced. “Look how pretty it is here.” Yurka nodded down at the water. He’d turned the boat so it sat lengthwise in the pool, and now he let go of the oars and relaxed, rolling his shoulders.
Everywhere around them, flowers rocked gently on the water. Instead of the common yellow lilies, these were snow-white; dozens of them, with thick, yellow middles like egg yolks, floating among the dark green burdock-like leaves. Above them, pearly blue dragonflies alternated between hovering motionlessly and darting quickly to and fro. Volodya admired thepond, his gaze first taking in the flowers, then following the dragonflies. Meanwhile, Yurka admired him. Watching the tender smile that played on Volodya’s lips, Yurka knew he’d gladly submit to the biting mosquitoes and row here a hundred times, against the current, just to see that same delight on Volodya’s face again.
“White water lilies! They’re amazing!” Volodya leaned over the edge of the boat and brushed his fingertips against the white petals, as tenderly and reverently as though he were touching something fragile and precious. “There’s so many of them ... they’re beautiful. Like the one Thumbelina was born in.”
Yurka jumped up from his seat, making the boat rock dangerously under him. “Shall we pick one?” he suggested. He reached toward the flower, grasped the stem right underneath the flower head, and was about to pull, but Volodya slapped his wrist. “Stop that right now! Don’t you know those flowers are listed in the Red Book?”
Yurka blinked, startled, and peered at Volodya.
“That’s why you had to look for them so long,” Volodya continued his lecture. “People just float by and pick them, but it turns out these water lilies are an endangered species! And there’s no point picking them anyway, actually: they’re lilies, water plants, they wilt as soon as you pull them out of the water. They crumple up and die right in your hand. You can’t plant them in a pot, or cut them and put them in a vase like they were roses or something.”
“Okay, okay.” Yurka stretched his hands out apologetically in front of him, demonstrating that, see, they were empty, they hadn’t picked anything or killed anything. “I just wanted to give you one. To remember this by.”
“I’m going to remember it anyway. Thank you. It was definitely worth coming out here.”
They sat in the boat for a little while longer, admiring the flowers. Yurka listened to the croaking of the frogs and the buzzing of the pearlescent dragonflies and thought about how awfully tired he was of living in silence. Notwithstanding his sad thoughts, it was so calm and easy for him here that he felt like staying until dark, but Volodya looked at his watch and said, with some alarm: “It’s already been an hour. We probably won’t have time to see the bas-relief today, will we?”
“We could get there okay, but it’s a little bit of a hike from the shore to the bas-relief ...”
“Too bad.” Volodya heaved a sad sigh. “So now what? Turn around and head back?”
“Up to you. The bugle won’t be for another half hour.”
“Then maybe let’s sit in the shade, if only for ten minutes? There’s some shade over there by the shore, see?”
“But if we row over there, we’ll hurt the lilies ... ,” said Yurka sadly. He wouldn’t’ve minded cooling off, either, since his whole body was burning up inside from the heat.
Yurka expected Volodya to bow to circumstance—or, rather, to the heat—and say they were heading back, but all of a sudden Volodya lit up and exclaimed, his eyes flashing: “Hey, Yur, why don’t we take a dip? Is there anywhere around here to get in the water? It’s a river; there’s got to be someplace ...”
Yurka considered it. He thought he remembered a spot out past the bend in the river. Calling it a beach would have been overkill, but it was a place where they could tie up the boat. There was just one problem: he didn’t have his swimsuit with him.
“I don’t have anything to swim in, Volod. My swimsuit’s back in the cabin, and my underwear ...” Yurka faltered. Boxers. Swimming in them would result in completely soaked shorts afterward. “I mean ... I don’t want to go commando after this.”
“Don’t go commando in your shorts! Go commando in the river!” said Volodya with a wink. He began unbuttoning his shirt in anticipation even though the two of them hadn’t begun heading for shore yet. “Why not? There’s not a single girl for a kilometer around. Nobody’ll see us.”
