“He’s busy then. That’s when he’s in the model airplane club breaking model planes.”
“A future construction engineer?”
“A current destruction engineer.”
“Oh, just like Alyosha Matveyev! Except Matveyev’s not the one who broke the lights. It was me. If it had been him, they’d have given him a reprimand! But I get threats!”
“Learn to do evil with an innocent smile on your face.”
“Good advice. Hard to believe it came from a Komsomol member.”
Volodya winked and said, “Okay, all joking aside: Palych warned me that tomorrow he and Olga Leonidovna are coming to rehearsal to see how the show is coming along. So, Yura, we’ve got to get that script finished today, even if it kills us. I’ve got a million things to do. Can you rewrite it without me? Does that work?”
“Sure. Sure I can,” said Yurka slowly.
“Then you should get away from this oral folk art over here.” Volodya indicated the girls, who were already re-wedding Yak and Tseepa, Yak-Tseedrak and Tseepa-Dreepa, and so on. Soon, Yurka knew, all the couples would start having children. “Go somewhere calmer, like your cabin. You’ll get more done where it’s quiet.”
“Okay, sounds good,” Yurka replied quickly.
“Yura, you’re a man among men! Thank you! You’re excused from rehearsal,” Volodya said, then turned and headed off, calling back over his shoulder, “Meet me at the merry-go-round this evening if you need anything ...”
“Volod! Hey, Volod!” Yurka caught up with him. “Wait. I just remembered: I convinced Ira to have a talk with you. Go find her today and make up with her, okay?”
“She didn’t think it was weird for you to be the one to ask her about it?” Volodya clearly didn’t like that. Although Volodya might have said thank you, instead of turning up his nose ...
“All I asked was for her not to avoid talking to you,” said Yurka, offended.
“Well ... okay ... ,” said Volodya, preoccupied. He looked around as though searching for Ira but found Masha instead. “Oh, Masha! Masha, hi! If you’re not busy, could you come over here?”
Masha raced over, smiling so happily, it was as though she’d been waiting all day for the invitation. She said eagerly, “Yes, yes, I’m not busy!” but then, self-conscious, blushed. Volodya nodded to Yurka, and he and Masha walked over to Lena so Volodya could transfer responsibility for the childrento her for a while. Everything would have been fine except for one gesture Volodya made that caught Yurka’s eye: as soon as Masha had run up to him, Volodya touched her shoulder in a way that was a little too friendly. The gesture was seemingly innocent and didn’t mean anything special, but still, Yurka thought with distaste,All he has to do is whistle and she comes running, perky as can be.In the meantime he, Yurka, had been tasked with rewriting the text all by himself, as though his presence would somehow bother Volodya. All this made Yurka a little unsettled. But as soon as he got to his cabin, Yurka sat down to get some work done, and his vague misgivings dissipated immediately: he really did work very well in the quiet. How had Volodya put it? Oh, right: he’d get more done.
CHAPTER TEN
AN EVENING OF KISSES
Yurka surprised himself by finishing the edits to Olezhka’s lines so quickly that he not only managed to make it to rehearsal, he arrived a few minutes early. Just knowing the script was now finished made him happy. He ran into the movie theater.
It was almost empty inside. There were only two people in the whole place, Masha and Volodya, because the rest of the cast was still spread all over camp with their shovels, brooms, and dustrags, doing their civic duty work. Waving the pages of the script over his head, Yurka ran up to the stage. Since he was concentrating on making sure he didn’t trip and send all 175 centimeters of him plummeting to the ground, he didn’t immediately realize that something in the movie theater had changed.
But then he stopped short, took a good look at the stage, and recoiled, stung by an unfamiliar sensation. Masha was onstage playing the piano while Volodya bent over her, listening. It was as though Yurka were waking up from a deep sleep. He listened for a moment, then all but dropped the script: Masha wasn’t playing the Moonlight Sonata. She was playing another melody, one that was far more beautiful, a melody Yurka loved very much but hated even more. The unfamiliar feeling grew even more painful as he recognized Tchaikovsky’s Lullaby through Masha’s labored, stiff rendering. The very song he and Volodya had discussed. The song Yurka had failed his exam with.
Masha was playing it wrong. Masha was playing hideously, as though she wasn’t even looking at the sheet music: first she’d go too fast in places where she should slow down; then she’d play too slow, and sometimes she’d just plain hit the wrong notes. The sounds went back and forth from blending in harmony to convulsing in cacophony. Yurka’s head started poundingimmediately from the caterwauling. But Volodya seemed to like it. He stood relaxed, elbows propped on the top of the piano, nodding in time with the music. Masha was very pleased with herself, occasionally tearing her eyes away from the keyboard to look at Volodya with lovelorn eyes and smile.
“Not bad, but you do need a little more practice,” said the artistic director gently when she finished. “We don’t have much time left. Do you think you can do it?”
Masha nodded. “I’ll start practicing right now, while you’re all busy rehearsing. Is that okay?”
“Of course,” replied Volodya.
“Ah-hem!” coughed Yurka as loudly as possible, to signal that he was present.
Volodya stood up straight as soon as he saw Yurka. “Oh, hello! Is the script ready? Did you bring it?”
“Yes,” replied Yurka coolly.
“Excellent. Oh, and I found a part for you.”
“Where’d you come up with it?”
