Day Watch

"Okay, Alyoshka, begin!" Igor said in a jolly voice and threw a box of matches to a thickset boy with blond hair. The boy caught it deftly, then crawled up to the campfire on all fours and sat down with his legs crossed. It was like the preparations for some sacred ritual.

The boy took a match out of the box with meticulous precision, cupped his hands like an inveterate smoker, and struck it. He leaned over toward the fire. It didn't look as if there was any paper there to start the blaze, just pine needles and small chips of wood. Everybody held their breath.

It was a ridiculous performance. But even so, I was curious to see if the little pyromaniac would manage to light the camp-fire with one match or not.

He did. The first tongue of flame flickered in the gathering gloom. It was greeted with universal howling and squealing, as if the campfire were surrounded by a tribe of primordial humans who were freezing in the bitterly cold weather.

"Well done!" Igor reached out and shook the boy's hand and then immediately ruffled his hair with a smile. "You'll be our campfire monitor."

Alyoshka's face expressed immense pride.

Five minutes later the campfire was already blazing and the children had settled down a bit. All around they were chattering, laughing, and whispering, ru

Galina was besieged by her charges too. I was the only one sitting there like a total fool in the middle of the jolly crowd, giving irrelevant answers to the girls' questions, laughing belatedly when they did, and turning my eyes away the moment Igor looked in my direction.

Fool! What a fool I am! The last thing I need is to fall in love for real with a human being.

I failed to look away yet again and Igor smiled at me. He reached out and picked up a guitar off the grass. The silence spread out from him in a wave-the children nudged each other, stopped talking, and prepared to listen with a strange, affected sort of attention. I suddenly wished desperately that he would sing some kind of stupid nonsense. Maybe some old-time Young Pioneer song about potatoes roasted in the fire, the sea, the Pioneer camp, firm friendship, and the kids' readiness to enjoy themselves and to study. Anything that would dispel this idiotic enchantment, anything to stop me inventing all sorts of nonsense and seeing imaginary positive qualities in that handsome physical shell.

When Igor started to play, I realized I was done for. He could play the instrument. The melody wasn't all that complicated, but it was beautiful, and he didn't hit any wrong notes.

And then he began to sing:

Two boys saw a heavenly angel

Come flying into their attic.

Without telling anyone, the boys

Went rushing up the fire stairs…

Two boys climbed in through the window,

It was dusty, deserted and dark,

But just four steps away from the corner

A pair of white wings lay on the floor…

Yes, boys, oh yes!

Angels are not forever,

But stealing is a sin,

There aren't enough wings for everyone…

They want to soar up into the sky,

They only have to put on the wings…

But they didn't dare, they had been taught well,

They knew what was right, what was wrong.

This wasn't a song for children. Of course they listened to it quite attentively, but at that moment you could have sung them a math textbook set to guitar music-anything would have been good enough. A campfire in the evening, with your favorite camp leader and his guitar-in a situation like that children will like anything.

But I realized Igor was singing for me. Even if he was looking into the flames the entire time, even if the song wasn't about love, even if we'd barely spoken two words to each other. It was as if he had sensed my expectations-and decided to refute them. Maybe that was what it was, I thought-many people possess powerful intuition, even if they're not Others.

Two boys grew up and they followed

Different paths through the maze of life.

One was a bandit and one was a cop,

And both of them regretted it…

Yes boys, oh yes!

Angels are not forever.

But stealing is a sin,

There aren't enough wings for everyone…

He looked at me and smiled. His fingers ran quietly across the strings again and he repeated quietly:

There aren't enough wings for everyone…

The kids started kicking up a din.

They actually seemed to like the song, though I couldn't imagine what they could have understood in it. Maybe they were amused by the phrase about "right and wrong," or maybe in their little minds they imagined a real adventure-climbing into an attic that an angel had flown into… But I thought the song fitted the Others-Dark Ones and Light Ones.

It was a good song. Just not quite right about one thing. The boy who would later join our side would have put on the wings. Or at least tried them on. Because for us the idea of "right and wrong" doesn't exist.

"That's a good song. But it's very serious," said Galina. "Did you write it?"

Igor laughed and shook his head: "No, afraid not. It's by Yulu Burkin. Not a very well-known singer, unfortunately."

"Igor, could you play… one of our songs?" Galina was flirting with him for all she was worth. The stupid fool…

"Sure!" Igor agreed.

He strummed the strings, striking up a jolly rhythm, and started singing simple-mindedly all about "the very, very best camp of songs and friends in all the world."

That was what they wanted. From the second couplet everybody started joining in, because it was no problem to guess what the next word would be. When they sang about the sea, and how you had to go ru

Well, well. Faithful devotees of the chicken god! Maybe someone in Artek had a special job-producing stones with holes in them? Some drunk who never shaved, sitting in a workshop somewhere, drilling holes in stones all day long and scattering them on the beach in the evening to delight all the kids. If not, an opportunity had clearly been missed.

Igor appeared to be enjoying himself as much as the kids. He sang the song enthusiastically, except that… all the enthusiasm was for the children. Igor was amusing them, but he really felt nothing for the song one way or the other.

I relaxed.

At the very least he liked the look of me.

And I liked the look of him too.

Igor sang another couple of songs. Then Galina took over the guitar and coerced it into playing-the instrument resisted as hard as it could, flatly refusing to produce any normal sounds, but Galina still sang "Let's all hold hands, my friends" and yet another Young Pioneer song. Even the boy from the fourth brigade, who was barely strong enough to press down the metal strings, played better than she did.

Then Igor clapped his hands. "All right! Now we'll put the fire out and go for supper!"