Ch 2 Encounter

"The man singing must've been riding on a horse." Wang Yao slightly tilted his head, listening carefully to the vague singing voice coming through the white birch forest in a distance. "Perhaps from the cavalry."

"Why?" Stood beside him was Toris Lorinaitis, curiously looking at his friend's side face. Wang Yao's eyes were still staring at the distant forest. They saw the sunset ablazed like fire in the background of white birches, as if the entire autumn forest of swirling leaves had turned into a golden city. They wouldn't be surprised if a deity in full gold armors flew out of nowhere.

"A walking man could not have sung in such exuberance and melancholy. Only a rider could have a voice as expansive as the field itself."

Almost as to attest this young Chinese man's judgment, the singing voice mixed with clopping sound was approaching towards their infantry reconnaissance station. Out of the forest leaped out a vigorous figure. In the radiance of the autumn sunset, the rider and his horse were as if gold-casted. In a moment, Wang Yao thought that, perhaps, the rider did not really belong to this time of gunpowder and smoke, but befallen from the sky, riding across this glorious and melancholic field of Moscow suburb, just to sing a song…

Following the path treaded by soldiers' boots and military trucks, the golden rider came in front of them. His spur rang in high spirit. He casually wrapped the rein around the white birch tree next to him before striding towards the bomb shelter.

Cavalry soldier Ivan Braginsky was soon to enter the twentieth year of his life, in the difficult autumn of 1941 when Nazi Germany started an overwhelming offensive towards Moscow. At that time, neither side had seized complete control over the outskirt of Moscow; only autumn, commanding a troop of withered grass, yellow leaves and departing cranes, had taken over this vast field like heavenly-sent.

When Ivan came out from the bunker, he saw two soldiers from the infantry standing beside his white horse. The young man leaning against the white birch had flaxen hair and eyes as blue as the Baltic Sea, tenderly looking at his friend—a black-haired young man of eighteen-years of age at most. Compared to the angular facial structure typical to Caucasians, that Oriental face was giving out a gentle but powerful impression. His right hand was gently caressing the mane of the white horse, left hand fondly rubbing its nose, while he talked to the horse in low voice.

"He must know horses." Ivan thought, "Look at that tenderness of him! This guy could make a great model for a portrait. I really should make one if time allows." Without realizing, Ivan already took out his hands and moved in the air, drawing on an imaginary easel. "He's not tall; slim but solidly-built. With that lovely face, it all seems so fitting. The most surprising are his eyes…so deep and mysterious. To say that the entire universe has sinking into that pair of dark pupils is not an overstatement…"

"I see that you like Kostya." Ivan went up, patted the horse's back and smiled at the black-haired young man. The bright smile like an autumn day made his handsome face glowing with radiance. "And Kostya likes you too. He has a fierce temper. He wouldn't just let any stranger pet him."

Wang Yao scratched his black hair, exchanged a glance first with Toris standing by the tree, then with Ivan—three pairs of eyes all filled with smiles. Then he opened his mouth with a foreign accent, "Now that we have known each other…"

"'We—does that include me?" said Ivan, as if there was a happy sparkle hopping from one eye to the other, "I suppose you ride very well?"

A mocking voice jumped in before Wang Yao could reply, "What do you think? Comrade, I'm afraid that tiny little body would have fallen to the ground before he even climbed on the horseback."

Ivan did not like that staggering squad leader at first sight—from the mockery to the nonchalant attitude. Wang Yao's face blushed a little, but his friend Toris couldn't help but to speak up. "Sir, how could you say that to our unit's best scout…"

"The best scout? A Chinese? They say the Chinese doesn't like to fight." The squad leader spread his hands, shook his head and provocatively pushed Wang Yao's shoulder, "Otherwise, they wouldn't be so beaten up by the Japanese…"

The unexpected happened. The black-haired guy went up holding the squad leader's arm, the right hand grabbing his shoulder, and with both arms exerting towards one side of his body, the big guy was thrown over to the ground and rolling to the sand on the roadside, almost got himself trampled by a group of cavalry riders. The comical scene filled them with rapture. They caught the opportunity and all had a good laugh.

The squad leader got up in exasperation, was about to flip before he caught a glimpse of the company commander who came out of the bunker to welcome the riders, and then refrained his temper. "You are really a piece of work. Let's wait and see." He stumbled away.

"Sir, you should remember," Wang Yao's previous tender look had turned into steel, and before realizing, had started speaking in Chinese, "Chinese does not like to fight; but if someone dared to provoke…"

"He's really something. A true scout and a soldier!" Ivan didn't understand what Wang Yao had just said, but he looked at the young man with amaze and admiration, thinking to himself, "It seems that I was right. This guy is going to be a terrific model. A lovely face and figure is not enough for a painting's subject; but, a gentle heart and strong mind combined perfectly within him, manifested so implicitly. Wonderful…"

With a young man's naïve pride, he was pleased with himself on the insight in both art and friend-making. Ivan raised his eyes jovially, glancing at a crowd of white cranes heading south in the depth of sky. They spread their beautiful wings, leaving their distant songs to this vast piece of land outside of Moscow.