Ch 9 Around the Campfire
The head-on cold wind howling at his ears reminded him of the giant waves resounding in the Yellow River. The never-ending snowfield of this foreign land flying past the horseshoes suddenly turned into the iris-blooming Huangtu plateau*. Kostya's body was a piece of cloud in the sky and his eyes like two stars. It was not Kostya; it was his dear Feiyun, given to him by his father before leaving them behind. All his little friends envied him for that great horse and a hero father.
Trees blurred in his vision—perhaps from the hastily ride. A thin layer of tears masked his eyes—perhaps from the stiff wind…
Why? He had always had strong self-control and never shed a tear when he's awake!
Ivan poured deep and heavy emotions into those sketches that upon seeing them—as long as one's heart had't turned entirely numb and callous—would elicit an inexpressive tenderness and melancholy, as though recalling the memory of one's childhood that was never to return. It was in the depth of sky and in the breadth of earth, radiating luminance in the beginning of human experience. Their life ahead could be very difficult, requiring a great amount of resilience, and this kind of emotion would provide solace.
"Vanya, who are you? You make me laugh and you make me cry…"
He pulled up the horse, lowered his body and buried his face in Kostya's majestic mane. As a child, whenever he was sad but didn't want to worry his mom, he would snuggle up to Feiyun like he did now.
"Let's go back, Kostya!"
On the way back, his emotion still couldn't quiet down that when he dismounted the horse, he almost tripped. Ivan was quick and caught him, then pat on his hands like Wang Yao did the other day under the Pushkin statue.
"Don't…" Wang Yao blushed and quickly looked around. Everyone was enjoying the rare time of relaxation—playing accordions, telling jokes or smoking. Nobody noticed them. Then he quickly followed, "Thank you."
"You don't say anything but deep inside I understand you! You Chinese are always so reticent and mysterious." Ivan lowered his head to look at those dark around eyes like his horse. "Do you know that in 1934, a great artist* had an exhibition in Moscow? He was Chinese. Those horses he created were so wonderful!" His usual proud eyes revealed a rare admiration. "I was only thirteen back then. After the exhibition, I fell in love with drawing and horses…and you Chinese people."
He said the last part after some time of consideration and he didn't even know why he said it. Wang Yao probably considered it as one of many sweet rubbish Ivan talked, so he smiled and replied that Chinese girls were very pretty and maybe Ivan could find himself a suitable one.
As Ivan walked with Wang Yao back to the infantry's campground, he couldn't help but to enjoy the dark-haired young man's nimble footsteps. When they first came to know each other in October, Ivan had noticed that Wang Yao always walked in this jovial and careful manner. He picked the path already treaded by someone else, as if afraid of breaking a flower or a stalk. Like Ivan, he always saved the cigarette paper from his ration and jot down diary like a real phenologist*—which day the cranes migrated to the south, which day the leaves started falling in abundance and which day Moscow region had its first snowfall…
"I'm glad. In some sense, we are peers." said the self-proclaimed young artist. "Biologist and artist are the same kind of people. They dedicate their passion to the glorious nature."
The campground lighted up golden campfire. In the depth of the vault of night where bluish clouds glowed, the fist star of winter night arose like a drop of silver water bead shivering on a blue onyx board.
They heard Toris with his slightly hoarse voice—this young man caught a cold recently—explaining to the soldiers around him about the names of stars, classification based on brightness, constellations they belonged to, etc. Toris studied astronomy in Moscow University before the war. He was so preoccupied that he didn't even notice Natasha, sitting by a campfire somewhere behind him, also listening to him talking about the secrets of the sky.
"If it's like you said, then Toris is also like one of our peers." Wang Yao thought of what Ivan just said and smiled, "Except that our field is the earth and his is in the sky."
"Natasha is more in his range. Natashenka wants to be a musician in the future and the sound of music will always fly to the sky!" Ivan looked at his sister by the campfire, seemingly to have buried herself in thoughts, and he slyly raised the corner of his mouth, "I don't oppose the idea of being his brother-in-law, but it depends on what Natasha thinks."
"Aha, so Ivan the Devil isn't that bad after all." Wang Yao was happy for Toris. He tilted his head, listening to Ivan in that child-like tone of voice dreaming about the future.
"After the victory, we must do all the things we love. Maybe the history book will remember us. By then, Natasha and Toris' names will be alongside the name of the sky. And us—we will be the worker of the earth." Ivan spread his arms towards the endless snowfield. "Let our names be equal to the earth!"
As if acknowledging Ivan's fantasy, the winter night sky—clear, deep and detached from the cold—slowly spread out its dark blue wings. Stars like glittering eyes glowing upon their youthful years, embraced this piece of land sealed in ice and snow with their long and deep gaze.
"Look at those young people." said the captain to the lieutenant who overheard the soldiers' conversations in their evening round. "The war just started. We lose people every day and they might lose their own lives tomorrow. But look what they are talking about—stars, music, plant, art and what kind of people they want to be when the war ends…"
"Therefore, the victory will belong to our people." smiled the middle-aged lieutenant who had fought all his life.
"Victory…" Wang Yao repeated this pleasant word in a low voice without noticing that his voice was somehow covered with a tender sadness. "Vanya! We must survive till the day of victory, for our wishes."
"You told me, Yao, that one day Moscow will celebrate victory and peace in bright lights. Do you remember? That was a month ago under the Pushkin statue…"
Just then, Wang Yao heard Toris' fluent tongue began to stutter. No doubt that he must've noticed Natasha, with her icy cold face, was also listening to him talking about stars. With Ivan's words, Wang Yao thought happily that once the spring came, Natasha's heart would melt along with all the ice and snow.
*Huangtu plateau: A loess plateau that covers a large area of the Yellow river.
*"A great artist": Ivan was referring to Xu Beihong who was known for his Chinese ink painting of horses.
*Phenology: The study of periodic plant and animal life cycle events and how these are influenced by seasonal and interannual variations in climate. (from Wikipedia)