Ch 32 Parting

Only a quarter hour's time elasped since the head nurse's decision till the boarding onto the truck to Moscow. Within this short time, the two sat down, shoulder to shoulder, with one person's hand on the other's knee.

But with whose hand on whose knee? What exactly did they speak to each other? He couldn't remember anything. The sole memory this abrupt farewell left to Wang Yao was when the truck's engine began to roar, Ivan put his head out and said:

"…want to hug you like before…but the left hand…"

It could be his illusion. Since he was busy reminding Ivan to relax and behave that he didn't pay too much attention on what Ivan said. Those words were quickly covered by the soaring engine, and, along with the truck, disappeared onto the Moscow road. He was left alone at the medical tent; his heart at lost and dumbfounded.

Perhaps this abrupt parting was also his illusion. These days, he tried his best not to think about their separation, even though it sat on a day after the war's over. Before that day came, they would have no time to grieve but only time to love.

But everything changed over that one quarter hour's time. No, compared to this dreadful separation that indeed existed, the entire memory Ivan Braginsky left him felt more like a illusion. It was as though there had never been such a person in the world. Like there was never a person kissing him with a desperate passion; never a person caught him off guard and carried him in arms; never a person puffing hot air into his ears that made him tremble, and calling him "My little dark-eyed fool. My naughty little white horse." As if he never sat on a tree trunk, staring at the "И" and "Я" that someone had carved on the bark, and lost in thoughts.

"Vanya!" Like the day he sat on that piece of tree trunk, he called out wordlessly, "Vanya! Where are you? Have you really existed?"

Days had gone by on the front. The name list was updated every day. In the evening of February 2, when Wang Yao and Toris were gnawing black bread at the campfire, the company commander sat down on the other side and lit a cigarette. Those gloomy grey eyes that set far apart were looking at the two soldiers and, with a tone unfamiliar for a commander, he spoke:

"My boys, you don't know how good a scout you are! You've been with me since the war started and you two are the only ones left." He made a rude but non-malicious gesture to the crowd, "Those recruited ones don't look half heart-warming as you guys."

The first batch of infantry scouts assembled in the summer of 1941 was almost depleted entirely by February 1942. The only "old ones" left were Wang Yao and Toris Lorinaitis. "But maybe you two aren't going to stay either." As the word just came out, the commander got up and stepped away.

"Looks like the rumour is true." Fire reflected in Toris' blue eyes like two lonely lighthouses on the Baltic sea. "We will be transferred to somewhere else very soon…"

Wang Yao had heard about it over the last few days: their company would be rearranged to meet the need of current situation of this campaign. The most experienced scouts, i.e. Toris and him, would be moved to other troops. Consequently, even if Ivan could come back to their unit—the chance being very slim—they would never be able to fight together. The confirmed rumour didn't shock nor upset him, only leaving his heart with endless emptiness.

Maybe he should resort to something more optimistic: supposed that they would run into each other in the new troop? No, he'd better not think that way. Russia is vastly big. Once a person was lost, it would be almost impossible to find that person.

He hugged Toris' shoulder. Since the rumour came out, his friend's face was obviously slimming down, the nose became pointier, eyes bigger and on the corner of his mouth emerged some gloomy wrinkles.

"Toris, my good brother, we probably won't be assigned to the same place, right?"

"Tough." Toris replied, muffling his emotions. "You won't be hearing me talking about Natasha anymore."

"You will meet a lot of good friends, Toris!"

"Friends could be plenty, but there'll only be one lover…"

"…It would be hard to find once you lost that person…"

"Yao, how long do you think it takes to fall in love with someone?"

"It took Romeo and Juliet only one night."

"For me, it only took a glance. When I was ten years old, I passed by a girl in the park. I instantly felt that she was all the light and beauty of this world. And because of that, my good friend Feliks didn't talk to me for three days…" A faint smile rose up on Toris' face for the first time in this evening. "That glance has stayed in my memory. I spent nine years until last year when I finally recognized her again in the crowd. That's her—Natasha! It sounds so silly. Do you believe a story like this?"

Wang Yao held his friend's hands tighly:

"I believe it. I really do! You can always find that person when you set your mind to. Even if it's really, really hard…"

"And even many years had passed! I have found her once, and I will find her again. Yao, let's be happier. There will be a day of reunion!" His voice was so agitated that it didn't sound like him. "How much I love to live…...Let's bottom up for this!"

Two enamel cups clinked—the paints already peeled off. Two friends drank up the rationed vodka. Maybe they could drink more, but they felt drunk already.

"Goodbye, my friend, goodbye.

My love, you are in my heart.

It was preordained we should part

And be reunited by and by."

With a somewhat drunken voice, Toris read the last poem written by poet Sergei Esenin. Wang Yao linked their arms like brothers and listend without a word for quite a while, then he suddenly started to sing in Chinese.

When he was still going to school in his hometown, he learned and loved this song. And later in Yan'an, his new friends laughed at him for being sentimental—but the day before he set off to Soviet Russia, it was exactly this song that his little friends sang for him to send him off.

"Outside the pavillion, by the old pathway, green grass joining the sky.

Night wind brushing the willows, flute receded, the sun set behind distant mountains.

At the end of sky and the edge of earth is where my few friends scattered.

A cup of wine to drink up my remaining joy, the dream will be chilly at this parting night."

He didn't drink much, but was out of tune as if he was drunk. The vodka gradually welled up to his face and choked him into tears.

-TBC