浴火鸟

Sergey Festisov

Love is the only passion that is repaid with the same coins it mints.

——Stendhal

With my heart trembling, I keep returning to those days and remembering him—my joy, my sorrow, my sweet torture.

My Roman.

The March air was cold and dank. We repeatedly had to cancel the flights, and the days dragged on like the never-ending freight cars of a train. The base was wrought with confusion. It was a long drive to the nearest town, and the base was surrounded by the Finns and the Swedes. But I almost didn't notice any of it. Roman and I were getting to know each other and discovering the beauty of nature (as much as we could in the given circumstances). Once our working day was over, we had dinner and then immediately headed off to the surrounding fields and woods to forget about everything else. Even if the spring was not glorious, it was still spring. Our hearts and souls longed for the mystery and newness of the season that had just started both in ourselves and in nature.

And again I keep talking in circles...Back then we could not understand what was tormenting us and not letting us enjoy the coming of spring. We resembled millions of young lovers who felt the same way, but we were still unaware of it. Inside us something was stirring and building. We felt our hearts bubbling like the spring sap trapped inside the birch trees.

The resolution of these feelings was once again unexpected.

During one of our walks (it was still raining, and even the most op timistic soldiers had lost all hope, but not us), we started a silly game of outstaring each other without blinking or smiling. (My God! We were like little kids.) How could I not smile looking at his handsome face? We got so carried away that we didn't notice how far we had gone. It was time to return, but we had no strength to go back. In front of us stood an abandoned barn, and it became our shelter. The game still continued, but then, all of a sudden, because of our tiredness or maybe because of something else, we both started laughing.

Sitting on a pile of old hay, we kept laughing for at least five minutes.

Tears started running down my face. I wanted to say something but couldn't, just like Roman.

Once we stopped laughing, I helplessly laid my head on his shoulder. I couldn't see his eyes, but I felt that something was about to happen. When I raised my head, I knew I was not mistaken. His clear-blue eyes, surrounded by a thousand beautiful eyelashes, were trying to ask me something...oh no...It was no longer a game. The game was long forgotten. His eyes burned with youth and passion, awareness and love. He held me in his arms for a moment longer and then, still not saying anything, carefully and gently, almost without touching, laid me down next to him. And then, just like the sap that finally finds release from the trunk of the tree where it's imprisoned, he moaned in delight and covered me with kisses...

I thought I would choke, but I had no strength or desire to stop him. I was floating on cloud nine—no, higher! And he, used to heights and flying, was taking me higher and farther away from the ground.

The spring had finally started!