On our last evening the comrade leader made a speech, thanking us for our hard work. Then he ordered us down to the river. We walked in little groups, unsure what would happen, filled with excitement tinged with dread. But what we came upon were dozens of little boats flopping in the water. We got in, six to a boat, me with Karolina and Beata and the boys from my hut, and we rowed down the river, not toward our spot but in the other direction, where the forests began. We formed a line of boats with Belka at the head. We saw the sun set far behind the fields we’d so carefully emptied that month, and along a narrow arm of the river that snaked its way into the forest. Tall pine trees began surrounding us, fragrant, solemn, and seemingly infinite. It was cooler there, and utterly dark, and soon the only light came from the faint moon above us, barely visible in between the canyon of the treetops and the distant light of Belka’s torch in front. We heard the sound of light paws on the forest floor and the cracking of branches. An owl hooted.

Then our convoy stopped, and we all got out. There was a clearing in the forest. A fire was made that threw light on the ground and warmed us in the cool of the night. Sausages were pierced on twigs. Someone took out a guitar and began to sing, and bit by bit that wild dark place turned intimate. The night was full of noise and crackling and talk. We stood by the fire and drank beer, and the boys talked about their trip to Romania. Farther off, in between some trees, I saw you standing with your group: the girl with the dark hair and Maksio Karowski. I observed you for a moment, your profile in the dark, the way you smoked your cigarette, holding it between thumb and index finger. Then I forced myself to look away.

Toward the end of the night I was sitting by the fire by myself, sipping a beer and staring into the flames. I was thinking about the rest of the summer, the rest of my life, and struggling to see anything. It seemed like the only thing that was certain was change itself, unstoppable and careless like fire eating wood. Then a shadow moved and you sat down on the log beside me. We didn’t say anything for a while. I felt weak. You looked exposed in the light of the flames, and even more handsome, with your red-and-black-checkered shirt, your eyes reflecting the fire. You looked around, as if to see whether anyone was listening. There were many conversations around us, couples dancing, others sitting on logs, singing along to the guitar.

“I’ve almost finished the book,” you finally said.

“And?” I tried to sound detached as my pulse began to quicken.