Notes

Chapter 3

Artyom sneezed, which attracted several interested glances. He smiled to indicate that everything was all right and continued listening to the story about the trip to Rome, told by Fedya. There were small bags under his eyes and he looked like a man who hadn't slept well. Usually, Dzyuba did not need much time to do this: he had been used to sleeping for five or six hours since childhood and being quite awake for the whole day. That same night he slept seven and a half, but he felt as if only a couple of hours had passed.

Artyom often woke up: not because of the sounds of the forest, not because of the insects, not because of Dzagoev's snoring, but because it was cold. Of course, this was not some Arctic frost, which caused many people to freeze their limbs off, but it was the most unpleasant low temperature when you sleep and wake up at night in order to pull a blanket over your bare skin. Of course, Artyom slept in long pants and a sweater along with a light blanket, but it did not save him: if he covered himself with it, his body, which was on the cold ground, froze, if he slept on it, the upper part and all its exposed areas froze. Dzyuba has never been distinguished by a weakened immune system and was usually rarely sick, but this time something went wrong, so this morning he woke up partially broken and with a stuffy nose.

"I'm fine, honestly," he repeated, feeling the warm palm of Pavel Ivanovich on his forehead.

"If you get sick, no one will carry you, so, son, come on." The forester put into Artyom's hand a mug with a hot liquid inside, which emitted a pleasant aroma of some berries. "I do not believe in your pills, drink tea."

"Thank you," Artyom nodded, smiling, and out of the corner of his eye he caught a strange look from Igor's side.

Akinfeev slept well that night: he was warm, nightmares did not bother him, his sleep was long and had a good effect on his tired body. When he woke up, all he saw in his handkerchief was Artyom's rucksack, and the thought flashed through his mind for a second as if Dzyuba had never been here at all. But, as it turned out, he came, even slept, judging by the flattened body of the grass, and somehow managed to get a runny nose. Igor was convinced of that when he was one of the first to hear that cute loud sneezing that woke up half of the sleeping camp.

"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, coming closer to Dzyuba and sitting down next to him. "You look tired."

"Couldn't sleep quickly in the new place, and a couple of buzzing mosquitoes was annoying," answered Artyom, taking a sip of tea. "I'll be all right for dinner."

"Don't get sick," said Igor, and in his words, Artyom caught the concern pleasant to his heart.

"Yes, captain," said Artyom, and then sneezed, confirming his words.

The second day included many adventures and consequences from careless actions. The forest is not a place for games, no matter how friendly it may look, so safety should always be kept in mind.

After extinguishing the fire, cleaning up all the debris under the forest ranger's watchful eye, the team left their first camp and headed in the right direction. Today's route was almost the same as the day before, but there were more tall trees whose crowns began to block the sunlight. There were more insects in the relative shade - they had to use sprays that worked and did not work. The forester just chuckled watching the guys' disgruntled faces as they swatted away the mosquitoes and gnats, but could not do anything: nature is nature.

After a few hours, they had to stop and change the route slightly, because they stumbled upon an area that soon threatened to turn into a swamp.

"This pond has been overgrown for a long time," said the forester enigmatically; "it has been covered with slime and wilt for summer already, and at the bottom, there is a huge pile of slimy mud; if you fall down you cannot get out. People say that when this happens, it means that the Water-Sprite is at the bottom, waiting for someone to come and visit him."

"It's nonsense," Smolov rolled his eyes, "you're grown-up, and you believe in all sorts of watermen and fairies?"

"What's not to believe, when even I manage to get lost in three pines?" Pavel Ivanovich squinted his eyes. "Well, try it, dip your hand into the pond and tell me that I'm wrong."

Fedya looked strangely in the direction of the pond. No, of course, he was not afraid, it was just that the water there was somehow too muddy, green mud all around, reeds growing on the sides and a lonely water lily somewhere in the middle, in a word - he did not want to get into it. But he wanted to prove to the old man that there were no evil spirits, so Smolov arched a skeptical eyebrow, rolled up his sleeve, and headed in the direction of the pond, to the cautionary words of Pavel Ivanovich. He stopped at the edge, sat down, and, after a little hesitation, put his hand over the murky water, and then slowly lowered it, disturbing the mud on the surface with his fingers.

"And?" he asked, after waiting five seconds. "Nothing."

"Well, wait a little! What's your hurry?" The forester was knowingly teasing. "Nothing happens that fast. Wiggle your fingers a little, let him know you're here."

Smolov complied with the stranger's request and began to wait for something unusual and strange. He sat with his hand dipped in the water for about a minute, but he did not feel anything. Anticipating his victory in an invented argument that only he knew about, Fedya was about to take his hand out but suddenly felt a touch on it. At first, he thought he was imagining things, but then, when the action was repeated, and also from different sides, Smolov cried out, pulled his hand out of the water, and made a few steps away from the pond.

"That... what?"

Pavel Ivanovich rolled with laughter.

"There, son," he said, wiping away the tears in the corners of his eyes and remembering the surprised look on the soccer player's face, "the watermen."

Smolov, glancing at the pond and seeing a few bubbles of air in the place where his hand had just been, shook off the moisture from his fingers and moved even farther away.

"To hell with the pond and the Watermen in it," he muttered.

No one dared to repeat Smolov's actions. Naturally, no one began to believe in evil spirits afterward, but they were already looking cautiously towards the pond covered with reeds. After catching his breath, Pavel Ivanovich took a sip of water and, in high spirits, led his group further into the forest.

***


Dzyuba sneezed. Again.

"Artyom," sounded tiredly from the side.

"I know," Dzyuba did not let his interlocutor finish.

"I don't care what you say, but I won't let you get ill," Akinfeev said confidently. "Tonight we are sleeping next to each other."

"Igor..." said Artyom softly.

"No objections from me," he cut off in response. Igor was really fed up with Artyom's constant sneezing. Not because of the annoying sound and the becoming annoying "bless you" from everyone in the team, but because a simple runny nose could escalate into something more serious. Dzyuba really shouldn't have been sick, because then all the pleasant experiences of the trip would only end with the memory of his own illness.

Igor noticed the strange look on Artyom's part and asked:

"What?"

"Here's the thing..." he hesitated and awkwardly scratched the back of his head.

He did not have to explain further, because Igor got it instantly. He stopped, pulled Artyom to him, and looking sternly into his eyes, he asked:

"Are you completely crazy?"

"I honestly accidentally forgot it," said Dzyuba innocently.

"And why couldn't you go back and get it?"

"Because I didn't leave it in the ranger's house, I left it in the hotel room."

"Fuck, Artyom..." exhaled Igor, and noticing the silly smile on the other man's face, asked again, "What?"

"Nothing," lied Dzyuba, amazed at his own childish joy that such a rare swear word was caused by him. This day should probably be circled in the calendar.

"So you'll sleep in my sack."

"I won't. Because then you'll get sick."

"So you'll sleep with me in the sack," said Igor mechanically, getting ready to come up with new suggestions.

"Okay," Artyom didn't even resist, agreeing in a jiffy.

And he wasn't lying to himself at all, regarding the pleasure that flared up inside him as the usual gratitude for the care shown by his friend.

***


Denis cried out in pain, pulling his hand from the hollow of the tree. He looked at his palm with a new red spot and began to swear at the bee that had managed to sting him.

"Don't shout," Pavel Ivanovich calmed down, looking at the man's hand. "We'll take the sting out now, and then the hand won't swell up."

"Swell?!"

"It won't swell," emphasized the forester and went to his rucksack. "Guys, wander about, we won't be here long," ordered Pavel Ivanovich, feeling like the kindergarten teacher, who sent the little children for a walk in the yard.

"And if it swells up?" Cheryshev did not relent.

"We'll pull it out in time - it won't swell," he repeated in reply. Pavel Ivanovich opened a small box and took out a pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass.

"It hurts," Denis stated. He always tolerated injuries on the field and in training, and, enduring the pain, played or continued practicing, but an ordinary and so atypical bee sting could knock him out in an instant because it was all new to him.

"Don't stick your hands where they're not wanted. You're lucky it was just one bee that stung you and not a whole swarm."

"Thanks a lot," Cheryshev muttered.

"Don't shake your hand," asked Pavel Ivanovich. He took tweezers in one hand and a magnifying glass in the other and looked closely at the bite.

"And if you can't pull it out, or the sting is broken?"

"What are you like a little one!" The forester picked up the tip of the bee sting and pulled it up. "Have you never been bitten?"

"Never bitten," Denis breathed out wearily.

"You can tell," smirked the forester, and tossed the sting aside. "It will be all right, it will be gone by the evening. It won't swell up."

Cheryshev nodded gratefully watching carefully as Pavel Ivanovich was treating his wound with hydrogen peroxide. He did it not for disinfection, but to pacify the excited soccer player.

"Was there really a Waterman in that pond?" he asked when the therapeutic procedures were over.

Pavel Ivanovich looked at Denis like an idiot.

"Yes, they were fish," he let it slip out. "The pond is old and overgrown, but it's full of fish, and there's not enough food, despite the piles of plants, so they throw themselves to their hands in hope that it's a steak from an earthworm. They're stupid."

"And Fedya doesn't need to know that, does he?"

"Yes," smiled Pavel Ivanovich, "you catch on fast."

Cheryshev mirrored his smile.

"All right, eagles," said the forester louder. "It's time to move out, we need to reach the second camp before sunset."

The time of a small break was over and the team set off again.

***


"Well," somehow awkwardly began Igor, "Who will climb first?"

"You?" said Artyom, sniffling his nose. "The ladies in the front-"

"If you finish, you'll sleep outside."

"Captains," he coughed, "captains first."

Igor climbed into his sleeping bag, trying to get comfortable. He did not put the pillow in advance, because it would only get in the way. He felt a little embarrassed, for sleeping next to and with a man - two very different things, but he was not going to retract his words, because he really cared about Artyom's health. Dzyuba kicked off his shoes, shook off a change of clothes from the dust invisible to the eye and, to lighten the mood, said: "Sorry for the intrusion." It really worked, because the phrase brought a smile to Igor's face and allowed him to relax a little.

Although the sleeping bag was roomy enough, it was only designed for one person. Or two, if they decided to sleep on top of each other instead of side by side. Artyom clung to Igor, slipping his arm under him because he had nowhere else to put it, and stuck his torso to the other man's chest, feeling his heart beating rapidly beneath it. His legs had to be intertwined not only at the ankles, but starting at the hips: pressing them together allowed him to win some space and get the opportunity to move somehow while he slept. Because Artyom was taller, Igor was breathing somewhere in the neck area and felt the most awkward because they had to not only cuddle but also touch almost all parts of the body to each other.

"Comfortable?" Artyom asked huskily, and Igor heard him swallow.

"Yes, and you?"

"It's fine. As long as it doesn't... make you uncomfortable, or I might actually sleep outside."

"It's okay," Igor assured him. "Let's go to sleep."

But it was definitely not possible to fall asleep right away: the awkwardness and unfamiliarity of the situation interfered. For the first twenty minutes both were afraid even to breathe, not just to move, but then Artyom, apparently really tired, sniffed his nose and began to tell some absurd stories and retellings of funny comedy movies. It helped both of them to relax, and Igor even picked up the thread of the conversation and said something back until, lulled by someone else's husky voice, he fell asleep.