Hrynko and Olenka in the Barn

Olenka saw Hrynko without his trousers for the first time and froze. She looked down. Then into his eyes. Then down again. - Mother of mercy... - What? She covered her mouth with her hand, but her shoulders were already shaking with laughter. - Don't laugh. - I'm not laughing. - You are laughing. - Because you're standing there so solemn, as if it's about to go off courting all by itself. Hrynko reached for his trousers. Olenka grabbed his hand. - I didn't say get dressed.

They had kissed before. More than once. But the shirts had always stayed where they were. That night, though, in the old barn, Olenka's palm slid under Hrynko's linen for the first time and came to rest flat on his damp back. He actually stopped kissing her. - What? - Nothing. In truth, it was everything. Her fingers were cool. His skin hot. Her hair tickled his cheek. She smelled of an August night, of apples, of sweat after the dancing.

And suddenly it was too much for one head to hold. Hrynko reached for the tie on her shirt. Once. Twice. His fingers wouldn't obey. Olenka bore it. Then she couldn't anymore: - Are you undressing me or lashing a knot on a cart? - Quiet. - I've been quiet for a whole eternity. She untied the string herself. And right then the courage went off somewhere. She held the shirt with her fingers at her chest and looked at him. Hrynko was silent too. Slowly she let go of the cloth.

The shirt slipped from her shoulders. Hrynko forgot how to swallow. Until then a woman's breasts had existed somewhere in the lads' talk, in fantasies, in stray glances down by the river. And now they were right in front of him. Warm. Alive. So close he could see them rise ever so slightly with her breathing. Olenka held his gaze for a few seconds. Then covered herself with her arms. - Well? - What? - Say something at least. He breathed out: - I beg you, don't cover them.

And she slowly lowered her arms. Touching turned out to be more frightening than looking. Hrynko raised his palm and stopped. Olenka glanced at him, took him by the wrist, and pressed his hand to herself. He quietly drew in air. Her skin was softer than he had imagined. Warmer. And at the simple movement of her body under his palm, his head went completely empty. Olenka noticed. - Are you breathing? - I think so. - Good. I was starting to worry.

Then it was his turn to undress. Olenka watched without laughing now. His shoulders. His chest. His stomach. Her gaze moved lower, and Hrynko felt it almost like a touch. When there was no clothing left between them, she looked down again. Longer this time. Hrynko suddenly felt a strange thing: he liked terribly that she was looking. Olenka blushed. - What? - Nothing. - Now you're the one saying "nothing". She stepped closer. - I'm looking.

They stood naked in the middle of the old barn and suddenly didn't know what to do with their hands. Then the hands sorted it out on their own. Her fingers traveled over his shoulders and back. His palm slid over her waist, her belly, her thigh. Olenka shivered. He snatched his hand away at once. She put it back. - I didn't ask you to take it away. After that the world became too detailed. He could hear her breathing. The rustle of the hay. The creak of a board.

His own heart. And every centimeter of skin that another person was touching. When they lay down, Hrynko suddenly turned serious. So did Olenka. Everything they had been laughing at a minute before vanished somewhere. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He kissed her more slowly. Then once more. When it started to hurt her, she said quietly: - Stop. Hrynko jerked back so fast you'd think he'd been jabbed with a pitchfork. Olenka grabbed his shoulder. - I said "stop".

Not "run". - You're sure? She nodded. - Just don't rush. Not rushing turned out to be harder than either of them expected. A hand in the wrong place. Then a knee. Then the hay prickling. And then Hrynko banged his elbow on a board so hard the whole barn boomed. Olenka burst out laughing right into his neck. - Don't laugh. - I'm not laughing at you. - At who, then? She pressed herself even closer. - At us. And after that everything suddenly got simpler.

They stopped trying to make it beautiful. They only listened to each other. Afterwards Hrynko would tell how the world seemed to shrink down to Olenka's face. To her fingers on his back. To the hot breath near his lips. To the smell of her hair. The cricket by the wall vanished somewhere. The barn vanished. Even his own thoughts vanished. And then it all came back at once. The hay. The night. Cold air on wet skin. Olenka beside him, disheveled and flushed.

She was looking at him and smiling just as foolishly as he was smiling at her. They lay in silence. Hrynko felt that after such a thing a man is obliged to say something big. About love. About fate. Maybe about the stars. He spent a long time gathering the words. - I've got hay up my backside. Olenka was silent for a second. Then she laughed so hard she nearly fell off him. - Romantic. She pulled the straw out. - Now? - Now I love you even more. - Because of a straw?

- Because of the rescue. And then she laid her head on his chest. And big words weren't needed anymore. In the morning they walked out barefoot into the dew. The village was the same as ever. A rooster was tearing its throat out. Palazhka was scolding a goose. A bucket clanged by the well. But it seemed to Hrynko that someone had wound the world up a notch overnight. The grass smelled stronger. The sky was bluer. Olenka's hand in his weighed more than the whole village.

Toward evening he came into my inn. - Kvas. I poured. There was a straw sticking out from behind his ear. - Good night, was it? Hrynko blushed. Then smiled. - Ivan... you can't even imagine. I glanced at the straw. - Oh, of course. How could I ever.