Andrea Bennett - Galina Petrovna's Three-Legged Dog Story

‘Not for me, sir,’ said Mitya in a low voice.

‘OK, we’ll get that ordered and then we’ll all be right as rain. So, you’re here about Volubchik too, this old rascal, eh? You can’t be fellow members at the Azov House of Culture Elderly Club, can you, so, you know, what’s the link?’

‘Yes, Mitya, what’s the link?’ Galia fixed him with a surprisingly beady eye and leant forward in her chair, the creaking of her thighs against the plastic-leather loud as thunder in the silent room. ‘You were the last person I was expecting to see here today.’

Mitya cleared his throat, and clasped his hands in his lap. ‘Well, Galina Petrovna, Kommandant and other Elderly Citizen, this week has been a very strange one, for me. You could say that it has been one of revelation, and on many levels.’

‘Don’t tell us you’ve found religion?’ broke in Zoya with a croak. ‘Because we won’t believe it. You’re bad, through and through. It’s a well-known fact.’

‘No, not religion as such, Elderly Citizen, but the things I thought were true, well, I can see now that they are not.’

‘This is fascinating,’ chipped in the Kommandant. ‘But young man – who are you?’

‘I am Mikhail Borisovich Plovkin, Kommandant, and I am a… a canine exterminator, by profession.’

The Kommandant recoiled slightly as Mitya said the words.

‘You want us to believe that you’ve changed, Mitya?’ Galia’s voice waivered as she addressed him. ‘But I saw your eyes when you came to my door. They were empty.’

‘Galina Petrovna, I am sorry for my conduct. I realize that I removed your loyal friend, and it was the wrong thing to do.’

‘That’s putting it mildly!’ said Zoya. ‘Were you born without emotions, young man?’

‘I don’t think so, Elderly Citizen, but somehow they got buried. But I can change.’ Mitya glanced at Katya with a half-smile. ‘I can change.’ He pushed the words out, hoarse and low. ‘I went to see Kulakov, to get the charges dropped, but he refused to cooperate. And now I—’ Mitya broke off with a jerk as Julia kicked open the door, a tray of tea cups in one hand, and a grey tabby cat in the other. She jumped into the room as the door slammed shut again behind her.

‘My goodness, Masha, you pick your moments. Ladies, gentleman, this is Tabby, the SIZO cat. Say hello, Tabby.’

The cat said nothing, flicking its tail viciously while swinging from Julia’s arm as she offered the tray of drinks around. ‘For the last time, my name is Julia.’

‘She’s right, her name is Julia,’ Zoya piped up, having taken a slurp from her lemon tea.

‘Julia, Julia, I am so sorry. You know what I’m like.’

‘Perhaps I should change my name to something more memorable, Kommandant?’

‘Oh Julia, you kill me. That’s funny. Anyway, was there something else?’

‘There is another visitor for Volubchik out in the waiting room, Kommandant. That’s why I’ve brought the cat in.’

‘Oh really? Wow, this is unbelievable. Is the visitor a dog or something – I don’t get the cat connection?’

‘No Kommandant, the visitor is—’

The door flew back on its hinges as again it was kicked open with considerable force.

‘Dyeh! Dyeh!’

The shrill and indecipherable shriek emanated from a tiny, frail figure, silhouetted in the doorway. The figure wore a huge, orange headscarf, and carried a sickle.

‘Mum!’ whispered Mitya.

‘Saints preserve us!’ whispered Galia.

‘OK, well, now the gang’s all here, maybe we can start again. Erm, Elderly Female Citizen, maybe you could put the sickle down for a moment, just on the coffee table, that’s fine – and take a seat over there: yes, on the beanbag maybe? It is very comfortable.’ Kommandant Krapivin took the situation in his stride and eyed the new old lady closely.

Baba Plovkina laid her sickle down as requested and, after a moment’s pause surveying the room, edged on to the sagging beanbag, but was obviously not comfortable. She could not rock properly while seated on a beanbag: it made her anxious. Her head rustled slightly under the bright orange headscarf as she worked her gums together, and her beady eyes darted from window to floor, to door, to her feet, to Mitya’s feet, and to the framed photograph of President Yeltsin on the wall opposite. All the while, her small, red-raw hands twisted a handkerchief in her lap. Her jaws moved, but she did not speak any decipherable words. And every time Mitya cleared his throat, she jumped slightly and glared at him for a moment.

‘Baba Plovkina, would you like a glass of water, or a cup of tea?’ Galia broke what had become a rather strained pause.

‘Nya!’ was Baba Plovkina’s response. Galia looked at Mitya, and caught his eye. She shrugged her shoulders, questioning. He hesitated, looked away and said firmly:

‘No water. She doesn’t drink water. Or tea. Ever.’

‘No tea?’ Galia’s eyes crinkled at the edges and she shook her head slightly. Katya watched Mitya looking at the old lady, and tried to spot a family resemblance between the two. There was none. He didn’t return her gaze: he watched his mother for a few moments, and then returned his eyes to the opposite window, refusing to peel them away from the bright light of the garden and the grapevines. Katya returned her gaze to the old lady, and squinted slightly. Baba Plovkina caught her stare.

‘Shtrumpeth!’ she called out clearly, tiny eyes wide and glittering, before snapping her jaws shut and again fastening her eyes on the framed photo of President Yeltsin.

Katya laughed, the sound tinkling like a bell in the still air, and Mitya closed his eyes.

‘Mother, please…’

Kommandant Krapivin sat down behind his desk and swivelled gently from side to side on his chair.

‘Well, we’re all a little quiet suddenly, aren’t we? Don’t let the SIZO get you down! This is the Sunshine SIZO, did I tell you? Don’t let it intimidate you. Be at ease. Come on, everybody, how about a big breath in, and a big breath out, all together one-two-three.’

And the Kommandant led the group in a big breath in, and a big breath out.

‘There, is that better? Now, I think you all know who I am, but I’m not sure you all know each other, so maybe we could go around the room and all introduce ourselves. You know, a bit of an ice-breaker? I find it really helps break down barriers…’

‘Yeah, that sounds good,’ chirruped Katya, as the other members of the group either stared at the floor or glared at her. ‘Sometimes people can be so closed. It will help us all to trust each other.’

‘But, Katya—’ Mitya began.

‘Oh, good! Right, well, shall I start?’ the Kommandant didn’t need any further encouragement. ‘My name is Sasha Krapivin. I’m from Moscow, and when I was little, I wanted to join the circus! OK, you go next.’

He indicated Katya to go next.

‘OK. Well, my name is Katya, I’m from Azov, and I have a psychological condition that makes me lie a lot.’ Katya giggled slightly, and then went quiet and cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry, that was a lie. I don’t know why I said it. I’m nervous. I can’t think of anything interesting about me that nobody knows.’

‘Oh, you must do! Try harder!’

‘OK. Um, well… I once drank human pee by accident.’

This time a murmur went round the room.

‘Oh really? How fascinating, you must tell us more, but not now. We have to move on. Next, you, er, Elderly Sickle Lady?’

‘Yevgeniya Kirpichovna Plovkina, and I am that one’s mother, for my sins,’ and she pointed a crooked finger in Mitya’s direction.

‘And something nobody knows about you, Yevgeniya Kirpichovna,’ prompted the Kommandant softly.