Andrey Kurkov - The Gardener from Ochakov

The gate creaked. Iosip went out into the street, spat on the ground and walked away. The front door closed and silence descended once again. Igor and Vanya emerged from under the tree. Vanya picked an apple and bit into it. Igor glared at him.

‘What?’ whispered Vanya. ‘They’ve gone now, and I’m hungry!’

‘Do you know that Iosip chap?’ asked Igor.

Vanya shook his head.

‘What about the one who was smoking?’

‘That was Fima Chagin.’

‘Fima Chagin?’ repeated Igor. ‘But he’s so young.’

‘Why shouldn’t he be?’ Vanya shrugged.

‘Anyway, what did you have to tell me?’ asked Igor, referring to the comment Vanya had made when they’d been standing in front of the wine factory.

‘Oh yes, my mother said that Fima’s having an affair with Red Valya! She said he’s always calling on her at the market.’

‘Who’s Red Valya?’

‘She works in the fish section at the market. Everyone knows Red Valya.’

‘What does she sell?’ asked Igor.

‘Fish, of course. What else do you think they sell in the fish section? Her husband’s a fisherman. He catches it, and she sells it.’

‘Will you point her out to me?’

‘There’s no need. You can’t miss her. You’ll hear her from a hundred paces.’

‘All right,’ nodded Igor. ‘Let’s go back and get some sleep. Tomorrow morning we’re going to the market.’

Igor took off the peaked cap and the belt with the holster then lay down fully dressed on the ancient sofa, acutely aware of its invisible springs. He pulled the blanket up over himself. His body was exhausted and craving sleep, but his agitated mind was wide awake. Igor’s main concern was that if he fell asleep he would wake up in his own comfortable bed in Irpen, thereby scuppering his chances of finding out more or of ever setting eyes on Red Valya. What then? Would he have to drink brandy again and take another nocturnal stroll? Igor realised that he didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter, that at some point he would have to surrender to sleep whether he liked it or not. A plan was already in place for the following day, and as long as he didn’t drive himself mad trying to reconcile the real and parallel worlds then there was still a chance that he would make it to the market in Ochakov in 1957. If this plan came to fruition, then he would even be able to buy something there! He felt both pockets of the breeches, which bulged agreeably with the bundles of banknotes. Each individual note was big enough to twist into a perfect paper bag for carrying sunflower seeds.

A CREAKING, CLANGING noise started up outside the window just before 6 a.m. the following morning. Igor opened his eyes and immediately looked around to see where he was. His eyes took in the high wooden back of the sofa above him, the mirror, the shelves and the black leatherette that was fastened to the sides of the sofa.

Igor was just contemplating the two porcelain figurines of children that stood on the shelves when the door opened and Vanya came in, already dressed. He was splashing cologne onto his cheeks.

‘Good morning!’ he greeted Igor brightly. ‘So, are you ready to go to the market?’

Igor threw off the blanket and stood up. He brushed out the creases in the uniform and pulled on the boots, which were standing on the wooden floor next to the bed.

‘Where’s the toilet?’ he asked Vanya.

‘Outside, at the back of the house.’

‘And the washroom?’

‘That’s outside too, just round the corner. There’s a sink on the wall of the shed.’

Igor cleared his throat and glanced at the peaked cap.

‘Where’s your mother?’ he asked.

‘She’s already at the market. People get up early here. They’re at work by six… and drunk by three,’ Vanya answered with a grin.

Emboldened by the knowledge that there was no one else at home, Igor went out into the yard and immediately spotted the sink. He washed his hands and face. The sour taste of the wine from the night before lingered on his tongue. Igor rinsed his mouth out with water, but the sour taste refused to go away. He looked at the little wooden shelf that was fixed to the wall of the shed next to the sink. It held two slivers of soap, a small tin box and several frayed toothbrushes, but there was no toothpaste.

Igor moved the toothbrushes to check underneath them, but there was definitely no toothpaste. He opened the tin box. It was full of white powder.

‘Is this what they use instead?’ he wondered, vaguely recalling something he’d once heard about people in the olden days cleaning their teeth with powder rather than paste.

Igor selected the least frayed toothbrush, rinsed it under the tap and stuck it into the powder. When he took it out, the brush felt noticeably heavier. He brought it to his mouth and was surprised to discover that the powder didn’t taste of anything at all. He brushed his teeth, rinsed his mouth out again and noticed that the wine taste had disappeared. Not the slightest trace remained.

‘I’ve made you some cocoa,’ said Vanya, meeting him in the hallway with a white enamel mug. ‘Here.’

The cocoa was far too sweet. Igor sat down with the mug at the kitchen table and looked out of the window, which was hung with a fine lace curtain. The delicate fabric featured exactly the same pattern as the cloth – either a serviette or a tablecloth, Igor couldn’t tell – that was arranged neatly over the large radio on top of the chest of drawers.

‘I, uh…’ Vanya sat down opposite him. He looked like he was wrestling with his thoughts. ‘You’ll have to go to the market on your own. If I went with you… well, it wouldn’t look good. Our police officers only accompany people to the market when they’ve been robbed. They go there to try and recover the stolen property.’

‘But how will I recognise Red Valya?’

‘Easy,’ Vanya Samokhin waved his hand. ‘You can’t miss her. She’s the only redhead there. You’ll hear her first, and then you’ll see her!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Her voice is loud and distinctive,’ explained Vanya. ‘Perfect for the market.’

‘How will I find my way back? Have you got a map?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘A map of Ochakov, showing the streets and the market, so I can find your house.’

‘There aren’t any maps of Ochakov. You must know about the military aircraft, and the port… It’s all very hush-hush. We’re not allowed maps.’

‘All right, in that case draw me a map showing the way to the market, and I’ll work it out from there.’

‘I can do that,’ nodded Vanya. He fetched the exercise book and a pencil and busied himself with an elaborate sketch.

‘Keep it simple, so I can understand it,’ remarked Igor.

‘All right,’ murmured Vanya, without looking up.

When he eventually finished his sketch, he carefully tore the page from the exercise book and passed it to Igor. ‘There, you see… that’s my house, there’s the street… you have to go past the park and turn left, then keep going straight and you’re there.’

‘Write down your address, just in case,’ said Igor.

Vanya took the piece of paper, added his address and gave it back. Igor studied the map and found it reasonably comprehensible. He finished his cocoa and looked at Vanya.

‘Are you going to stay at home?’ he asked.

‘I’m on the second shift today. I’ll be at home till midday, then at the factory.’

‘What do you actually do there, apart from steal wine?’ Igor asked with a smile.

‘I’m a general worker,’ said Vanya, lowering his eyes. ‘They’re going to send me to the Nikolaev College of Trade and Industry in the spring, to study wine-making. When I graduate, I’ll be a wine technologist.’