Andrey Kurkov - The Gardener from Ochakov

‘How come?’ asked Igor, surprised. ‘Did you take it out of someone’s account?’

‘Of course not! It was all above board. I hacked into some rich guy’s email account and copied his email correspondence with his lover, and then sold it to his wife. She was delighted.’

Igor raised his eyebrows. ‘Delighted?’ he repeated.

‘Well, not delighted, obviously, but… Well, anyway, she wasn’t disappointed, that’s for sure! She’s going to take him to the cleaners. He’ll definitely be paying for his bit on the side.’

A slender female hand placed the long-awaited vodka shot on the table in front of Igor, then a large glass of beer next to it. The light in the bar made the beer glow an appetising amber colour. Igor knocked back his shot and chased it with a gulp of beer. There was a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, which was both pleasant and refreshing.

‘Excuse me… Another double, please!’ he called, smiling as he caught the waitress’s eye. She brought it straight over.

‘Hey, slow down, old man! At least have something to eat,’ said Kolyan, nodding at the saucer of salted croutons on the table.

Igor took a handful and started crunching them noisily between his teeth.

‘You won’t believe what I’m about to tell you,’ he said, casting a sly glance at his friend.

He thought about the way Kolyan had made him wait before showing him the printout of Stepan’s tattoo.

‘Why, what is it?’

‘No, you’ll never believe it… Oh, I’ll tell you later,’ continued Igor, deliberately taunting his friend. ‘After all, you don’t believe in fairy tales.’

‘Depends what kind… Come on, tell me.’ Kolyan took a large swig of beer. ‘Don’t keep me hanging on!’

‘Remember I got drunk at your birthday, in the Petrovich club?’

‘How could I forget?!’

‘Right, well, I wasn’t actually there at all,’ declared Igor. ‘I was in Ochakov… in 1957!’

Kolyan looked at the two empty shot glasses. ‘Doesn’t take much, does it?’ he grinned.

Igor sighed heavily. ‘Can you remember what I was wearing?’ he asked.

Kolyan thought about it. ‘I’d had a fair amount myself, you know… Birthday boy’s prerogative, and all that!’

‘Right,’ nodded Igor. ‘Well, I got dressed up in an old police uniform, put my jacket on and left for your party. Actually, I left for the bus station but ended up at the Ochakov Wine Factory…’

And Igor went on to tell his friend all about his first trip back in time. Kolyan listened attentively, with an incredulous smile on his face. His expression only changed when Igor told him how he and the wine thief Vanya had watched Fima Chagin’s house. As though he’d suddenly made the connection with the tattoo.

‘So, do you believe me?’ asked Igor, noticing Kolyan’s reaction.

‘Of course not,’ replied Kolyan. ‘But it’s a great story. Have you considered recording your fantasies?’

‘Oh, piss off,’ muttered Igor. He was a bit annoyed, but he wasn’t really angry with Kolyan. He turned towards the bar again. ‘Another double, please, and another Chernigivske.’

‘And I’ll have another Lviv,’ added Kolyan, taking advantage of the fact that they had the waitress’s attention.

‘Right, well, I’ll shut up then!’ declared Igor.

‘Why?’ Kolyan shrugged. ‘Drinking in silence is bad for your health. Now I’m wondering whether or not I should make a move on the wife of the businessman whose accounts I hacked into… She’s just found out her husband’s cheating on her, maybe she’ll want to get her own back? With me, for example? Why not, eh?’

‘If I were a girl, I might be able to rate your chances more accurately.’

‘Good job you’re not then,’ laughed Kolyan. ‘We need an expert opinion,’ he added, looking at the waitress as she walked past. ‘When you’ve got a minute!’ he called after her.

The girl was concentrating on carrying three glasses of beer to another table, but she looked their way and nodded.

‘So is it something you drink that enables you to travel back in time?’ asked Kolyan, turning back to his friend. ‘Or are you smoking some new kind of blend? Seems to be very popular these days.’

Igor cleared his throat, but it didn’t sound as exasperated as he’d meant it to. His mood was improving. The double shots of vodka, washed down with beer, had warmed his soul, and he felt relaxed and amiably indifferent to the world.

‘This is how it works,’ said Igor. ‘First you drink two glasses of brandy, then you put on an old police uniform and go outside, around eleven o’clock at night. Then you leave the yard and turn right.’

‘Excellent!’ exclaimed Kolyan. ‘If you dressed up as an astronaut, do you think you’d end up in space? Look, now you’ve got me talking nonsense too!’

‘And you’re not even mixing your drinks,’ Igor smiled.

‘Can I get you anything else?’ The waitress had stopped near their table.

Kolyan looked at the little name badge that was pinned to her white blouse.

‘Lena… Lenochka,’ he said, his tone familiar but not overly so. ‘Please bring me another Lviv beer, and he’ll have five’ – he glanced at Igor – ‘no, six shots of vodka! Out of interest, can I ask you a personal question? What do you think of me? You know, from a woman’s perspective. Be honest. I really want to know!’

The girl smiled. ‘You seem like a typical man to me,’ she shrugged. ‘An armchair football fan.’

‘What do you mean?’ Kolyan seemed genuinely baffled, and Igor couldn’t keep the smile from his face.

‘You men are all the same. You like watching football on TV, and drinking beer… I bet you work with computers, don’t you?’

‘How do you know that?’ asked Kolyan.

‘You look like you’re typing on the table. See, you’re doing it now,’ laughed the girl.

Alarmed, Kolyan looked down at the fingers of his right hand, which were drumming on the tabletop. He frowned, and his hand stopped moving.

‘She got you there!’ said Igor, not entirely unsympathetically, as he watched the waitress walk away.

Kolyan didn’t answer. He finished his second beer and put the glass to one side.

Instead of six shots Lena the waitress brought a whole bottle of vodka, and another beer for Kolyan. Igor filled his shot glass and knocked it back. He looked at his friend with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘You’ll have better luck with the wife of that businessman… As long as he doesn’t catch you at it!’

Kolyan only sulked for about five minutes. Once they stopped winding each other up the conversation flowed easily, interspersed with stories and jokes. The emptying of the vodka bottle was admirably methodical.

There were two young women sitting a couple of tables away, both about thirty years old. One of them had bright red dyed hair, cropped short. She was wearing jeans and a tight-fitting red polo shirt. Her friend had brown hair and was wearing tight leather trousers and a leather waistcoat over a black blouse. There were no other customers.

Igor peered at the red-haired woman, scrutinising her sharp-featured but attractive face.

‘I’m going to go over and say hello,’ he said, standing up with some difficulty.

He went over to their table and stared at the woman with red hair.

‘You’re not from Ochakov, are you, by any chance?’ asked Igor, with a drunken attempt at a charming smile.

Both of them looked up at him, amused.

‘No,’ answered the red-haired one. ‘We’re from Mariupol, actually. Would you like to join us for a drink?’ She nodded at an empty chair.

Despite his advanced state of inebriation Igor knew it was time to leave.