Andrey Kurkov - The Gardener from Ochakov

After idling the afternoon away in Vanya’s house, Igor had no trouble making his way back to the park near the market to meet Valya as arranged. He strolled up and down the concrete paths, inhaling the autumnal sea air and glancing at the people who passed him, each of them burdened with their own lives and their own thoughts. He sat down on the third bench from the path that led from the market and inspected his uniform, which looked clean and smart. He glanced down at his boots. They were as comfortable as if they’d been custom-made by an experienced cobbler, although Igor could remember them being a couple of sizes too big when he’d first put them on. He shrugged. The fact that the boots seemed to have shrunk was not the most surprising thing that had happened to Igor recently. No, the most surprising thing was that he was sitting on a bench in 1957, waiting for a married woman who worked at the market – a beautiful woman with red hair, whose mischievous spirit was evident in both her looks and her personality.

Igor glanced towards the market. He took the gold watch out of his breeches and opened the engraved cover. It was exactly 6 p.m. His other hand brushed the bundle of hundred-rouble notes in his right-hand pocket.

‘Where shall I take her?’ Igor wondered. The money wouldn’t let him relax. He knew he would only be able to spend this money here, only now. Back in the future – or wherever 2010 was in relation to now – the notes might be worth something to a collector, but the most you could buy with them would be a smile. Assuming, that is, that the salesperson had a sense of humour.

A woman wearing an elegant, pale grey felt coat with the collar turned up glided past him with an air of importance. Seeing the police officer, she stopped and gave him a friendly smile.

‘How’s Pyotr Mironovich?’ she asked.

‘He’s fine,’ he said, smiling back at the woman, his smile concealing his sense of panic. He was dreading the thought of her asking another question.

‘Tell him Irina Vladimirovna said hello! He promised to send us someone to talk to the children.’

‘I will,’ promised Igor.

The woman in the felt coat went on her way. Igor took a deep breath as he watched her go. He had no idea who Pyotr Mironovich was, of course, but it seemed reasonable to assume that he was the head of the police force.

Igor stood up and walked along the path, away from the market. He looked back the way he’d come. Still no sign of Red Valya.

Igor’s good mood gradually dissipated and was replaced with a growing sense of apprehension and unease.

‘I’ll walk to the end of this path and back twice more, and then I’ll give up and go back to the house,’ he decided.

Turning round, he set off slowly in the direction of the market. The path was suddenly overcrowded. Two army officers were walking towards Igor, and there were other people just behind them. The officers saluted him as they walked past, without interrupting their conversation, and Igor saluted in return. He was surprised by how naturally the gesture came to him.

‘You don’t look very happy to see me!’ said a woman in a headscarf, who had stopped just in front of him. Igor looked into her eyes and broke into a smile.

‘Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t recognise you in that disguise!’

Red Valya burst out laughing. ‘It’s so easy for me to disappear. All I have to do is put a scarf over my hair and no one recognises me, no one even notices me. But without a scarf, you can’t miss me. Shall we take a seat?’ she asked, nodding at the nearest bench. Without waiting for an answer, she sat down and adjusted her knee-length beige raincoat.

‘I was worried you weren’t going to come,’ admitted Igor, sitting down and casually resting one foot on the opposite knee.

‘Did you arrest anyone today?’ Valya asked playfully.

Igor shook his head. ‘I don’t like arresting people,’ he said, adopting the same tone. ‘I wouldn’t mind arresting you, though!’

‘You cheeky devil!’ She smiled again. ‘And where would you take me once you’d arrested me?’

Igor shrugged. ‘Not to prison, obviously!’

‘Well, I suppose I ought to be grateful for that! Have you been here long, in Ochakov?’

‘No, it’s just a short visit… I’m here on business.’

‘Ah, that explains it! Business travellers are always bold when they’re away from home. If you were from Ochakov, you would have thought not just twice but a hundred times before inviting me anywhere!’

‘Why, are the police officers in Ochakov afraid of you?’

‘Not me,’ said Valya, adjusting her scarf and tucking a lock of red hair back under it. ‘My reputation! But really, I’m no different from any other woman.’

‘Come on, let’s go for a walk,’ suggested Igor. ‘You can show me the town. I don’t even know my way round yet.’

‘So get the local police officers to show you!’ Valya got up from the bench and looked around. ‘Maybe we can walk over to the trees, there aren’t too many people over there.’

‘Let’s do that,’ agreed Igor.

They wandered companionably through the park then along a narrow street, past squat single-storey buildings where the windows were already glowing with light. It wasn’t only the windows that had been set ablaze by the evening but the street lamps too, which burned brightly at every corner. Their light-hearted conversation about nothing in particular was relaxed and unhurried, as though it had fallen into step with their slow-paced stroll. Igor didn’t realise that they’d left the last city street behind until allotments began to appear along the sides of the road. Then several trees emerged from the twilight and the wind began to rustle their leaves. Igor glanced up. A scattering of stars had already pierced the sky and were shining down through the tiny holes they had made. Igor found Valya’s hand and took it gently in his own, as though he feared she might resist. But she didn’t. They continued on hand in hand, without looking at one another, as though their shared enjoyment of this evening walk was all either of them needed.

Half an hour later Igor heard the sound of the sea. Waves were rolling and breaking on the unseen shore. Valya’s hand was very warm. Igor gave it a little squeeze and immediately felt Valya squeeze his hand, hard, in response.

‘Be careful here,’ warned Valya, leading him to the right.

They went down a narrow gully. They were walking on sand, which gave way beneath their feet.

When they reached the shore, Igor looked back and saw a cliff hanging over the narrow strip of beach. Valya sat down on the sand. Igor sat down next to her. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned in towards him.

‘It’s nice sitting here with you like this,’ she said. ‘That uniform suits you. So does the gun!’

‘May I kiss you?’ asked Igor, turning to face her.

‘No,’ said Valya. ‘It would be inappropriate. We’re still on formal terms.’

‘But you keep switching between formal and informal! Shall we just decide to address each other informally?’ he suggested.

‘Well, we would need to toast each other to seal our friendship, and I bet you haven’t brought anything to drink!’

‘No, I haven’t,’ agreed Igor, disappointed.

Valya put her hand on his shoulder in a gesture of consolation.

‘You’re all so indecisive now, after the war,’ she said. ‘All the brave ones must have died.’ She smiled in mock sympathy.

‘I’m usually decisive,’ said Igor, who was immediately embarrassed by the timidity in his own voice.

‘You mean, when you’re catching bandits?’ asked Valya, suddenly serious.

Igor nodded.

‘Are there that many of them?’