Andrey Kurkov - The Gardener from Ochakov

‘Who?’

‘Bandits,’ said Valya, looking straight into his eyes.

Igor thought about Fima and remembered what Vanya had told him about his relationship with Valya. He shrugged. He couldn’t quite see the two of them together.

‘There’ll be more in about fifty years’ time,’ he said after a pause.

‘Fifty years?’ Valya’s eyes widened. ‘But the newspapers say that they’ll all be gone in twenty years. They’re going to train them as teachers and engineers, so that they can serve the country.’

‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the newspapers,’ Igor began but stopped short, realising that he was in danger of saying too much. ‘I mean, you should. Of course you should believe the newspapers. But you need to understand things for yourself.’

‘I prefer books. Newspapers are full of boring facts, whereas books contain facts and romance. I like Vadim Sobko.’

‘Who?’

‘Haven’t you heard of him? He’s famous all over the world. He was awarded two Stalin Prizes before Stalin even died!’

‘I’ve never read anything of his,’ admitted Igor.

‘What a shame I’ve already taken it back to the library… You ought to go and get it out. Otherwise you’ll be like that police officer in the joke.’

‘Which joke?’ asked Igor, with mock indignation.

‘Sorry! The one where two police officers are deciding what to give the third for his birthday. One of them says, “Let’s buy him a book!” And the other says, “No, he’s already got one!”’

‘I’ve got more than one book at home,’ said Igor, smiling.

Valya’s eyes and lips were so close, so alluring and seductively aloof. Igor took her hand and pulled it towards him. He tried to kiss it but immediately felt her move his face firmly aside.

‘Don’t,’ said Valya, her voice soft and apologetic. ‘I’m sick. You might catch it too.’

‘What do you mean? What is it?’

‘I don’t know what it’s called. It’s a disease that humans can catch from fish. Sometimes it makes me cough, leaving a bad taste in my mouth, and sometimes it makes my eyes water… It also means I can’t have children.’ These last words burst from Valya in a rush of emotion, as though she were on the point of tears.

She managed to compose herself and was silent for a few minutes. Then she looked up at the sky. The stars were shining down on them. In the distance a half-moon was floating on the surface of the sea, and the crest of a small wave could be glimpsed fleetingly in its light.

‘But,’ began Igor, cautiously breaking the silence, ‘can’t it be cured?’

‘Probably. The doctor says he’ll cure me if I leave my husband for him. Can you believe that?’

‘You should report him!’ Igor said indignantly.

‘What’s the point?’ Valya’s eyes and lips were very close again, but her eyes looked so sad that it didn’t even occur to Igor to try and kiss her.

‘What’s the doctor’s name?’ asked Igor, feeling like a real police officer.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Valya, waving her hand dismissively. ‘Maybe he’s just pretending that he knows how to cure me.’

It was after midnight by the time Igor returned to Vanya’s house. The light was on in the kitchen and his young host was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. When he heard footsteps on the porch he put the newspaper down and stood up.

The front door was open. Igor let himself in, went through to the kitchen and nodded at Vanya. They sat down at the table together.

‘Would you like some wine?’ asked Vanya. ‘I’m not having any. I’ve already had two glasses.’

‘Tell me,’ Igor put his hand in the pocket of his breeches and took out a hundred-rouble note, ‘is there a clinic or a hospital round here?’

‘A hospital.’

‘I want you to find the doctor who saw Valya. Give him this and get him to tell you the history of her disease, or at least the diagnosis. All right?’

Vanya shook his head.

‘You will find the doctor who treated Red Valya and find out what she’s got! All right? Get him to write it down.’

This time Vanya understood what was being asked of him. He nodded and slipped the hundred-rouble note into his jacket pocket.

‘I’m going to bed,’ said Igor, getting up from the table. ‘I’m leaving early in the morning, but I’ll be back in a couple of days. Goodnight.’

Igor didn’t need to put the light on in the living room. He already knew exactly where everything was – the ancient sofa with the high wooden back, the chair and the little table. He got undressed, folded the police uniform and placed it on the stool, then lay under the warm quilted blanket and fell asleep.

THE FOLLOWING MORNING Igor had a headache. His mother put her head round the door to his room, saw him lying in bed and retreated. A tractor rumbled past the house and the noise revived Igor, forcing him out of bed. His face was contorted in a painful grimace. The world was becoming increasingly full of unpleasant, irritating noises, and Igor’s head was like a vacuum cleaner – sucking them in, tossing them about, mixing them together so that they merged into a continuous drone.

Igor reached out and felt the police uniform that lay on his stool, neatly folded as usual. The bundles of roubles were still there, and the gold watch, but there was something else too.

Igor took the breeches from underneath the tunic and gave them a shake. He found the film cartridge and took it out, staring at it with a look of utter perplexity.

‘You’re back then, are you?’ His mother’s face had appeared at the door again. ‘Do you want anything to eat?’

Igor turned round to face his mother. She looked worried and upset.

‘You’ve started drinking too much,’ she said. It was more of an observation than a reproach, but her voice was trembling.

‘No,’ he protested, shaking his head. ‘Not that much…’

‘I can smell it on you.’ His mother shook her head too. ‘Have you got a new group of friends?’

Igor thought about it but didn’t answer.

‘I’m just popping out for an hour. I’ve got a few things to do,’ she said. ‘If you want anything to eat, it’s all in the fridge.’

‘Ma, where’s Stepan?’ Igor suddenly asked.

‘Stepan? He was in the yard earlier, sharpening the spades.’

‘I might go to Kiev today,’ said Igor. He glanced at the wooden floor, which would soon need of a coat of paint. ‘I won’t be long… I just need to get a film developed.’

‘I thought you had one of those digital cameras,’ said his mother, surprised.

‘I bought an antique one that uses film,’ he lied.

‘Why are you so interested in antiques all of a sudden? And what about that old uniform?’ His mother nodded at the stool.

‘It’s no big deal. Everyone’s into retro parties and vintage these days.’

Elena Andreevna left her son’s room. Igor placed the film cartridge on the stool and got dressed. He stood at the window for a few minutes, looking out at the grey autumn day, which was about to burst into rain. His headache had subsided.

I wish I lived alone, he thought suddenly. Then I wouldn’t be constantly under surveillance.

Igor smiled. He’d just remembered the bundle of 200-hryvna notes that Stepan had given him: 20,000 hryvnas! That was more than he needed to keep himself in beer and coffee… but not nearly enough for a place of his own. What if he were to invest it, though? Igor stopped smiling and grew serious as he contemplated this idea. There’s no point investing in someone else’s business, he decided. I’d never get it back. But what do I know about starting my own business? Nothing.