Andrey Kurkov - The Gardener from Ochakov

Igor nodded.

‘Fine, in that case I’ll leave it with you,’ he said, handing the cartridge to the photographer. ‘I haven’t got the money on me right now, but I… I’ll call my friend. He might lend it to me.’

‘Go ahead.’

Igor called Kolyan on his mobile.

‘Hey, can you lend me a hundred dollars for a couple of days? I’ve got the money, but it’s at home and I’m in Kiev.’

‘No problem, come and get it!’ Kolyan sounded particularly cheerful. ‘I can lend you a thousand if you like. Just say the word!’

‘I don’t need a thousand, thanks.’ Igor rang off and turned to the photographer. ‘I’ll be back with the money in an hour,’ he promised.

‘If I’m not here, just give it to my wife,’ replied the photographer.

Kolyan bounded out of the bank. ‘So what’s it to be – beer, coffee, cappuccino?’ he asked playfully, spreading his hands as if to indicate that in order to drink beer they would have to go one way, but in order to drink coffee they would have to go the other.

‘You seem a bit weird today,’ Igor observed cautiously.

‘I’m not the same man I was yesterday.’ Kolyan smiled and lowered his hands. ‘I’ve just been given five thousand dollars! Come on, let’s go.’

They headed to a cafe they both knew, five minutes’ walk from the bank. They ordered a couple of espressos and sat down at a little table in the corner.

‘Here you go!’ Kolyan made a big show of taking a bundle of hundred-dollar notes out of his pocket. Peeling one off, he handed it to his friend. ‘Do you need another one?’

Igor put the money in his pocket.

‘One’s enough. I need it to get a film developed.’

‘A hundred dollars, just to develop a film? What’s so special about it? What’s it going to cost you to get it printed, another two hundred?’

‘A hundred covers developing and printing. Remember I told you about Ochakov in 1957 and you didn’t believe me? Well, that’s where the film’s from! You’ll be able to see for yourself when I get the photos back.’

‘What is it, you and Khrushchev with your arms round each other? Been having fun with Photoshop, have you?!’

Igor threw his hands up in exasperation.

‘I’m only kidding.’ Kolyan smiled. ‘But I’m afraid I do have some bad news… The government’s about to ban smoking blends!’

Igor scowled at him, and Kolyan decided to change the subject.

‘You might not believe my news either, but I’m getting richer by the day. I’ve got the proof right here!’ he said. He produced the bundle of hundred-dollar notes again.

‘Is that from the wife of the businessman whose accounts you hacked into? For services rendered?’ Igor asked sardonically.

Kolyan shook his head. ‘It’s from a friend of hers, who wants me to hack into his business partner’s emails.’

Igor eyed the bundle of dollars then looked around to see whether anyone was watching them.

‘Put it away, will you? It’s making me nervous.’

‘Tell me first, do you believe me?’

‘Given the evidence, yes, I believe you,’ Igor answered calmly. ‘Why do you care so much what I think anyway?’

‘It helps me believe in myself. That’s just an advance, by the way. I’ll get the same amount again once the deed is done.’

‘I take it you’re going to quit your job at the bank… They pay you peanuts!’

‘What would I gain by leaving? I might as well stay. I enjoy the work, and I have access to the latest computers. Anyway, what’s up with you today?’ Kolyan leaned towards Igor, trying to get a closer look at his face.

‘I’m fine!’ Igor tried to smile. ‘I’m just not too keen on the sight of big piles of cash. It probably reminds me of the day we sold the apartment in Kiev.’

‘Ah, I get it,’ said Kolyan, nodding sympathetically. ‘You’re missing Kiev. Never mind, when you make your fortune you’ll be able to buy yourself another apartment. You know what? I envy you. You’ve got the forest right on your doorstep, the perfect venue for shashlik whenever you feel like it… In fact, how about this weekend? I’ll bring the meat if you sort out the barbecue equipment and the beer.’

‘Good plan!’ Igor readily agreed.

After they went their separate ways, Igor wished they’d gone for a beer instead. It might have led to a very different conversation.

It took Igor about half an hour to walk from Podil to Proreznaya Street. The door to the photography studio was shut, so Igor rang the bell. Igor-the-photographer opened the doors but didn’t invite his visitor inside.

‘I’m with a client,’ he said, tucking the hundred-dollar note into the breast pocket of his checked shirt. The top two buttons were still undone. ‘Leave me your mobile number, and I’ll call you when it’s ready.’

The sky above Kiev had brightened and was no longer hanging quite so low. The wet concrete shone beneath his feet.

IGOR CHECKED HIS phone to see whether he’d missed any calls. He was pleased with the way things had gone in Kiev, and his buoyant mood had continued to improve as the evening wore on. Now it was time for bed, but he didn’t feel remotely tired.

Maybe I should take another trip to Ochakov, thought Igor. Vanya might have some more films for me. I could even get him to take some photos of me out and about in the town…

Daydreaming in the evening often leads to sleep, and Igor drifted off without even realising it. Some internal anxiety caused him to wake suddenly at 12.30 a.m. It was completely quiet, both inside the house and out.

Igor got up and put the police uniform on. He tiptoed into the kitchen and drank a glass of brandy. With the taste of the brandy still on his tongue, he crept out of the house and closed the front door quietly, acutely conscious of the sound his boots made as they met the road.

He peered ahead, his eyes already used to the darkness. Finally the familiar lights appeared in the distance. The green gates grew closer. Igor stopped at the edge of the square. There was complete silence on both sides of the gates.

He stood there for about five minutes before setting off again. His feet already knew the way to Vanya Samokhin’s house. Igor was delighted to see that the light was on in the kitchen window – someone was still awake, which meant that someone would let him in!

Vanya was sitting at the kitchen table, reading The Wine-Maker’s Handbook in preparation for his studies at the Nikolaev College of Trade and Industry. He wasn’t at all surprised to see the police officer at the window; he simply got up and went into the hallway to let him in. The first thing Igor did was remove his boots and stand them against the wall.

‘You’re late tonight,’ said Vanya.

They went into the kitchen. Vanya tore a page from the calendar to mark his place in the book. He took a wine bottle from under the table and poured two glasses.

‘Any news?’ Igor asked him.

‘Yes,’ Vanya replied with a nod. ‘I got a note from the doctor. Only it’s written in medical language, so I can’t understand what it says.’

‘Have you got any more films for me?’

‘Yes, two.’

‘Have you got any left to take?’

‘Yes, three,’ said Vanya.

‘Tomorrow morning… I want you to follow me. Take some photographs of me.’

‘Photographs of you?’ Vanya was surprised. ‘Why?’

‘Why do you think? As a souvenir of my trip,’ Igor replied sharply.

‘All right,’ Vanya shrugged. ‘Shall we do it first thing?’

‘Yes. You’ll be going to the market anyway, won’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘So let’s start with the market. Right, I’m off to bed.’ Igor stood up, feeling the weight of a long day on his shoulders.