Andrey Kurkov - The Gardener from Ochakov

‘I brought you the money I owe you, a hundred dollars… Shall I leave it with you?’

Kolyan shook his head. ‘No,’ he murmured. His swollen, cut lips were making it difficult for him to talk.

Igor waited until the nurse had left the ward, then sat down on the chair next to the bed. ‘Who did this to you?’ he asked urgently.

‘I didn’t see,’ whispered Kolyan. ‘They got me from behind.’

‘After you left my place? In the street?’

‘No, in Kiev, in the lobby of my apartment building.’

‘Did they take anything?’

Kolyan moved his head slightly from side to side. ‘Not even my phone.’ He looked at the bedside cabinet.

‘They could tell it was a cheap one,’ said Igor.

Kolyan tried to smile again, without any luck.

‘My jacket’s in there,’ he murmured. ‘Take it out.’

Igor opened the bedside cabinet and took out the black canvas jacket that Kolyan had been wearing the day before. It was covered with pockets and rivets. He unfolded it and looked at his friend.

‘There’s some cash in the pocket,’ whispered Kolyan.

Igor started uncertainly groping the front of the jacket.

‘No, not there,’ his friend whispered urgently. ‘In the lining.’

Perplexed, Igor looked inside the jacket and found a secret pocket. He opened it and took out a thick bundle of hundred-dollar notes.

‘This?’ he asked.

Kolyan gave a barely perceptible nod. ‘Take it. You can give it back later,’ he said.

Igor put the money in his pocket, then folded the black jacket up again and put it back in the bedside cabinet.

Suddenly his ears were assaulted by the sound of Kolyan’s mobile phone. In the hushed silence of the hospital, the cheerful ringtone sounded farcical. Igor picked up the phone.

‘You’re still alive, then?’ asked a slightly affected male voice, almost playfully.

‘Are you calling to speak to Kolyan?’ asked Igor. ‘He can’t talk right now. Can I take a message?’

‘Tell him I’ll finish him off. He’ll know who it is. Who are you?’

‘A friend,’ said Igor, disconcerted.

‘Will you be coming to his funeral?’

‘What?’ gasped Igor. He hung up immediately and put Kolyan’s phone back on the bedside cabinet.

‘He said that he was going to “finish you off”,’ said Igor, looking directly into Kolyan’s eyes. ‘He said you’d know who it was.’

Kolyan was silent. He looked up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes.

‘Do you want me to leave?’ asked Igor.

‘Stay for a while,’ whispered Kolyan.

‘Who was it?’

‘One of three.’

‘Which three?’ Igor didn’t understand.

‘One of the three whose systems I hacked into,’ answered Kolyan. ‘Probably that woman’s husband.’

‘The one whose emails you copied?’

‘Yeah,’ sighed Kolyan.

‘Did you sleep with her?’ hissed Igor, bending down to his friend’s ear.

Kolyan didn’t answer.

‘I’m going,’ Igor said firmly. ‘I don’t like what you’ve been up to lately.’

‘Neither do I,’ mumbled Kolyan. ‘Will you come tomorrow?’

‘Yes. Bye.’

Igor picked his envelopes up from the floor. He looked closely at his friend, waved goodbye then went out into the corridor. He bumped into the nurse again outside the next ward.

‘Are you leaving already?’ she asked.

Igor nodded.

‘Can I ask you a question?’ He went right up to her, as though there was a chance she might not hear him otherwise. ‘Why do you have Ward Five and Ward Seven, but no Ward Six?’

The nurse beamed at him.

‘You noticed!’ she exclaimed, delighted. ‘Most people don’t. If we did have a Ward Six, we’d be inundated with complaints. One of the doctors arranged it that way. You know how planes don’t have a row thirteen, because no one would want to sit in it…’

‘Don’t they?’ Igor wasn’t convinced.

‘Of course not,’ the nurse assured him. ‘Well, Ward Six is the hospital equivalent.’

Still feeling confused, Igor walked down the concrete stairs to the ground floor and left the building. He looked back up at the window of the casualty department, then walked to the tram stop. He could hear rooks cawing loudly in the tall pine trees nearby. The smell of rotten leaves, stronger now, was a constant reminder of the proximity of the forest.

EVENINGS IN IRPEN are darker than they are in Kiev. Igor noticed this every time night fell as he was on his way home, which seemed to happen often. He couldn’t stop thinking about the sight of Kolyan’s swollen lips. He could still hear the man’s taunting tone as he promised to finish Kolyan off. Igor was scared for his friend.

The familiar windows of his home appeared ahead of him. Igor went inside and took off his shoes, then went into the kitchen. He poured a shot of brandy, took a sip and sat down at the little table, expecting the brandy to calm him down straight away. He glanced at the scales. The left-hand pan was empty – no tablets, no bills waiting to be paid. Igor got up and moved several weights from the right-hand pan to the left, trying to balance them, but he couldn’t get it right. His glass soon ran low, but he still felt agitated. Never mind, good things come to those who wait, thought Igor, smiling as he filled his glass again. After his third glass of brandy Igor stopped fiddling with the scales. He started thinking instead about the strange conversation he’d had with the photographer. Yes, it would be good to earn a bit of money out of them, thought Igor. If only I knew how!

He spread the photographs out in front of him and started trying to put them into some kind of order. The ones that were easiest to arrange were those that Vanya had taken the day he’d photographed Igor in his police uniform at the market. There was a logical sequence to them, and in any case Igor could clearly remember being at the market that day – which stalls he’d stopped at, what he’d looked at. Three photographs that had been taken of him talking to Red Valya drew his attention like a magnet. They deserved to be framed and hung on a wall. She really is beautiful, thought Igor. So full of life. Those mischievous eyes, that smile that makes you want to kiss it, those dimples in her cheeks… They were more noticeable in the photographs than in real life. And what about the way she’d agreed so boldly to a date with an unknown police officer? She might be beautiful, but it was still foolish, all the more so because she was a married woman. Igor thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. No, it wasn’t foolish, he decided. Things were just different back then, including police officers. And she was obviously bored with her husband.

He looked at her lips again, her smile. I can see her tomorrow if I want to, he thought. And give her the medicine… I can cure her! It doesn’t matter whether I’m doing it for her, for myself or for her husband. Igor filled his glass again.

‘To me!’ he whispered, because he had to drink to something.

He swallowed some brandy, and a self-congratulatory smile spread across his face. Igor felt happy. Furthermore, he was brimming with every good quality he could think of. He was almost as virtuous as Mother Teresa! And there was nothing to stop him performing another good deed. All he had to do was put on the old police uniform, and it would instantly stop being old.

‘Ma, have we got any burnt-out light bulbs?’ he asked, glancing into the living room.

Elena Andreevna looked up from the television.

‘What do you need them for?’

‘I just do.’

‘They’re in the shed, in the far right-hand corner.’

When Igor opened the shed door, the bright light inside almost blinded him. Stepan was sitting on a stool directly beneath the light bulb that hung from the ceiling, reading a book. Igor stared at him, puzzled.