Andrey Kurkov - The Gardener from Ochakov

‘And you’re lucky, are you?’ Igor asked snidely.

‘Yes, I am,’ Vanya answered firmly. ‘I’ve got my own camera, and Mother and I eat cutlets on Sundays. We’re doing well.’

‘Ah, that reminds me…’ Igor looked into the carrier bag and took out two light bulbs. ‘Here, these are for your mother.’

‘Oh, I’ve never seen this kind before!’ Fascinated, Vanya examined the matt white glass of the light bulbs. ‘Are they really bright?’

‘They were,’ said Igor.

‘Thank you, Mother will be delighted! Why don’t you go through and lie down? I’m just going to sort this wine out.’

Igor went into ‘his’ room, took his boots off and put the bag containing Valya’s medication on the floor next to the sofa. Then he fetched the quilted blanket, which was folded up on a nearby chair, and settled down on the familiar protruding springs.

The door creaked open and Vanya’s silhouette appeared.

‘Here,’ he whispered. ‘Take this, to help you sleep.’

The contents of the glass shone with a strange matt gleam. Igor took the wine and drank it in two gulps. As he felt the familiar sour taste wash over his tongue, he was suddenly overcome with the desire to sleep. The springs seemed to yield beneath him, until he no longer felt them at all.

The dawn chorus infiltrated Igor’s subconscious early the following morning. He opened his eyes. Several bicycles went past the house, then he heard the creaking of a cart’s wheels. The snorting of the horse was replaced immediately by two women’s voices, approaching rapidly then fading away.

Igor stood up, smoothed down his uniform and pulled on his boots. He walked over to the window. The world beyond was bathed in bright golden sunlight, giving the impression that it was still summer. Only the yellowing leaves on the trees gave the true season away.

‘Igor,’ Vanya said from the doorway, ‘Mother says breakfast is ready.’

Igor turned round. Vanya was already dressed.

He and Vanya sat down at the kitchen table, and Igor introduced himself.

‘Thank you so much!’ Aleksandra Marinovna turned from the stove to look at her guest. ‘Thank you so much! I can’t tell you how grateful I am! I’ve got so much darning to do, and it’s funny but the light bulbs never seem to burn out. The shop took a delivery of Azerbaijani light bulbs a year ago, so I stocked up, and they’re still going strong. It’s quite astonishing! Here, I’ve made semolina and crackling.’

She ladled out three helpings of thick semolina, then added pieces of crispy pork fat from a small frying pan.

‘Would you like some more salt?’ she asked.

‘No, thanks,’ said Igor, picking up his spoon.

‘Well, I’m having some – that’s how I like it!’ She took her place at the table and seasoned her semolina generously.

‘It’s time for me to start my shift,’ said Vanya, glancing at Igor. ‘Will you be here this evening?’

‘Yes,’ said Igor, savouring the taste of the semolina and crackling.

‘I wanted to talk to you,’ Vanya went on. ‘I’ve really enjoyed using the camera. I’ve taken five more films for you.’

Igor stared at Vanya in surprise. An idea suddenly occurred to him.

‘Is there a film in the camera at the moment?’

‘Yes.’

‘You can take some photographs right now!’

‘The semolina needs to cool down anyway,’ said Vanya, getting up from the table.

He came back with the camera and took a photo of Igor. Then he took one of Igor at the table with his mother, then his mother took one of Vanya and Igor. Finally Igor took one of Vanya and his mother, but only after Vanya had adjusted the lens.

‘I’ll be back by nine o’clock tonight,’ said Vanya. Then he stood up, nodded and left the kitchen.

Aleksandra Marinovna brewed some tea.

‘I’m being so lazy today,’ she said with a smile. ‘I should have left for the market two hours ago, but then I saw the light bulbs. I couldn’t believe it! I wanted to thank you straight away but Vanya said that you arrived late last night, so we didn’t want to wake you… But now I really must go. Don’t forget to pull the door shut when you go out.’

Still smiling gratefully, she finished her tea then went out into the hallway and started getting ready to go to the market. Igor followed her and was surprised to see four heavy bags, full of three-litre bottles of wine.

‘You’re not planning to carry all that by yourself, are you?’

Aleksandra Marinovna glanced indifferently at her burden.

‘Why not? It won’t be the first time!’ she said with a shrug.

‘Why don’t you buy a cart or some kind of trolley?’ suggested Igor. ‘It would be a lot easier.’

‘Oh, no!’ Vanya’s mother waved her hand dismissively. ‘People would judge us for it. They’d accuse us of having ideas above our station. It’s harder this way, but at least we know our money is earned honestly.’

This line of reasoning seemed strange to Igor, but also made a kind of sense.

Igor tried to lift two of the bags. They were so heavy! He felt pathetic. How on earth did she plan to carry all four of them? Two in each hand?

‘I’ll help you,’ Igor nodded at the bags. I don’t see how you’re going to manage them by yourself.’

They left the house five minutes later. Unlike her son, Aleksandra Marinovna clearly had no qualms about accepting help from a police officer. She carried her two bags easily. Unaccustomed as he was to physical exertion, Igor barely managed to keep up with her. He was carrying the other two bags, each of which contained three three-litre bottles of wine, plus the carrier bag with Valya’s medication. His wrists and shoulders were already aching, and he eyed Vanya’s mother enviously from behind as she took it all in her stride. Several passers-by greeted her courteously and glanced sideways in his direction, which made Igor feel even more uncomfortable – as though he were this capable woman’s poodle or dachshund, doomed to follow her everywhere, wagging his little tail.

He wanted to pause and catch his breath, but she showed no sign of stopping, and Igor couldn’t bring himself to ask for a break. That would have meant admitting defeat, capitulating before a woman. Just then he noticed a group of about twenty schoolchildren coming towards them, all holding little red flags. They were being led by their teacher, who was young and pretty in an earnest, respectable way. She had an honest face and a neat little nose, and her eyes were shining. Her lilac dress was tied at the waist with a sash of the same fabric, accentuating her slim figure.

‘Detachment, halt!’ she commanded, and the children stopped at once.

‘Can you see what our police officers do?’ she asked, looking warmly at Igor, who was struggling to keep the smile on his face.

‘They help the elderly,’ answered a little girl with two big white bows in her hair.

‘Exactly!’ answered the teacher. ‘Who wants to be a police officer when they grow up?’

Several of the boys immediately put their hands up, holding their red flags aloft. Igor noticed that they had gold hammers and sickles on them.

‘What about you, Kashenko?’ asked the teacher.

Her question was directed at a chubby boy with slightly bulging eyes. Igor glanced at him as he drew alongside the group and continued walking.

‘I’m going to be a builder,’ answered the boy.

‘Detachment, march!’ called the young woman, once Igor had passed.

The children’s chattering faded away – or, rather, was drowned out by the approaching noise of the market. Aleksandra Marinovna reached her stall, put her bags down and pushed them under the counter with her foot.

‘Oh, thank you so much!’ she breathed.