Andrey Kurkov - The Gardener from Ochakov

‘No, I’ve already found two houses and a plot of land. I’m going to sign the purchase deeds in an hour and I have to pay straight away. As far as I’m concerned, the more people there, the better.’

Igor paused. ‘All right,’ he said with a nod. Then he thought for a moment. ‘Shall I take the gun? Just in case?’

The gardener shook his head. ‘Don’t take the knife either,’ he added, his tone brusque and serious. ‘Anything could happen, of course… But it’s best not to take it.’

‘Why didn’t you talk to me about the houses?’ asked Igor, sounding slightly aggrieved.

‘Either you weren’t around at the time, or you were in bed. Anyway, I can see what you think of me… I’ve clearly outstayed my welcome, but I’ll be out of your way soon!’

‘But,’ protested Igor, spreading his hands, ‘I thought we were getting on all right… I even went to Ochakov with you!’

‘Yes,’ nodded Stepan. ‘You did indeed. Look, everything’s fine, we can talk about it later. Right now all I can think about is signing the purchase deeds and getting the keys. Then we’ll really have something to talk about!’

Half an hour later a strange procession began making its way down the street in the direction of the bus station. First came two men in suits, the elder of whom was carrying an old canvas rucksack, which was clearly half empty, over his shoulder; then a young woman wearing a dark green imitation leather raincoat and jeans, which were tucked into her low-heeled boots, and two elegantly attired elderly women. Olga was also wearing a necklace, and she’d pinned a brooch in the shape of a lizard to her cardigan. Igor looked round a couple of times as they walked, and Stepan’s rucksack kept catching his eye.

Well, he thought, no one would ever guess that there’s enough money in there to buy a couple of houses. People usually carry that kind of money in briefcases and without an entourage of OAPs dressed in their Sunday best!

When they got to the bus station, Stepan looked at his watch and stopped.

‘We’re a bit early. Let’s have a coffee,’ he suggested, pointing at the kiosk.

They all went over to the kiosk. Stepan ordered five instant coffees and handed the disposable plastic cups of coffee to each of them in turn. They stood outside the kiosk and drank their coffees in silence. Stepan kept checking his watch.

‘Right then,’ he said, throwing his empty cup into the bin. ‘Time to go. The real-estate agency isn’t far from here.’

The agency in question was situated in a private house. On the gate next to the house number, which had been painted on it in white, was a sign featuring an image of a fierce-looking dog.

Stepan reached the gate first and opened it. He looked over his shoulder and nodded to indicate that the others should follow him. Igor hung back, on the off chance that a ferocious dog might run out and start barking at him, but no dog appeared. Stepan went up to the front door and rang the bell.

The door was opened by a young man wearing a neatly pressed grey suit, a pink shirt and a red tie, who looked like he ought to have been at school. He was wearing a pair of leather shoes with very pointed toes. As soon as he saw Stepan, he held his hand out respectfully. Igor noticed several pairs of slippers neatly lined up in the hallway.

‘Come in, Stepan Iosipovich, the vendors are already here.’ The estate agent’s voice sounded thin and reedy, as though it hadn’t yet broken.

As soon as they were all inside, the young man fastened both locks on the front door and led them to where his visitors were waiting in a large room.

Igor couldn’t help but smile as he took in the incongruous mix of office and domestic furniture in the room. Photographs of houses, buildings and plots of land lined the walls, which were covered with green wallpaper. It was impossible to ignore the conspicuous ticking of the cuckoo clock. The vendors – an elderly couple with dazed, anxious faces – were sitting on a sofa on the opposite side of the room. They were both about seventy years old.

‘The contract is ready to sign,’ said the young man in the grey suit. He pointed at a file that lay open on the table. ‘The notary’s here too. He’s drinking coffee in the kitchen. I’ll fetch him as soon as the funds have been transferred.’

The gardener suddenly turned to his daughter, with a nervous look in his eyes.

‘You didn’t forget your passport, did you?’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve got it,’ nodded Alyona. She touched his hand, seeking to reassure him.

Stepan looked at the vendors. ‘So, was it five hundred thousand?’

They nodded meekly.

Stepan dropped the canvas rucksack onto the table, then opened it and started taking out bundles of 200-hryvna notes. He stacked them up on the table, next to the file.

Igor looked at the young estate agent. He was standing motionless, about two metres from the table, unable to tear his eyes away from the growing pile of banknotes. He licked his lips greedily, his mouth clearly dry with excitement.

The empty rucksack fell to the floor. Stepan straightened up the pile of money and looked at the vendors.

‘It’s all there. Count it.’

Igor saw alarm in the eyes of the elderly couple. They both stood up and shuffled towards the table. The man was wearing a suit too, although his was black. His wife was wearing a long black skirt and a dark blue blouse.

‘Could you help us?’ the man asked the young estate agent. ‘My hands are shaking… I might make a mistake.’

Igor suddenly felt overwhelmed with exhaustion. He sat on the sofa vacated by the vendors. Elena Andreevna sat down next to him and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with a handkerchief. She looked at her son for support. Igor placed his damp hand over hers.

Igor closed his eyes and listened to the rustling of banknotes, which seemed as though it would last for ever. Suddenly the young man in the grey suit announced, ‘This is Sergei Ivanych Kuptsyn, the notary. He will witness the signing of the contract.’

Igor opened his eyes to see a grey-haired, middle-aged man taking a seat at the table. He put on a pair of glasses with gold frames, picked up the contract and started reading it to himself, silently moving his lips.

‘Passports, please,’ he said, looking up at them.

Stepan glanced at Alyona. She took her passport out of her pocket and put it on the table. The vendors held out their passports.

‘So, buyer – Alyona Stepanovna Sadovnikova,’ the notary read ceremoniously from the contract. ‘Vendors – Pyotr Leonidovich Ostashko and Lidiya Alekseevna Ostashko. Sign here, please.’

Igor noticed that the money had disappeared from the table. He looked around the room.

‘That’s it,’ said the notary. ‘All signed and sealed. Now you can shake hands!’

Stepan shook the vendors’ hands. The elderly couple still looked anxious. The man in the black suit took an envelope from his pocket and held it out to Stepan.

‘Here are two keys for the new house and the key for the padlock on the old one,’ he said.

‘Would anyone like a glass of champagne?’ asked the young estate agent, rather nervously.

They all declined. The vendors asked the estate agent to call them a taxi. Igor looked at the elderly couple and felt a stab of pity at the thought of the two of them getting into a taxi with that amount of money. If it were him, he would have made sure he had some friends with him. He would have asked one of them to drive, too – there’s no way he would have gone in a taxi! On the other hand, they were so ancient, what was the likelihood of them having any friends who owned cars? Igor’s thoughts started to depress him.

The estate agent told Stepan and Alyona how to register the houses with the local real-estate inventory office. Olga was standing by the door that led to the hallway, shuffling her feet impatiently. Finally the estate agent, clearly also the occupant of the house, unbolted the two locks and released them all into the sunshine. There was already a taxi waiting at the gate. Igor studied the driver – he had a trustworthy look about him, and Igor felt reassured.