Andrey Kurkov - The Gardener from Ochakov

He found his friend exactly where he’d left him, sitting on the mattress in the corner of his room. Except for some reason Igor’s passport was now lying open on the floor next to him.

‘What are you doing with that?’ Igor asked nervously.

‘It’s all sorted,’ said Kolyan, raising his hand in a gesture of reassurance. ‘I couldn’t order documents in my own name, could I? So I ordered them in yours. I sent my own photo, though.’

‘So what have you ordered?’ asked Igor.

‘A passport from 1957, a business trip certificate for a police lieutenant and a few other documents as well. They knew what I needed. The company I ordered from is affiliated with the state archives. As well as all the samples, they can provide blank documents too. For a price, of course!’

‘How much does it all cost?’

‘Five hundred dollars. I’ve already paid.’ Kolyan waved his credit card at Igor. ‘Look after this for me, OK? Maybe I’ll be back this time next year!’ A slightly crazed smile played on Kolyan’s lips.

‘When are you going to get them?’

‘Tonight, believe it or not, by courier!’

‘Congratulations,’ said Igor, glancing from Kolyan’s open laptop to his own passport. ‘Now you’re me, and I… I’m not quite me… Well, I’m still me, but I’m also Vanya Samokhin.’

‘What interesting lives we lead,’ Kolyan said with a grin.

‘We live in an interesting country, these are interesting times… we can’t help being interesting ourselves,’ said Igor, smiling back at his friend. ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to stay here for a little while longer. Just a day or two.’

‘Why?’ Kolyan’s smile dropped.

‘I’m going to Ochakov, to arrange for someone to meet you… And to say my goodbyes,’ said Igor. His voice was uncharacteristically firm.

A scooter pulled up outside the gate, and the doorbell rang a few moments later. Igor’s mother answered it.

‘Who is it?’ she asked.

‘A courier. I’ve got a delivery for Igor Vozny.’

‘It’s for you, son,’ called Elena Andreevna.

Igor took the package from the courier and returned to his bedroom. He held the package out to his friend. Kolyan ripped it open immediately and took out a plastic folder containing his documents.

‘Do you want a drink?’ asked Igor. ‘This feels like a fairly momentous occasion.’

‘I don’t need an excuse these days,’ nodded Kolyan, looking up. ‘I’ll have whatever’s on offer.’

By 11 p.m. they were coming to the end of one of the bottles of brandy Igor had bought on the way home from Stepan’s house. They were both drinking this time, at the same pace.

‘So you’re just going to go there and come straight back?’ asked Kolyan, glancing nervously at Igor.

‘Yes, I’ll be as quick as I can. Do you want me to leave you something to read while I’m gone? To stop you getting bored? I can recommend a great book about food, written by a man of the people. Actually, maybe it’s getting a bit late –’

‘No, I can’t read… I’m too scared to concentrate. I’ll just wait. I’d rather you left me something to drink.’

‘I will,’ Igor assured him.

He went to the kitchen and came back with the second bottle of brandy and two bottles of wormwood liqueur.

‘Will that be enough?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ said Kolyan. ‘Enough to get drunk and sleep it off three times over.’

Igor changed into the police uniform in silence. He fastened the belt and holster around his waist, pulled on the boots and put on the peaked cap. Then he put his waterproof jacket on over the top of the tunic. Kolyan watched Igor’s transformation in stunned fascination. He didn’t say a word.

‘Right, I’m ready. Stay here,’ said Igor. He gave Kolyan a farewell glance and left the room.

A cold wind was blowing outside. It wasn’t particularly strong, but it was blowing right into Igor’s face, as though it were coming directly from the past.

The darkness was growing thicker. The houses and fences on both sides of the street receded from view. A little light trembled in the distance up ahead. Igor felt a few raindrops. He automatically tried to pull up his hood but the peaked cap was in the way, so he took it off and carried it.

Igor’s feet led him to the square in front of the wine factory. The rain had stopped, leaving the air damp and heavy.

The factory gates opened slightly. Vanya peeped out of them, then emerged with a sack of wine over his shoulder.

‘Hi,’ Igor called to him.

Vanya stopped, looking around guardedly. Igor walked out into the part of the square that was illuminated.

‘It’s me,’ he said.

‘Yes, I recognised your voice,’ nodded Vanya. ‘We haven’t seen you for a while… Something happened while you were away.’

They turned into the road that led to Vanya’s house.

‘What happened?’ Igor asked as they walked.

‘Valya’s husband was stabbed.’

‘Is he in hospital?’ asked Igor.

‘No, he’s in the cemetery. She doesn’t go to the market any more. She just sits at home, wearing her mourning scarf and crying.’

Igor gave a heavy sigh. ‘Did they find whoever did it?’ he asked despondently.

‘No,’ said Vanya, shaking his head. He stopped and adjusted the sack of wine on his shoulder. ‘He was stabbed so that the handle of the knife broke off, and the blade stayed between his ribs.’

They walked the rest of the way to Vanya’s house in silence. When they got there, they went and sat in the kitchen and Vanya poured them both a glass of wine. He smiled at his own thoughts.

‘The newspaper bought one of my photographs,’ he said proudly. ‘I’ve started taking my own! A friend developed and printed it for me.’

‘Which newspaper?’ Igor asked absently.

‘Our local paper, the Ochakovan ,’ said Vanya. He paused to sip his wine. ‘They said they’d pay me twenty roubles for it. I love taking photographs. I’ve even read a book about it – Photography for Beginners .’

‘Yes,’ said Igor, sipping his own wine. ‘You’re good at it.’

‘I wish I could develop and print them myself too, but you need to buy special trays for the chemicals. And an enlarger.’

Igor took several hundred-rouble notes from the pocket of his breeches. He pushed the money across the table towards Vanya.

‘There you go. Buy whatever you need.’

‘Oh, thank you! You… I don’t know what to say,’ stammered Vanya, overwhelmed with gratitude.

‘Then don’t say anything,’ said Igor.

‘What kind of coat is that? Is it fashionable?’

‘It’s a waterproof jacket. You can have it, if you like.’

‘Really?’

Igor took his jacket off and gave it to Vanya. Then he nodded at the cupboard in the corner of the kitchen.

‘Is that where you keep your knives and forks?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

Igor got up and pulled the top drawer towards him. His eyes fell on a kitchen knife with a solid wooden handle. He picked it up and turned to Vanya.

‘Have you got a sharp file?’ he asked.

‘We’ve got all kinds of files.’

‘Can I borrow one?’

Vanya left the kitchen and returned with a wooden box, which he put on the table. He opened it and took out a bundle of imitation leather.

‘There you go,’ he said, unrolling it onto the table. It was a storage pouch with lots of little pockets, containing files of different shapes and sizes.

Vanya was watching his guest intently. Igor began to feel irritated by his curiosity, so he stuck the kitchen knife into one of the little pockets and rolled up the pouch.

‘You know, next time a different… police officer will come, instead of me. His name is Nikolai. I want you to help him, show him the town, tell him everything.’