The Gardener from Ochakov

26

OUTSIDE IT WAS raining for the third consecutive day. Igor was initially puzzled by The Book of Food Stepan had lent him, and then he began to find it amusing. The book consisted of a seemingly random collection of strange culinary inventions, which were rather like traditional folk remedies, interspersed with solemn declarations arguing that the fate of the nation depended on the food people ate. Some of the comments were worthy of attention, whereas others were more like the ravings of a madman. The pages were covered with neat, childlike handwriting, and one page had been divided into pencil-drawn rows and columns, forming a graph. Various alimentary products had been sorted into groups under the headings ‘Enemy’, ‘Reactionary’, ‘Hostile’, ‘Benevolent’, ‘Natural’ and ‘Curative’. Igor noticed that meat products, pasta, seaweed, rice, citrus fruits and whale blubber were ‘enemy’ foods, whereas sour fruits, vinegar, herring, dried fish, halva and chocolate were considered ‘hostile’. The ‘natural’ group included buckwheat, pearl barley, millet, corn, dried peas, chickpeas and goat’s cheese.

‘Interesting chap, but clearly insane,’ murmured Igor, closing the manuscript.

He got out of bed and walked slowly and carefully over to the window. Accelerated by the inclement weather, twilight was taking over the world outside.

He thought back to Kolyan’s visit the previous day. Although his lips were still swollen and sore, his friend had smiled and cheerfully boasted that there was no longer any danger of him being ‘finished off’, because he’d been offered a deal, and fortunately for Kolyan the task could not have been easier. All he had to do was to hack into someone’s computer and copy all files and email correspondence containing any password information.

‘What are you going to get out of it?’ asked Igor.

‘His forgiveness!’ answered Kolyan.

They relaxed over a bottle of brandy that Kolyan had brought from the city, chasing it with apples that Stepan had picked from the garden.

Stepan looked in a couple of times and peered closely at Kolyan. When the time came for Kolyan to leave, he happily agreed to take the five undeveloped films and drop them off at the photography studio on Proreznaya Street.

After Kolyan left, the gardener knocked on Igor’s door.

‘Was that the banker you were telling me about?’ he asked.

‘He’s not a banker, he’s an IT specialist. He just works in a bank.’

‘Seems about the right age for my daughter,’ said Stepan, half questioningly, as though he were seeking Igor’s approval.

‘He’s not exactly marriage material,’ said Igor, looking into the gardener’s eyes with genuine concern. ‘He works as a hacker on the side, and that can be a dangerous business.’

Stepan looked puzzled. ‘What’s a hacker?’ he asked.

‘Someone who steals information from other people’s computers.’

‘You mean he’s a thief?’ asked Stepan, surprised.

‘No, he’s a hacker.’

Stepan suddenly looked suspicious. ‘Is he the one who made a promise on “thief’s honour”?’

Igor burst out laughing.

Before leaving, Stepan asked Igor what he’d thought about the manuscript.

‘Interesting, very interesting,’ nodded Igor, not wishing their conversation to end on an argument.

A faint smile appeared on Stepan’s face.

‘There are some serious messages in that book,’ he said. ‘You should read it more carefully.’

Igor’s recollections were interrupted by a lorry driving past noisily outside. He lay down again. Being confined to his bedroom, albeit temporarily, had made him desperate for company. He’d enjoyed seeing Kolyan the previous day, and talking to the gardener, but this evening seemed dull and interminable. His mother was watching television. The emergency doctor had already been and gone, noting with approval that Igor’s wound was healing remarkably quickly.

Igor was about to resign himself to switching the light off and going to sleep when Stepan knocked on the door and peeped into his room. He was wearing his new suit.

‘Igor, can I borrow your umbrella?’ he asked.

‘Where are you off to in this weather?’

‘I found a nice cafe the other day… I’m just going there for a bit.’

‘It’s in the hallway, on the coat stand,’ said Igor.

‘You mean the red one? That’s a woman’s umbrella! I’ve seen you with a black one.’

‘In there,’ he said, pointing at the wardrobe. ‘At the top.’

The gardener found the umbrella, thanked him and left.

Igor switched the light off, but he couldn’t sleep. His thoughts were in turmoil, flitting between Fima Chagin, the blade that had been left in his side as a souvenir of Ochakov, Stepan’s father Iosip and his Book of Food, and Valya and her fear. All of a sudden he could feel his mouth burning, either as a distant aftertaste or as a memory – it was the same feeling he’d had after drinking home-made vodka at Fima’s house.

Igor reluctantly got up, went into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of brandy, without bothering to switch the light on. He sat down at the table by the window to drink it.

It occurred to him that this was the time of night he usually drank brandy before putting on the police uniform and going out to walk along the road to the past, the road to Ochakov in 1957. A path that only he knew. Igor shivered with either cold or fear. He didn’t know which, until he realised that he’d come into the kitchen wearing nothing but his underpants. The little top window was wide open, and a cold, slanting rain was lashing down outside.

He finished his brandy, returned to his bedroom and got under the blanket. His thoughts returned to Red Valya. He was really worried about her.

‘May God keep her safe,’ Igor whispered with his eyes closed. ‘If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive Him!’

As he spoke, the anger and determination in his own voice seemed unfamiliar. He sounded more like an actor in a gangster film.

The following morning, the house was unusually noisy. Igor could hear the sound of clattering dishes and of doors being slammed. His mother burst into his bedroom with a bucket of water and started mopping the floor. Igor watched her from the bed for several minutes. She didn’t once look in his direction, let alone speak to him.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked her eventually.

‘The house needs a good clean,’ said Elena Andreevna. ‘We’ve got guests coming today!’

‘Who?’

‘Stepan’s daughter from Lviv. He’s already gone to meet her at the station.’

Igor got up and put on his tracksuit bottoms. He touched the dressing over his wound. It hardly hurt at all, which surprised him.

‘You can get your own breakfast,’ said his mother, looking up from her mop.

The kitchen floor was still wet. Igor fried himself an egg and sat down at the little table. His eyes were immediately drawn to the window, whose transparency had been thoroughly restored. It was dry outside, and the clouds seemed thinner. It looked like it was going to be a lovely day.

Is Stepan’s daughter going to be staying in the house with us? Igor thought suddenly. While her father sleeps in our shed? That’ll be an interesting arrangement.

Igor’s mother suddenly appeared in the doorway. ‘You’ve got a woman, haven’t you?’ she asked.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘An older woman,’ said Elena Andreevna.

If Igor had still been eating his egg at this point, he would almost certainly have choked on it.

‘What’s the matter with you?’ He started laughing. ‘You’ve been watching too many soap operas.’

By way of a response, his mother walked over to the table and put a pair of Igor’s socks down next to his dirty plate.

‘Do you think I can’t recognise the signs?’ she asked indignantly, prodding the darned heel of one of the socks. ‘You ought to find yourself a young girl and get married. Maybe then you’ll start behaving sensibly and people will stop attacking you with knives!’

‘I just –’ began Igor, and then he broke off and looked at his socks. ‘She’s just a friend. She noticed that they had holes in.’

Elena Andreevna gave a sarcastic smile. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself, visiting a woman with holes in your socks!’ she exclaimed. ‘It’s disgraceful!’

The door closed behind her as she left the kitchen. Stunned, Igor stared at the socks for a moment, then brushed them to the floor and kicked them under the radiator.

‘Whatver,’ he muttered irritably. Then he went back to his bedroom.

‘And wear something smart!’ said Elena Andreevna, appearing at the door.

‘Where’s she going to sleep?’ Igor stared at his mother.

‘I thought we could put her in here,’ she replied, looking at her son’s neatly made bed.

‘Right, so you want me to sleep in the shed with Stepan? So he can teach me how to be a tramp?’

‘Stepan’s not a tramp,’ said Elena Andreevna, leaping to the gardener’s defence. ‘He’s buying a house! You can sleep on the folding bed in my room for a couple of nights.’

‘A house?’ Igor was having trouble processing all of the morning’s news, as though he’d only just woken up from a deep sleep. ‘What kind of house?’

He remembered the conversation he’d had with Stepan recently, when the gardener had asked him to find out whether there were two neighbouring houses for sale in Irpen.

‘A big house. Olga and I have already been to see it. Actually it’s one big house, and another smaller one.’

Igor suddenly noticed that his mother, who had been mopping the floors in a purple flannel robe just a little while ago, was now wearing her best dress. Not only that, but she had accessorised it with an amber necklace.

‘Are you feeling better?’ she asked solicitously.

Igor touched the dressing over his wound, as he had already several times that morning. It still hurt a bit, but it was more of a dull ache than a shooting pain.

‘I guess so,’ he said with a shrug.

‘In that case, please wear something smart,’ she said again. ‘Your graduation suit is still in that wardrobe. You’ve hardly worn it.’

‘Why do I have to get dressed up?’ cried Igor. ‘I already feel like a man, I don’t need a suit and tie to prove it!’

Something suddenly stopped him mid-rant. It could have been the way his mother lowered her eyes, hurt by his insinuation, or because he knew in his heart that he’d gone too far. He looked back at the wardrobe.

‘Just tell me why it’s so important that I wear a suit. I met her in Lviv, and she’s perfectly normal. She wears jumpers and jeans! She won’t care what I’m wearing.’

‘It’s not about her!’ Elena Andreevna waved her hand airily. ‘Today is a very important day for both of them. Oh, you’re too young to understand. They’re going to buy two houses, and they want us to go with them… Olga’s coming too.’

Igor marvelled at his mother. She’d become so provincial since they’d moved from Kiev. They’ve got so much in common, her and Stepan. Who’d have thought it?

‘And don’t forget to shave,’ she added.

The door closed behind her as she went out. Igor opened the wardrobe and took out his suit, which he must have worn on no more than three previous occasions. He laid it on the bed, then returned to the wardrobe and rummaged around until he found the old police uniform. His hands sought out the bundles of money and the gun in the holster. He found the gold watch and chain too, which were wrapped up in an old scarf of his mother’s.

This is ridiculous, thought Igor. What if I put the police uniform on instead of the suit? He smiled. She’d take me straight to a psychiatrist! The same way she dragged me round to all those doctors after the incident with the carousel.

His thoughts jumped to Ochakov. A vision of Valya’s frightened face swam before his eyes.

‘Everything’s ridiculous,’ sighed Igor, closing the wardrobe door.

Half an hour later, the sun emerged from behind the clouds. Almost at the same time an old brown Mercedes pulled up outside the gate. Igor recognised it from the bus station, where it usually stood waiting for passengers.

Igor was already wearing his suit and a white shirt and tie, which, like Stepan, he’d been unable to tie without his mother’s help. It was like a noose around his neck. He felt constrained by his breathing, his body and his thoughts.

Stepan and his daughter got out of the car. Stepan handed some money through the driver’s window. His daughter was holding a small sports bag, which looked like it was quite full.

She’s here for a couple of days then, Igor thought.

As she entered the house, Alyona Sadovnikova shyly introduced herself and shook Elena Andreevna’s hand. Still holding her bag, she followed Igor’s mother to his bedroom.

‘Make yourself comfortable,’ said Elena Andreevna.

Igor smiled at her and went out into the hallway, where Stepan was waiting in his suit. His neck was also constrained by a tie, although it didn’t seem to be bothering him in the slightest. He glanced at his watch, then looked at Igor.

‘Oh,’ he said, pleasantly surprised. ‘Very smart! You look like a banker. Are you coming with us?’

‘Are we going shopping?’ Igor asked with a smile.

‘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.

Stepan’s face bore a gentle, weary smile. His daughter walked along next to him, thinking her own thoughts. Olga and Elena Andreevna were chatting together, about ten paces behind them.

‘You go on, I’ll catch you up,’ Stepan said suddenly when they reached a grocery shop. ‘I’ll buy something for dinner. We have to celebrate!’

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ volunteered Igor. Stepan did not object.

Inside the shop, Igor looked directly into the gardener’s eyes.

‘Did you really put both houses in your daughter’s name?’ he asked quietly.

‘We used her passport, so yes, they’re hers,’ said Stepan. ‘I haven’t had a passport for ten years. I lost it. But I’ll get a new one. I know what to do… I just need to fill in a loss report and hand it in to the police. I haven’t got a criminal record or anything.’

Igor nodded. Stepan turned away and peered closely at the selection of salami and ham under the glass counter. Then he looked up and called out to the sales assistant, ‘Excuse me, miss, I’m ready to order.’