‘Probably been eaten by now, oldie.’
‘By a dog, you mean?’
‘By a neighbour, more like. But maybe your neighbourhood is better than mine: less hungry?’
‘I’ve never heard of a cat being eaten for dinner, Shura. Well, not since the war.’
‘No? It was staple diet where I came from.’
The other neighbours laughed, and made cat noises, and picked their noses, and gradually drifted away.
So now in the beige light of morning he sat on his bunk with his spoon hovering over the porridge and an image of gushing zombie cat sick in the forefront of his mind. His fellow prisoners were restless; the awake half shifting and muttering and kicking the walls, and the sleeping half sweating on rough mattresses or the floor. Vasya knew sunbeams were beating against the shuttered windows, but only vague ghosts of the light made it in to the deep of the room.
A commotion in the corner of the cell gradually impressed itself on his senses and he turned his grey eyes towards the door, where it seemed the noise was coming from.
‘Stand back, stand back!’ Two prison warders, one very old and one very young, stood in the cell doorway, each wearing an equally ill-fitting khaki uniform, evidently designed for some species of being that wasn’t actually encountered on earth. Vasya could make out the pimples on the chin of the young one: they glowed with an unearthly light and rivalled his Adam’s apple in size. ‘Bad diet,’ thought Vasya. ‘Needs more green vegetables, and jam.’
The commotion quickly subsided and the prisoners stood about expectantly, and largely in silence.
‘Something’s going on,’ murmured Shura behind Vasya’s ear. ‘They never come in in the morning like this. Maybe we’re on fire.’
‘Fire?’ Vasya echoed, loudly.
It was enough. The awake half of the prisoners started echoing ‘fire’ and woke the sleeping half. The shouts multiplied and bodies began to stomp their feet and stumble towards the open door. The two wardens were lost in the crowd for a moment as the men began to move forward as one. Then a crack rang out.
‘Get back! There’s no fire! There’s no fire, damn you! Silence!’ The extremely elderly warden held surprising authority, and brandished in his hand, ready for use, a regulation hand gun. His school-boy chum held a whip, and cracked it on the wall behind his head.
‘Now calm yourselves. There’s no emergency. Do you think we’d be here if there was a fire?’ The younger warden sniggered.
‘We’ve come to collect a prisoner. What was the name, Ponchikov?’
‘The name is Volubchik, Vasily Semyonovich,’ replied Ponchikov, sniffing.
‘Volubchik, come along. We demand immediate obedience.’
The prisoners shifted and parted, forming a tunnel-like gap for Vasya to walk uncertainly through, immediately obeying, but wondering what he was letting himself in for.
‘Blin!’ muttered Shura, ‘what have you done, old man?’
Vasya didn’t reply, but shuffled towards the orange light of the corridor.
‘Are you sure it’s me you want?’ he asked the elderly warden when they were face to face.
The cloudy eyes looked in to his, and the hunched shoulders shrugged.
‘If it’s your name, it’s you we want. Ponchikov doesn’t mistake names. Follow me. Hands out of your pockets, back straight, eyes front.’
The cell door slammed behind them, and they set off on a ragged march down the corridor, the sound of their footsteps echoing off its dimly glowing orange walls.
24
The Sunshine SIZO
‘So, anyway, enough about you already. I’ve been thinking. We need a make-over. Oh yeah, no really! It’s three months since I took over here, and I’ve had a really good look around, and well – the place is a mess, you know? Yeah, it’s like we have a bad reputation, and people don’t like us. The staff don’t like it here, and the prisoners sure as hell don’t. I know it’s a bit left-field and some of the old fuddy-duddies at head office won’t like it, but, Grisha, I want to make my mark, and I want this SIZO to be somewhere that Azov District can be proud of. A centre of excellence. I want to see our name in lights!’
Kommandant Krapivin was having a good day. He’d been in the office since seven-thirty that morning and had already had over a dozen Good Ideas that had been met by amazed silence by most of his staff. Some of the Good Ideas he knew they just would never grasp, given their poor educational background and lack of general knowledge, but others he thought would just take a little time to sink in – like the idea for a staff talent show, and the one about growing free-range marrows for distribution to the poor. Kommandant Krapivin liked to talk to his friend Grisha, Kommandant at another SIZO down the river, every morning at about eleven while he sipped his Turkish coffee and tucked in to a piece of fresh, ripe fruit picked from the SIZO garden.
‘Oh, and that reminds me. I know we have to stick with the old SIZO No. 24 Southern Section title, but I want a strap-line, and I’ve thought of a great one. No, hang on, wait, you’ll love it …’
Kommandant Krapivin’s secretary flounced into view on the other side of the little glass hatch that kept her separated from his office, and tapped viciously on the pane. She was waved away with a white hand, a smile and a cheeky wink. Krapivin would deal with the hum-drum of typical SIZO business after his coffee and fruit: nothing was allowed to come between him and his elevenses ideas fest. He inhaled deeply and meditated for a second on the warm scent rising from under his collar: lavender soap, made with home-grown lavender and tallow from the SIZO’s own stock of cows. Who knew such wondrous scents could be produced from a bunch of cows and herbs: Kommandant Krapivin knew.
‘Anyway, the strap-line is … The Sunshine SIZO! Oh yeah, you love it, don’t you? I can tell you love it. I love it too! I think it sums up our ethos here: we’re in the sunny southern region, but that’s not all: our remand prisoners and staff totally embody the positive energies of the sun. Oh yeah – you know, it’s the sun that makes things grow, it’s the sun that gives life, and we can be the same: restorative, regenerative, happy, you know! And yes, Grisha, that is a word: regenerative. Go look it up if it’s giving you a headache.’
Again the secretary tapped on the glass, this time pressing her face into it and rolling her eyes wildly. The glass steamed up. Kommandant Krapivin shooed her away and swivelled in his chair to face the window and the SIZO garden, where trusties were scraping hoes across bone-dry soil in a less than energetic manner.
‘Grisha, you wouldn’t believe the size of the grapes these guys can produce! No really, they’re the size of golf balls! And so juicy! We’re missing a trick: we could supply farmers’ markets, or have our own farmers’ markets right here at the Sunshine SIZO! How about that then? And maybe have orphans—’
Kommandant Krapivin broke off and swivelled round on his chair as his secretary minced into the room, coming to a stop right in front of him, and glowering.
‘Kommandant, there are people waiting to see you and I cannot contain them any longer.’
‘People? What people? I’m on the phone to Grisha, we’re talking fruit—’
‘Kommandant, really, they’re upsetting me!’
‘OK, OK, I can tell when you’re cross with me. Grisha, listen, I’m going to have to go, there’s some sort of visit going on here and I’m needed to smooth a few furrowed brows, it seems. I’ll catch you later. Ciao!’
Krapivin replaced the receiver on the white Bakelite phone and turned to his secretary.
‘OK, Masha, what’s the problem here. Who are these visitors?’
‘Kommandant, my name is Julia. JULIA.’
‘Oh yeah, I’m sorry, chick, you just look like a Masha. I’ll get it eventually.’ Kommandant Krapivin paced the room as he spoke. ‘Anyways, what’s the beef?’
‘Well, Kommandant, there are two old ladies—’
‘Two old ladies? Marvellous!’
‘You haven’t met them yet! They appear to be mad, or at le
ast senile. They smell of booze, and they keep clucking and tutting and talking about the Deputy Minister, Southern Section Non-Caucasus—’
‘Glukhov?’
‘Roman Sergeevich, uh-huh.’
‘Interesting. Go on – what do they want?’
‘They say they are here to free a prisoner.’
‘Oh really? How fabulous! Which one?’
‘Volubchik.’
‘Volubchik? I’ve never heard of him.’
‘He only got here on Tuesday.’
‘Is he trouble?’
‘No, Kommandant, he is old.’
‘Old! Another old person: terrific! But he’s a prisoner: what is he supposed to have done?’
‘Attempted to bribe a police officer, and had a dog dangerously out of control.’
‘Oh, you’re kidding me! No! Seriously? I don’t believe it. Bribing a police officer! He must have been out of luck that day. Who was the arresting officer?’
‘Officer Kulakov, Kommandant.’
‘Oh, now you’re killing me! That’s hilarious! OK, well, so you don’t know what they want to see me about, but it is all to do with this old fella, Volubchik.’
‘Er, yes Kommandant. And a dog.’
‘We don’t have dogs in here, do we?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Well, I can’t deal with the dog issue then. But actually, that gives me a fabulous idea, Masha! We should have dogs here! Oh yes, we could breed them. Pedigree dogs, and train them. Oh yes, I can see that catching on. With the rich and influential up in Rostov, or even, you know, up in Moscow: ex-con dogs, trained to protect. And they could have tattoos. Oh yeah, they’re really going to be something. Write that down, would you, Masha—’
‘Julia.’
‘Yeah, for tomorrow’s call to Grisha: ex-con dogs with tattoos and attitude.’
Kommandant Krapivin sat back on his chair and took a few spins, chewing on a pencil as he did so.
‘Yes, Kommandant. But can we get back to the visitors now,, please? They are cluttering up my reception and, well, they smell.’
‘Ha, Masha, you’re a scream. They smell! In that case, you better show them in. I’m fascinated. And have them fetch Volubchik from his cell, just in case. Keep him down the corridor for the moment.’
‘Yes, sir, I thought you might say that, so I’ve sent for him, sir.’
‘We’ll see what the Sunshine SIZO is going to bring us this morning, Masha. God, I love this job!’
‘Julia.’
‘Whatever you say, boss!’
* * *
In the waiting room, the thick air hung between the elderly visitors like shrouds of lead. Galia sat with a fist on each floral knee, breathing steadily and deeply, and keeping her eyes fixed on the polished floor in front of her. Zoya, hangover now a fairly dim memory, paced to and fro, her tiny feet tapping out a staccato rhythm as she went. The two ladies had said little to each other during the taxi ride from the airport: Galia had decided to save her strength for the coming meeting, and Zoya recognized that any further discussion of Pasha was probably unwise. Galia slapped a mosquito on her calf and launched Zoya into the air with the shock of the noise. The latter took a deep draw on her smelling salts.
The red door at the far end of the room was pulled inwards violently, and a young woman approached them with quick steps, before fairly yelling at them, from a distance of three feet.
‘Kommandant Krapivin will see you now!’
The office into which they were ushered was light and airy compared to the waiting room, and the ladies felt, if not at ease, at least less unnerved. The smell of dirt that had hit them as soon as they had come through the first SIZO gate was barely detectable in this room, and the colours in it seemed more in line with the natural spectrum, rather than the dirty yellow that seemed to infect every animal, vegetable and mineral in the rest of the building.
‘Ladies, ladies! Welcome to the Sunshine SIZO! Please, be seated! Would you like a lemon tea? It’s home produced – right here, by the prisoners’ own hands!’
Galia and Zoya eased themselves into the tiny leather tub chairs offered by Kommandant Krapivin.
‘Snug, aren’t they? I’m hoping we’re going to start producing those here, ourselves, in the near future. I’m all about innovation, ladies, as I’m sure you’ve heard.’
Galia nodded vaguely and smiled, ‘Er, yes, Kommandant. As it happens, I think I have heard about you and your innovations.’
‘Was it Glukhov? He and I go back a long way. Oh yes! Of course, he ended up in the ministry, poor soul, but I ended up with the best job in the world! I bet he’s quite green about it, but hey, what can you do?’
Zoya snorted loudly and then tried to disguise the sound by turning it in to a cough, which then became a real cough, which then threatened to shake every bone in her body to dust.
‘Oh my, that’s a nasty one. You should have some lemon tea. Definitely, it will really help. Masha, oh Masha!’
The secretary opened the hatch between the two offices.
‘Lemon tea all round please, and quick!’
The hatch slammed shut, and Galia was sure she heard the wooden frame splinter as it did so.
‘Kommandant Krapivin, I’m afraid this isn’t a social visit.’
‘Well no, good lady, I was sure that was the case. What can I do for you?’
‘We have come to free our colleague, Vasily Semyonovich Volubchik.’
‘I see. What makes you think you can do that, er, sorry, what was your name?’
‘Galina Petrovna Orlova.’
‘Well Galina Petrovna, that’s a very noble aim. I’m assuming it is – you do think the old bird is innocent, don’t you? You’re not into organised crime or anything like that? You don’t look like it but, jeepers, we have to be careful! You wouldn’t believe some of the gangsters around here!’
‘No, Kommandant Krapivin, we’re not gangsters.’
Galia gave Zoya a sidelong look, to make sure that her friend wasn’t about to contradict her and claim to be a mobster, or that anyone else was of that inclination. Zoya was looking relaxed, her eyes half closed and her beak firmly shut, awaiting her lemon tea.
‘Kommandant, I have in my pocket a Very Important Piece of Paper, which I have brought all the way from Moscow, this morning.’
‘A Very Important Piece of Paper? My, today is really hotting up. May I see?’
Galia squeezed her buttocks back out of the bucket chair so that she could stand, and therefore get her hand into her dress pocket. She pulled out the Very Important Piece of Paper, and handed it to the Kommandant.
‘You will see, Kommandant, that it is signed by the Deputy Minister Glukhov, Roman Sergeevich himself, with today’s date. Vasily Semyonovich Volubchik is no criminal, Kommandant. He is just an old man who was trying to help his friends. He does not belong in jail: he belongs at home, with his kitty cat and his friends. And this paper proves it.’
Galia had been standing over the Kommandant, but now she bent carefully, bringing her eyes into line with his and looking squarely into his face.
‘He is a fine upstanding citizen: he runs the Azov House of Culture Elderly Club, and we would be at a loss without him. Over forty elderly women are reliant on him, Kommandant. Don’t let us down. Free him, Kommandant, so that the club can, once more, meet and discuss vegetable matters, and celebrate Fridays with the weekend Lotto and a film!’
Kommandant Krapivin wiped away a small tear from the corner of his left eye as Galia finished her speech.
‘Yes, and aside from all that, he is Galia’s only hope of a man friend in the few years that she’s got left. She’s waited long enough, Kommandant: don’t deny her of a bit of love in the autumn of her days!’
Galia turned and issued a sharp hissing ‘Shh!’ in Zoya’s direction.
‘I’m only trying to help! And anyway, it is the truth!’
‘Ladies, you are adorable. Where have you been all my life? This is just perfect. And yes
, you are right: it is all here, in black and white, complete with his signature and his official stamp. I see no reason to keep this Vasily in the SIZO any longer: we’ll get the wardens to go fetch him.’
The Kommandant returned the paper to Galia and she almost kissed it, breathing a sigh of relief that felt like the first free breath in her lungs for a lifetime. Her shoulders lifted and her spirit felt as light as smoke.
‘Kommandant Krapivin, I can’t thank you enough—’
She broke off as his secretary knocked on the door and entered simultaneously, her mouth dropping open slightly at the sight of Galia almost on her knees in front of the Kommandant.
‘Er, I am sorry for the interruption, Kommandant Krapivin, but there are yet more visitors for you, and they’re here to save this old Volubchik too. And to be frank, they’re even worse!’
‘Whoah, Masha, take a second!’
‘It’s Julia.’
‘Yes, of course Julia, I was just kidding. More visitors, you say?’
‘Yes.’
‘Also here for Volubchik.’
‘Yes.’
‘You seem upset. Are they dangerous? Do they smell?’
Julia looked momentarily uncomfortable.
‘They do look dangerous, sir, yes. One of them is all beaten up, and is wearing a woman’s sunhat. And the other has a smile like a Cheshire cat and smells of cheap perfume.’
‘My secretary is so sensitive; she doesn’t like smiles or smells. Anyways, do you know who it could be, ladies?’
Galia and Zoya looked mystified.
‘How fabulous! Show them in! Show them in! We’re all friends here, let’s not stand on ceremony.’
* * *
Mitya the Exterminator, his appearance greatly changed since Galia had last seen him, and not a little peculiar, limped into the room. When she had last seen him, as he dangled her beloved dog by her scruff over the stairwell, she had thought, if she ever saw him again, that she might shout at him, maybe even box his ears, and perhaps might hate him. But what she felt, when she saw him, was a sharp pang of pity: his face was swollen and bruised, as were his arms and hands. He walked stiffly, and with a stoop, and seemed to have shrunk: in some ways, he resembled an old man, but with the eyes of a boy. He caught her stare, and much to her surprise, nodded to her.
Galina Petrovna's Three-Legged Dog Story Page 25