‘I might drop by while I’m there,’ admitted Igor. ‘Maybe I’ll buy some more fish. Her fish isn’t stolen, like your wine or the ox tongues. It’s the product of honest labour.’
‘Yes,’ Vanya nodded pensively. ‘All right, just leave the house about three minutes after you hear the door close. Make sure you pull the door shut too, so that it closes properly.’
Vanya left the room. On the other side of the door Igor could hear bustling sounds, a woman’s voice urging Vanya to hurry up and the monotonous burbling of the radio.
Igor heard the door shut while he was standing at the window, looking past the fence at the street beyond. This was how he got his first glimpse of Vanya’s mother – a large, stout woman carrying two capacious shopping bags. Her skinny son was walking behind her, also carrying two bags. She was walking confidently and seemed to be carrying her burden with ease – unlike her son. As soon as they went through the gate and turned left along the street, Igor moved away from the window.
No one took any notice of Igor at the market, and he liked it that way. Like an accomplished spy, he revelled in his successful infiltration of this alien environment. His nose captured strange smells, which in actual fact were strange to him alone. He was amused by strange details in the clothes people wore – the shape of their collars, the unusual fabric of their coats – but what made the greatest impression on Igor was the look on people’s faces, the way their eyes seemed to shine with joy, with passion and spirit. This was something he’d never seen before, either in Kiev or in Irpen.
The air began to smell of fish and the names of various fish began forcing their way through the other market sounds, which had already merged into a kind of white noise.
‘Black Sea flounder, Black Sea flounder!’ cried a woman’s voice he didn’t recognise.
Igor quickened his pace as he approached the fish section.
‘Herring from the Danube!’ sang a short, plump saleswoman in a clean white overall, as soon as she spotted the handsome young police officer.
Igor walked on. Suddenly he heard a cheerful, familiar voice up ahead.
‘Gobies, gobies, come and get your gobies!’
Igor’s heart swelled with joy and he grew flustered, certain that other people would notice. He came to a stop when he saw the owner of the voice. He decided to watch her for a while, but sharp-eyed Valya immediately spotted the police officer.
‘Hey, lieutenant!’ she called. ‘Come and buy some fresh fish . . . You’ve already tried my flounder!’ She smiled broadly at him.
Igor approached obediently and looked closely at the stall. A birch twig was swishing from side to side above the counter with the steady rhythm of a conductor’s baton, chasing the persistent flies away from the fish.
‘Look at my gobies!’ The seller directed his gaze to a row of ugly-looking fish. ‘Why don’t you try some? Get your mother to fry them for you. You’ll love them!’
‘Haven’t you got any flounder?’ asked Igor, looking up at Valya.
‘Why have you left it so late? I’ve already sold them all. I never have many. I can put some aside for you tomorrow, if you like – just let me know many you need!’ The seller smiled.
‘I’ll take a kilo,’ said Igor. His eyes were involuntarily drawn to Valya’s chest, which was conspicuously curvaceous beneath her white overall.
‘I don’t remember you wearing an overall last time,’ said Igor.
‘We’re having a sanitary inspection today, and there’s a prize for the best stall,’ explained Valya, adjusting her red hair.
Igor thought back to their previous conversation. ‘What are you doing after work?’ he asked.
‘Are you going to invite me to a restaurant again?’ asked Valya, smiling. ‘I would say yes, but people will see!’
Igor was delighted.
‘We could go somewhere else, if you prefer?’
Valya thought for a moment, fish forgotten.
‘Go out that way, turn right and you’ll see some benches in the park,’ she said, looking in the direction of the entrance to the market. ‘We can sit there for a while. Meet me at six, and don’t wear your uniform!’
‘I’m afraid I have to wear my uniform,’ Igor said apologetically. ‘But I’ll be there at six o’clock. On the dot!’
Valya nodded and immediately turned her attention to an old woman who had stopped nearby and was looking at her gobies.
‘Try some! Buy some! Either for yourself or your cat. They’re tastier than sanderling, you know they are!’
Igor walked away with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Suddenly he heard the shrill sound of a whistle. He looked around and spotted a commotion in the adjacent trading aisle: a young boy was running away from a police officer with puffed-out cheeks, who was blowing his whistle with all his might and waving his arms about frantically. It wasn’t clear whether he was trying to move people out of the way or appealing for help in catching the thief.
Igor bowed his head and walked in the opposite direction. He found the side entrance to the market, which led out onto a short, narrow street. The two-storey brick building opposite the market just so happened to have a bar on the ground floor. When Igor came face to face with the apprehensive woman behind the counter, he changed his mind about ordering a double shot of vodka. He ran his eyes along the bottles, then looked around the bar. The only table was occupied by two pensioners in drab clothing.
‘Do you have any mineral water?’ he asked cautiously.
‘Only sparkling,’ said the woman, and her face softened. ‘Twenty kopeks a glass.’
Igor took a hundred-rouble note out of his pocket and held it out to the woman.
‘Haven’t you got anything smaller? We’ve only just opened!’
Igor thought about it, and then he remembered Red Valya giving him change when he bought the fish. He took a handful of coins from his pocket and she helped herself to the correct change from his outstretched palm. The mineral water hissed as it was poured into the glass.
As he left the bar Igor wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his tunic, ignoring the old man who was staring at him in surprise. He walked to the end of the street and came to the park. The benches were painted bright green. He stood and looked around for a few minutes, lost in thought, then trudged back to Vanya Samokhin’s house.
After idling the afternoon away in Vanya’s house, Igor had no trouble making his way back to the park near the market to meet Valya as arranged. He strolled up and down the concrete paths, inhaling the autumnal sea air and glancing at the people who passed him, each of them burdened with their own lives and their own thoughts. He sat down on the third bench from the path that led from the market and inspected his uniform, which looked clean and smart. He glanced down at his boots. They were as comfortable as if they’d been custom-made by an experienced cobbler, although Igor could remember them being a couple of sizes too big when he’d first put them on. He shrugged. The fact that the boots seemed to have shrunk was not the most surprising thing that had happened to Igor recently. No, the most surprising thing was that he was sitting on a bench in 1957, waiting for a married woman who worked at the market – a beautiful woman with red hair, whose mischievous spirit was evident in both her looks and her personality.
Igor glanced towards the market. He took the gold watch out of his breeches and opened the engraved cover. It was exactly 6 p.m. His other hand brushed the bundle of hundred-rouble notes in his right-hand pocket.
‘Where shall I take her?’ Igor wondered. The money wouldn’t let him relax. He knew he would only be able to spend this money here, only now. Back in the future – or wherever 2010 was in relation to now – the notes might be worth something to a collector, but the most you could buy with them would be a smile. Assuming, that is, that the salesperson had a sense of humour.
A woman wearing an elegant, pale grey felt coat with the collar turned up glided past him with an air of importance. Seeing the police officer, she stopped and gave him a frie
ndly smile.
‘How’s Pyotr Mironovich?’ she asked.
‘He’s fine,’ he said, smiling back at the woman, his smile concealing his sense of panic. He was dreading the thought of her asking another question.
‘Tell him Irina Vladimirovna said hello! He promised to send us someone to talk to the children.’
‘I will,’ promised Igor.
The woman in the felt coat went on her way. Igor took a deep breath as he watched her go. He had no idea who Pyotr Mironovich was, of course, but it seemed reasonable to assume that he was the head of the police force.
Igor stood up and walked along the path, away from the market. He looked back the way he’d come. Still no sign of Red Valya.
Igor’s good mood gradually dissipated and was replaced with a growing sense of apprehension and unease.
‘I’ll walk to the end of this path and back twice more, and then I’ll give up and go back to the house,’ he decided.
Turning round, he set off slowly in the direction of the market. The path was suddenly overcrowded. Two army officers were walking towards Igor, and there were other people just behind them. The officers saluted him as they walked past, without interrupting their conversation, and Igor saluted in return. He was surprised by how naturally the gesture came to him.
‘You don’t look very happy to see me!’ said a woman in a headscarf, who had stopped just in front of him. Igor looked into her eyes and broke into a smile.
‘Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t recognise you in that disguise!’
Red Valya burst out laughing. ‘It’s so easy for me to disappear. All I have to do is put a scarf over my hair and no one recognises me, no one even notices me. But without a scarf, you can’t miss me. Shall we take a seat?’ she asked, nodding at the nearest bench. Without waiting for an answer, she sat down and adjusted her knee-length beige raincoat.
‘I was worried you weren’t going to come,’ admitted Igor, sitting down and casually resting one foot on the opposite knee.
‘Did you arrest anyone today?’ Valya asked playfully.
Igor shook his head. ‘I don’t like arresting people,’ he said, adopting the same tone. ‘I wouldn’t mind arresting you, though!’
‘You cheeky devil!’ She smiled again. ‘And where would you take me once you’d arrested me?’
Igor shrugged. ‘Not to prison, obviously!’
‘Well, I suppose I ought to be grateful for that! Have you been here long, in Ochakov?’
‘No, it’s just a short visit . . . I’m here on business.’
‘Ah, that explains it! Business travellers are always bold when they’re away from home. If you were from Ochakov, you would have thought not just twice but a hundred times before inviting me anywhere!’
‘Why, are the police officers in Ochakov afraid of you?’
‘Not me,’ said Valya, adjusting her scarf and tucking a lock of red hair back under it. ‘My reputation! But really, I’m no different from any other woman.’
‘Come on, let’s go for a walk,’ suggested Igor. ‘You can show me the town. I don’t even know my way round yet.’
‘So get the local police officers to show you!’ Valya got up from the bench and looked around. ‘Maybe we can walk over to the trees, there aren’t too many people over there.’
‘Let’s do that,’ agreed Igor.
They wandered companionably through the park then along a narrow street, past squat single-storey buildings where the windows were already glowing with light. It wasn’t only the windows that had been set ablaze by the evening but the street lamps too, which burned brightly at every corner. Their light-hearted conversation about nothing in particular was relaxed and unhurried, as though it had fallen into step with their slow-paced stroll. Igor didn’t realise that they’d left the last city street behind until allotments began to appear along the sides of the road. Then several trees emerged from the twilight and the wind began to rustle their leaves. Igor glanced up. A scattering of stars had already pierced the sky and were shining down through the tiny holes they had made. Igor found Valya’s hand and took it gently in his own, as though he feared she might resist. But she didn’t. They continued on hand in hand, without looking at one another, as though their shared enjoyment of this evening walk was all either of them needed.
Half an hour later Igor heard the sound of the sea. Waves were rolling and breaking on the unseen shore. Valya’s hand was very warm. Igor gave it a little squeeze and immediately felt Valya squeeze his hand, hard, in response.
‘Be careful here,’ warned Valya, leading him to the right.
They went down a narrow gully. They were walking on sand, which gave way beneath their feet.
When they reached the shore, Igor looked back and saw a cliff hanging over the narrow strip of beach. Valya sat down on the sand. Igor sat down next to her. He put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned in towards him.
‘It’s nice sitting here with you like this,’ she said. ‘That uniform suits you. So does the gun!’
‘May I kiss you?’ asked Igor, turning to face her.
‘No,’ said Valya. ‘It would be inappropriate. We’re still on formal terms.’
‘But you keep switching between formal and informal! Shall we just decide to address each other informally?’ he suggested.
‘Well, we would need to toast each other to seal our friendship, and I bet you haven’t brought anything to drink!’
‘No, I haven’t,’ agreed Igor, disappointed.
Valya put her hand on his shoulder in a gesture of consolation.
‘You’re all so indecisive now, after the war,’ she said. ‘All the brave ones must have died.’ She smiled in mock sympathy.
‘I’m usually decisive,’ said Igor, who was immediately embarrassed by the timidity in his own voice.
‘You mean, when you’re catching bandits?’ asked Valya, suddenly serious.
Igor nodded.
‘Are there that many of them?’
‘Who?’
‘Bandits,’ said Valya, looking straight into his eyes.
Igor thought about Fima and remembered what Vanya had told him about his relationship with Valya. He shrugged. He couldn’t quite see the two of them together.
‘There’ll be more in about fifty years’ time,’ he said after a pause.
‘Fifty years?’ Valya’s eyes widened. ‘But the newspapers say that they’ll all be gone in twenty years. They’re going to train them as teachers and engineers, so that they can serve the country.’
‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the newspapers,’ Igor began but stopped short, realising that he was in danger of saying too much. ‘I mean, you should. Of course you should believe the newspapers. But you need to understand things for yourself.’
‘I prefer books. Newspapers are full of boring facts, whereas books contain facts and romance. I like Vadim Sobko.’
‘Who?’
‘Haven’t you heard of him? He’s famous all over the world. He was awarded two Stalin Prizes before Stalin even died!’
‘I’ve never read anything of his,’ admitted Igor.
‘What a shame I’ve already taken it back to the library . . . You ought to go and get it out. Otherwise you’ll be like that police officer in the joke.’
‘Which joke?’ asked Igor, with mock indignation.
‘Sorry! The one where two police officers are deciding what to give the third for his birthday. One of them says, “Let’s buy him a book!” And the other says, “No, he’s already got one!”’
‘I’ve got more than one book at home,’ said Igor, smiling.
Valya’s eyes and lips were so close, so alluring and seductively aloof. Igor took her hand and pulled it towards him. He tried to kiss it but immediately felt her move his face firmly aside.
‘Don’t,’ said Valya, her voice soft and apologetic. ‘I’m sick. You might catch it too.’
‘What do you mean? What is it?’
‘I don’t know wh
at it’s called. It’s a disease that humans can catch from fish. Sometimes it makes me cough, leaving a bad taste in my mouth, and sometimes it makes my eyes water . . . It also means I can’t have children.’ These last words burst from Valya in a rush of emotion, as though she were on the point of tears.
She managed to compose herself and was silent for a few minutes. Then she looked up at the sky. The stars were shining down on them. In the distance a half-moon was floating on the surface of the sea, and the crest of a small wave could be glimpsed fleetingly in its light.
‘But,’ began Igor, cautiously breaking the silence, ‘can’t it be cured?’
‘Probably. The doctor says he’ll cure me if I leave my husband for him. Can you believe that?’
‘You should report him!’ Igor said indignantly.
‘What’s the point?’ Valya’s eyes and lips were very close again, but her eyes looked so sad that it didn’t even occur to Igor to try and kiss her.
‘What’s the doctor’s name?’ asked Igor, feeling like a real police officer.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Valya, waving her hand dismissively. ‘Maybe he’s just pretending that he knows how to cure me.’
It was after midnight by the time Igor returned to Vanya’s house. The light was on in the kitchen and his young host was sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. When he heard footsteps on the porch he put the newspaper down and stood up.
The front door was open. Igor let himself in, went through to the kitchen and nodded at Vanya. They sat down at the table together.
‘Would you like some wine?’ asked Vanya. ‘I’m not having any. I’ve already had two glasses.’
‘Tell me,’ Igor put his hand in the pocket of his breeches and took out a hundred-rouble note, ‘is there a clinic or a hospital round here?’
‘A hospital.’
‘I want you to find the doctor who saw Valya. Give him this and get him to tell you the history of her disease, or at least the diagnosis. All right?’
Vanya shook his head.
‘You will find the doctor who treated Red Valya and find out what she’s got! All right? Get him to write it down.’
The Gardener from Ochakov Page 12