The Gardener from Ochakov

by Andrey Kurkov

  ‘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 incong
ruous 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.’

  27

  OLGA, ELENA ANDREEVNA and Alyona spent a long time preparing the celebratory meal. Six hands and three voices, all fully engaged. Igor glanced into the kitchen and immediately withdrew, his desire for a sandwich remaining unfulfilled.

  ‘Open up the table in the living room,’ said his mother, looking up from the frying pan on the hob. ‘And tell Stepan that we’ll be ready to eat in half an hour.’

  Igor did as she requested then went out to the front gate. As he stood there looking down the street, he decided that he’d been stuck at home convalescing for long enough. Now he’d been for a walk, he wanted to go again. Preferably without the suit and the noose round his neck.

  Igor loosened his tie, surprised at himself for not changing into something more comfortable. Nevertheless, he kept his suit on until dinner. The others also came to the table in the same outfits they’d worn to the signing that morning – except Alyona, who had changed into a light blue sweater. Her cheeks were flushed and she was holding an envelope, which she put first on the table in front of her and then on her knees.

  ‘Open the champagne, son!’ said Elena Andreevna.

  Igor opened the bottle, then stood up and poured a glass for everyone but Stepan.

  Elena Andreevna pushed her chair back and stood up. ‘So, Stepan Iosipovich,’ she began, ‘here’s to your new houses – may they be full of happiness, may you enjoy good health and may all your dreams come true! I hope you will remember us in your new life!’

  Igor sipped his champagne. Unable to ignore his hunger any longer, he helped himself to two pork rissoles, some mashed potato, a spoonful of mimosa salad and a couple of sprats.

  Elena Andreevna caught Igor’s eye as he was about to tuck in and pointed at the bottle of champagne. He topped up everyone’s glass and glanced at Stepan, whose expression was perfectly serene.

  ‘May I?’ said Alyona.

  She stood up, holding her glass in her left hand.

  ‘Papa,’ she began, ‘I . . . Maybe I haven’t . . . thought very highly of you in the past. I hope you can forgive me . . . I’ve got a present for you. I’ve had it for a few years.’

  She took the envelope from the table and handed it to Stepan.

  ‘It’s a certificate confirming the rehabilitation of my grandfather . . . your father.’

  Stepan’s lips trembled as he took the envelope from his daughter. He opened it and took out a document with an official stamp on it, which he scanned briefly.

  ‘At last,’ he said q
uietly. ‘Now I really can make a fresh start.’

  He looked up at his daughter gratefully.

  ‘Thank you, Alyona.’ He looked round at the others. ‘You should all drink to his memory. Today is proof that my life has turned out well . . . His didn’t, but I think he’d be happy if he knew about my plans!’

  The pork rissoles were meltingly tender. As Igor chewed his food, he wondered what plans Stepan had in mind.

  ‘I’d like you all to come with me tomorrow,’ said Stepan, towards the end of the meal. ‘So I can show you round my new home. Yes, the time has come for me to move on.’ He looked at Elena Andreevna. ‘I’m sure you’ll be glad to have your shed back!’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ she said, waving him away. ‘I haven’t even paid you the hundred hryvnas I owe you for this month!’

  ‘A hundred hryvnas,’ repeated Stepan, smiling at his own thoughts. ‘So, tonight will be my last night here . . . I’ve enjoyed getting to know you.’

  Everyone left the table shortly after this, as though they sensed that the meal was over. The three women took the dishes into the kitchen and Olga started washing up.

  Igor followed Stepan out onto the doorstep.

  ‘Congratulations,’ he said to the gardener. ‘And I’m sorry if, you know . . . if I’ve offended you in any way. I didn’t mean to.’

  Stepan nodded. He was still holding the certificate of rehabilitation.

  ‘Can I see it?’ asked Igor.

  Stepan handed him the document.

  Maybe I should tell him about Iosip and Chagin? thought Igor, after reading the certificate, but he immediately shook his head. No, he won’t believe me. He’ll think I’m winding him up again.

  ‘Do you know much about him?’ asked Igor.

  ‘I know more now than I did. At least I know why they put him in prison.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘For slandering the Soviet system.’

  ‘You mean he was a dissident?’ Igor was surprised. He couldn’t reconcile this piece of information with his observations of Iosip in Ochakov.