The Gardener from Ochakov
Read The Gardener from Ochakov Online
Authors: Andrey Kurkov
Contents
Igor is confident his old Soviet policeman's uniform will be the best costume at the party. But he hasn't gone far before he realises something is wrong. The streets are unusually dark and empty, and the only person to emerge from the shadows runs away from him in terror.
After a perplexing conversation with the terrified man, who turns out to be a wine smuggler, and on recovering from the resulting hangover, Igor comes to an unbelievable conclusion: he has found his way back to 1957 Kiev. And it isn't the innocent era his mother and her friends have so sentimentally described.
As he travels between centuries, his life becomes more and more complicated. The unusual gardener who lives in his mother's shed keeps disappearing, his best friend has blackmailed the wrong people, and Igor has fallen in love with a married woman in a time before he was born. With his mother's disapproval at his absences growing, and his adventures in each time frame starting to catch up with him, Igor has to survive the past if he wants any kind of future.
Andrey Kurkov was born in St Petersburg in 1961. Having graduated from the Kiev Foreign Languages Institute, he worked for some time as a journalist, did his military service as a prison warder in Odessa, then became a film cameraman, writer of screenplays and author of critically acclaimed and popular novels, including the cult bestseller
Death and the Penguin
.
Amanda Love Darragh studied French and Russian at Manchester University, then spent the following decade working in Moscow and at BBC Worldwide in London. Amanda won the 2009 Rossica Translation Prize for her translation of
Iramifications
by Maria Galina, and she has translated works by Ilya Boyasho, Igor Savelyev and Anna Lavrinenko, among others.
Death and the Penguin
The Case of the General's Thumb
Penguin Lost
A Matter of Death and Life
The President's Last Love
The Good Angel of Death
The Milkman in the Night
Andrey Kurkov
Translated from the Russian by Amanda Love Darragh
â
MA, YOUR FRIEND'S
at the gate, and she's got another dodgy man with her!' Igor shouted cheerfully.
âKeep your voice down, will you?' said his mother, coming out into the hallway. âShe'll hear you!'
Elena Andreevna shook her head as she looked reproachfully at her thirty-year-old son, who had never learned to lower his voice when necessary.
It was true that their next-door neighbour, Olga, did seem to be taking rather too much of an interest in her personal life. As soon as Elena Andreevna and her son had moved from Kiev to Irpen, Olga â who was also fifty-five years old and single â had taken her under her wing. Elena Andreevna had divorced her husband before she'd retired, largely because he had started to remind her of a piece of furniture, being inert, silent, perpetually morose and apparently incapable of helping out around the house. Olga had been smart enough not to get married in the first place, but she spoke about it casually, without regret. âI don't need to keep a husband on a leash,' she had once said. âPut them on a leash and they start to behave like dogs, always barking and biting!'
Elena Andreevna went out to the gate and saw her neighbour. Next to her stood a wiry, clean-shaven man of around sixty-five with an expressive face and a determined chin, closely cropped grey hair and a faded canvas rucksack on his back.
âLenochka, I've brought someone to meet you! This is Stepan. He fixed my cowshed.'
Elena Andreevna looked sceptically at Stepan. She didn't have a cowshed, and nothing else needed fixing. Everything was in perfect working order, for the time being, and she wasn't in the habit of inviting unfamiliar men into the house for no reason.
Although the look of amused indifference in Elena Andreevna's eyes had not escaped his attention, Stepan politely inclined his head.
âDo you by any chance need a gardener?' he wheezed, his voice full of hope.
Stepan was dressed smartly in black trousers, heavy boots and a striped sailor's undershirt.
âPeople usually hire gardeners at the beginning of spring,' remarked Elena Andreevna, unable to hide her surprise.
âI prefer to start now and finish in late winter. I can prune the trees and tidy everything up, and then I'll be on my way. Trees need looking after all year round. My rates are quite reasonable, too â I'll be happy with a hundred hryvnas a month, plus board and lodging. Mind you, I'm quite fond of cooking myself.'
A hundred hryvnas a month? Elena Andreevna thought with astonishment. Why so little? He looks perfectly strong and capable.
She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to consult her son, but Igor wasn't in the yard. Which was probably just as well. He might have accused his mother of losing her marbles in her old age.
Elena Andreevna sighed. âWe don't really have any room in the house,' she said, reluctant to make a decision without her son's input.
âI don't need to sleep in the house. I'll be fine in an outbuilding, as long as I have something to put over myself when it gets cold. I never touch alcohol, and I'm completely trustworthy.'
Elena Andreevna looked at her neighbour. Olga nodded, as though she had known Stepan for years.
âWell, I suppose you might as well stay for now,' conceded Elena Andreevna. âWe've got a shed, and it's empty at the moment. We don't keep any animals. There's a bed with a mattress, and an electric socket. I just need to speak with my son . . .'
The shed was just visible behind the house. Stepan nodded and began walking towards it.
âHow long have you known him?' Elena Andreevna asked her neighbour.
âHe was here before, about two years ago. He didn't steal anything, he fixed everything I asked him to and he did a bit of gardening. I wouldn't think twice, if I were you! He's a useful chap to have around.'
Elena Andreevna shrugged and went into the house to look for Igor. He was greedily smoking a cigarette when his mother told him the news. The gardener's arrival didn't seem to interest him much.
âHe can dig up the potatoes,' said Igor. âIt's more work than the two of us can manage.'
Stepan dug the potatoes up, single-handedly, in no time at all. Then he laid them out in the yard to dry. Seeing this, Elena Andreevna was quietly glad of his help and gave him a hundred hryvnas straight away â a month's salary in advance. She cooked some of the potatoes for supper that evening and served them with braised beef.
In the morning Igor was woken by an exuberant spluttering and snorting outside his window. He looked out and saw Stepan standing there in nothing but a pair of black underpants, pouring cold water from the well over himself. What piqued Igor's curiosity was the top of Stepan's left upper arm. It bore a number of blurred dark blue marks, as though someone had tried to cover up or remove an old tattoo. Igor went out into the yard and asked Stepan to pour a bucket of water from the well over him too.
The water burned Igor, in a good way. He too gave a loud and exuberant snort. Then he asked Stepan about the marks on his shoulder.
Stepan contemplated his landlady's pale, skinny son, wondering whether or not to give him the time of day. Igor's piercing, light green eyes seemed to invite honesty.
âYou know,' Stepan said quietly, âI wish I knew. I was about five years old at the time. It hurt, I know that much. I can remember crying. Apparently my old man included some kind of secret code in the tattoo. Either for me, or for himself. My uncle never really explained it. He just said that my father sent me to him on the train, and then he went off somewhere and disappeared. I never saw him again. I was brought up by my Uncle Lev and Aunt Marusya in Odessa. They told me that my mother left my father when I was about three. I was forever asking my uncle to tell me more, but he took the full story to the grave.
âAll I learned was that there was more to my father than met the eye. He was sent to the labour camps in Siberia three times. What for? No one knows. Maybe there's some important information contained in the tattoo, but as I grew my skin stretched so that the ink blurred, and it's impossible to make any sense of it all!'
Stepan glanced at the marks on his shoulder. Igor moved closer and inspected the blurred tattoo. It was made up of a number of dark blue blotches, which didn't appear to form either letters or a recognisable image.
âWhere's your old man?' Stepan asked suddenly.
Igor looked into the gardener's eyes and shook his head.
âSomewhere in Kiev. My mother left him a long time ago. She did the right thing,' said Igor. âHe wasn't interested in either of us.'
âDon't you ever see him?' Stepan asked with a hint of disbelief.
Igor thought about it. Then he shook his head again.
âWhy would I want to? We're all right, just the two of us. I've got a couple of scars to remember him by.'
Stepan's face flushed with anger. âDid he beat you?'
âNo. My mother used to send me off with him to the park or the fairground rides. He would always let me go off by myself, so he could go and drink beer with his friends. Once a cyclist knocked me over and broke my arm. The second time was even worse.'
The gardener frowned. âAll right,' he said, waving his hand dismissively, âthat's enough about him!'
Igor was amused by Stepan's desire to change the subject. He grinned and his eyes returned to the tattoo.
âIt might be worth trying to decipher it, you know,' said Igor, after a few moments' reflection.
âAnd how do you suggest we go about that?'
âWe need to take a photo first. Then we can play around with it on-screen. It might work, you never know! It's worth a try. I've got a friend who's great with computers â he might be able to help us.'
âWell, there's a bottle in it for you if you manage to figure it out,' grinned Stepan.
Igor fetched his camera and took several photos of Stepan's shoulder.
IGOR DRANK A
mug of coffee, then sat down at the computer and merged the photos together. He zoomed in on the composite image, zoomed out again, rotated it this way and that, but the blurred tattoo remained incomprehensible.
âAll right,' Igor murmured to himself, âI'll go and see Kolyan in Kiev. If he can't do anything with it either, then I'll have to admit defeat. And I guess I can forget about that bottle from the gardener!'
He downloaded the photos onto a memory stick and put it in his jacket pocket.
âMa, I'm going into town,' he said to Elena Andreevna. âI'll be back some time late afternoon. Do you want me to pick anything up?'
Elena Andreevna looked up from her ironing. She thought about it.
âSome black bread, if they've got any fresh,' she said eventually.
