The Gardener from Ochakov (15 page)

‘What's the matter?' asked Igor, stopping alongside him and catching sight of his frightened face.

‘Oh!' The lad wiped his forehead with the palm of his hand. ‘You scared me, comrade lieutenant!'

He retrieved the sack of wine from under the trees and threw it over his right shoulder again.

‘I haven't seen you for a while,' he said.

‘What do you mean?'

‘About four days, isn't it?'

Igor didn't answer. ‘Aren't you bored of stealing wine?' he asked instead.

‘God helps those who help themselves, and the police help everyone else,' Vanya said with a sigh. ‘Shall we go back to my place?'

‘Where else?' replied Igor.

‘I've taken the photographs you wanted, but I don't know how to develop them . . . You'll have to take the film to a photography studio.'

‘You can do that for me,' said Igor, catching up with Vanya and falling into step alongside him.

‘I can't,' Vanya said in a low voice. ‘The photographer is a Jew. He'll tell Fima that I've been taking secret pictures of him and his friends.'

‘Why would he tell him? Are they good friends or something?'

‘No. Because he's a Jew.'

‘Don't you trust Jews?' asked Igor, surprised.

‘No one does! Our head technologist, Efim Naftulovich, was arrested and imprisoned for sabotage.'

‘You're talking nonsense!' exclaimed Igor, shaking his head emphatically as he walked. ‘Did you take photographs of many people?'

‘About seven . . . And Valya.'

They ran out of things to say and walked in silence for about ten minutes, until Vanya opened the gate to his yard and then the door to his house.

Igor sat down on the sofa with the high wooden back and removed his boots. When Vanya came into the room holding a glass of wine, Igor drank it in two gulps and nodded his thanks.

‘Is it true that they're introducing a new police uniform?' Vanya suddenly whispered.

Igor was instantly on edge.

‘Where did you hear that?'

‘On the radio.'

‘It must be true, then,' Igor replied uneasily. ‘Wake me at nine if I'm not up by then. What time does the photography place open?'

‘Everything opens at eight here, except the market. That opens at six,' said Vanya. ‘But you should take the film to Kiev to get it developed. Otherwise the old man will tell Fima and all the others that the police are taking photographs of them. Here, take it.' Vanya placed the film in Igor's outstretched hand and left the room. Igor looked at the small black cartridge protecting the undeveloped film from the light. He rolled it back and forth in his palm, then put it in his pocket.

It was a surprisingly resonant morning. The footsteps of people hurrying past in the street mingled with the sound of doors slamming and the creaking of the wooden floorboards in the house. Igor pulled on his boots, just as Vanya looked into the room. He was already dressed.

‘Why are you up so early?' he asked, surprised. ‘It's only six. I thought I'd just go to the market, then come back and we could –'

‘Why are you going to the market?' asked Igor, adjusting his tunic.

‘I'm going to carry the wine for Mother. It's too heavy for her to manage alone.'

‘Well, I'll come with you,' said Igor. He could tell from Vanya's face that he wasn't keen on this idea.

‘If you want to go to the market, you'll have to walk behind us. Otherwise people will wonder what's going on – Mother, me with the wine, and a police officer. They all know . . .' His voice trailed off.

‘You mean, they know where the wine's from?' smiled Igor.

‘Not everyone, of course, but it's a small town. I know how Bartenyuk gets hold of the ox tongues that he sells at the market, and he knows where my wine's from.'

‘OK, OK,' Igor reassured him. ‘I'll give you a head start. I'm only going to wander round for an hour or so, then I'll come back here.'

‘Going to wander round, eh?' Vanya smiled. ‘Are you going to see Red Valya?'

‘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 friendly 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.