The Gardener from Ochakov (35 page)

‘Just don't flash it about. They don't appreciate that sort of thing.'

Kolyan nodded obediently.

At around 11 p.m. Igor helped his friend to put on the police uniform. When Kolyan pulled the boots on, he winced in discomfort.

‘They're a bit tight,' he grumbled.

‘Walk around the room for a bit,' suggested Igor.

In the darkness Kolyan walked across the room and back several times, then sat down again.

‘That's weird,' he said. ‘Now they fit . . .'

‘The uniform and the boots represent the past, and the past changes its shape and size to fit whoever tries it on.'

‘Whatever!' Kolyan shook his head and took the belt and holster from Igor. He opened the holster and looked at the gun.

‘Shame it doesn't work,' he murmured.

‘It does when you're there,' said Igor, nodding earnestly. He waited while Kolyan fastened the belt around his waist, then handed him a dark cloth bag in which he'd placed the bundles of Soviet banknotes and an envelope containing a note for Valya.

What if Kolyan reads the note? Igor suddenly panicked. Well, it doesn't say much anyway . . . It's just a request for her to pity him as much as she can.

‘Here, take this too,' said Igor, handing his friend the gold watch.

‘That's an expensive gift,' whispered Kolyan.

‘Let's call it an exchange. Your laptop in return for my watch. It'll work there too, by the way, and it'll show the right time.'

They left the house at around midnight – Kolyan in the old police uniform, holding the cloth bag, and Igor in a tracksuit and a leather jacket.

‘Come on, best foot forward and all that!' Igor said cheerfully, trying in vain to impart some enthusiasm to his friend. Kolyan couldn't have looked less enthusiastic if he'd tried.

Houses stretched along both sides of the street. There were no lights in their windows. Igor peered at them as though he were seeing them for the first time, which perhaps he was . . . After all, on previous occasions he had only ever looked straight ahead, seeking out the little lights in front of the gates of the wine factory. Fences and houses had been relegated to his peripheral vision. But this time he felt an exhilarating sense of freedom – he could look wherever he wanted! Kolyan was the one looking straight ahead as he walked, as though he'd been hypnotised.

At some point Igor noticed that the darkness had grown thicker and the houses had disappeared. He stopped.

‘I'm not going any further,' he said to his friend. ‘You're on your own now.'

Kolyan stopped too, a little way ahead.

‘On my own?' he repeated.

‘Well, not completely. Someone will meet you soon. His name's Vanya Samokhin. Tell him I said hello. Oh, and this is really important – don't ever take the uniform off. Treat it like a second skin. Without it, you'll disappear.'

‘What do you mean, disappear?'

‘You'll come straight back here.'

‘Back to the present, you mean?'

Igor nodded.

‘That's good to know. If it's worse there than it is here, at least now I know there's a way out. So we don't need to say goodbye!'

Without another word, Kolyan turned away from Igor and continued walking along the road. The darkness swallowed him a few moments later.

Igor stood there for a while, looking and listening, then he turned round and walked quickly back along the road. His steps were surprisingly light, which might have been something to do with the imported Chinese trainers he was wearing. They weighed next to nothing.

Houses appeared again along both sides of the street. There were still no lights in their windows.

Kolyan stopped when he reached the illuminated square in front of the green gates of the Ochakov Wine Factory, unsure what to do next. He looked around.

The gates suddenly creaked open and Kolyan took a step back. An old lorry rolled noisily out of the gates and turned onto the road, which was visible only in the glow from its headlights. It drove away from him, soon disappearing from view. The gates closed and all was quiet. Kolyan's sense of hearing was more alert than usual, and after just a few minutes he detected the creak of the gate hinges again. A young lad appeared in the gap, carrying something over his shoulder. The gates were bolted behind him. The sack was obviously heavy, and as the lad lowered it to his feet it seemed to squirm as though it contained a live piglet.

Kolyan peered closely at the young lad and the sack.

‘Are you Vanya?' he called out of the darkness.

‘Yes.'

Kolyan walked over to him.

‘Igor says hello!' he said.

‘Thank you.'

Kolyan sighed heavily. He had to say something, to break the ice somehow.

‘Is that heavy?' he asked, pointing at the sack.

Vanya nodded.

‘Let me give you a hand.'

Kolyan bent down towards the sack of wine, and Vanya gladly helped him to hoist it onto his right shoulder. They began walking along the dark road, following the route taken by the lorry.

‘I've got a note for Valya,' Kolyan said quietly. ‘Will you introduce me to her?'

‘Tomorrow morning,' promised Vanya Samokhin. ‘She's having a difficult time at the moment, but she's got a soft spot for men in uniform. We're going back to our house now. Mother said she'd fry some gobies. You can stay with us for a while . . . The wine will help you sleep.'

‘What wine?' asked Kolyan, confused.

‘This wine!' Vanya slapped the sack and it wobbled on Kolyan's shoulder. ‘It's a dry white . . . Your friend loved it. You can drink it on its own, without food, and the dreams it gives you . . . well, they're better than any film!'