Read Online Death and the Penguin by Andrey Kurkov - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrey Kurkov
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but he stopped her.
“Mine’s there too,” he said, squatting down in front of her, “but it’s only the 29th! Two more days to go!”
Reluctantly she agreed to wait.
While Sonya busied herself telling Misha a fairy story in the bedroom, Viktor made coffee, then sat, cup in hand, at the table facing the window.
The year that was ending had brought much that was strange into his life. And it was ending strangely, engendering mixed feelings and thoughts. Loneliness had given way to a kind of semi-loneliness, a kind of semi-dependence. His own sluggish life force had borne him as on a wave to a strange island, where suddenly he had acquired responsibilities and money to discharge them. Remaining, in the process, remote from events and even from life itself, he had made no effort to grasp what was taking place around him. Until recently, with the arrival of Sonya. And even now, life around him was still dangerously unfathomable, as if he had missed the actual moment when the nature of events might have been fathomed.
His world was now him, Penguin Misha and Sonya, but so vulnerable did it seem, this little world, that should anything happen, it would be beyond his power to protect it. Not for lackof a weapon or karate skills, but simply because, containing no genuine attachment, no sense of unity, no woman, it was too ready to crumble. Sonya was someone else’s little girl temporarily in his care, his penguin was sickly and sad, and under no obligation to show gratitude doggy-fashion, wagging his tail after fresh-frozen fish.
His reflections interrupted by the phone, he went back to the living room to answer it.
It was the Chief.
“Coming round for half an hour. All right?”
“Fine,” said Viktor.
He peeped into the bedroom. Sonya and the penguin were standing facing each other.
“Have you understood what I’ve said?” she was asking, and her tone was insistent.
They were, he now saw, much the same height.
“Very well,” said Sonya, “and then I’ll make you a new suit in quite a different colour …”
Smiling, he tiptoed away. An hour later the Chief arrived, and spent a long time shaking snow from his long overcoat before finally coming in.
“Happy New Year!” he said, putting down a heavy carrier bag.
They went through into the kitchen, where Igor Lvovich pulled from his bag a bottle of champagne, a lemon, a couple of tins and several packages.
He called for a cutting board and knives, and together they sliced sausage, cheese and baguette. After which Viktor fetched glasses.
“Got a cat, have you?” the Chief asked, noting the fish head in the bowl on the little bedside table by the stove.
“No, a penguin.”
He laughed. “You’re joking!”
“I’m not. Come and see.”
Viktor took him to the bedroom.
“And who’s this then?” asked the Chief, seeing the little girl. “Didn’t you say you weren’t married?”
“It’s Sonya!” she said, eyeing the strange uncle. “And this,” she said, pointing at the penguin, “is Misha.”
“Daughter of a friend,” murmured Viktor so that Sonya shouldn’t hear.
The Chief inclined his head.
“Pity I didn’t know about the penguin,” he said, back in the kitchen. “My youngest has only seen them in books.”
“Bring him another time.”
“Another time?” the Chief repeated thoughtfully. “Yes, of course. This year he’s been with my wife in Italy. It’s quieter there.”
Head back, gaze directed at the ceiling, the Chief restrained the cork from flying there, and poured champagne.
“Happy New Year!” he said.
Viktor raised his glass. “Happy New Year!”
“Where are you seeing it in?” the Chief asked after a gulp of champagne.
“Here.”
Prodding his fork into the salami, the Chief nodded, shooting Viktor another of his looks, this time one of concern.
“You see,” he said, “I’ve got some rather unseasonable news for you … But it’s the way it’s turned out.”
Viktor looked at him
“Mine’s there too,” he said, squatting down in front of her, “but it’s only the 29th! Two more days to go!”
Reluctantly she agreed to wait.
While Sonya busied herself telling Misha a fairy story in the bedroom, Viktor made coffee, then sat, cup in hand, at the table facing the window.
The year that was ending had brought much that was strange into his life. And it was ending strangely, engendering mixed feelings and thoughts. Loneliness had given way to a kind of semi-loneliness, a kind of semi-dependence. His own sluggish life force had borne him as on a wave to a strange island, where suddenly he had acquired responsibilities and money to discharge them. Remaining, in the process, remote from events and even from life itself, he had made no effort to grasp what was taking place around him. Until recently, with the arrival of Sonya. And even now, life around him was still dangerously unfathomable, as if he had missed the actual moment when the nature of events might have been fathomed.
His world was now him, Penguin Misha and Sonya, but so vulnerable did it seem, this little world, that should anything happen, it would be beyond his power to protect it. Not for lackof a weapon or karate skills, but simply because, containing no genuine attachment, no sense of unity, no woman, it was too ready to crumble. Sonya was someone else’s little girl temporarily in his care, his penguin was sickly and sad, and under no obligation to show gratitude doggy-fashion, wagging his tail after fresh-frozen fish.
His reflections interrupted by the phone, he went back to the living room to answer it.
It was the Chief.
“Coming round for half an hour. All right?”
“Fine,” said Viktor.
He peeped into the bedroom. Sonya and the penguin were standing facing each other.
“Have you understood what I’ve said?” she was asking, and her tone was insistent.
They were, he now saw, much the same height.
“Very well,” said Sonya, “and then I’ll make you a new suit in quite a different colour …”
Smiling, he tiptoed away. An hour later the Chief arrived, and spent a long time shaking snow from his long overcoat before finally coming in.
“Happy New Year!” he said, putting down a heavy carrier bag.
They went through into the kitchen, where Igor Lvovich pulled from his bag a bottle of champagne, a lemon, a couple of tins and several packages.
He called for a cutting board and knives, and together they sliced sausage, cheese and baguette. After which Viktor fetched glasses.
“Got a cat, have you?” the Chief asked, noting the fish head in the bowl on the little bedside table by the stove.
“No, a penguin.”
He laughed. “You’re joking!”
“I’m not. Come and see.”
Viktor took him to the bedroom.
“And who’s this then?” asked the Chief, seeing the little girl. “Didn’t you say you weren’t married?”
“It’s Sonya!” she said, eyeing the strange uncle. “And this,” she said, pointing at the penguin, “is Misha.”
“Daughter of a friend,” murmured Viktor so that Sonya shouldn’t hear.
The Chief inclined his head.
“Pity I didn’t know about the penguin,” he said, back in the kitchen. “My youngest has only seen them in books.”
“Bring him another time.”
“Another time?” the Chief repeated thoughtfully. “Yes, of course. This year he’s been with my wife in Italy. It’s quieter there.”
Head back, gaze directed at the ceiling, the Chief restrained the cork from flying there, and poured champagne.
“Happy New Year!” he said.
Viktor raised his glass. “Happy New Year!”
“Where are you seeing it in?” the Chief asked after a gulp of champagne.
“Here.”
Prodding his fork into the salami, the Chief nodded, shooting Viktor another of his looks, this time one of concern.
“You see,” he said, “I’ve got some rather unseasonable news for you … But it’s the way it’s turned out.”
Viktor looked at him
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