Read Online The Gardener from Ochakov by Andrey Kurkov - Free Book Online

back into the suitcase.
    â€˜Are you going to the shops today?’ called his mother from the kitchen.
    â€˜Yes, I was just on my way out,’ replied Igor.
    He put the police uniform neatly back into the suitcase, placing I.I. Zotov’s identification on top. Then he closed the suitcase and pushed it under the bed.
    It was drizzling outside, so Igor took an umbrella. For some reason he had a song from an old Christmas film going round and round inside his head.
    When he reached the first kiosk, Igor bought a packet of cigarettes and lit one straight away. Just at that moment a young lad appeared at his elbow. He didn’t have an umbrella, and his wet hair was plastered to his forehead. He was wearing a canvas jacket and heavy army boots.
    â€˜Hey man, can you spare a cigarette?’
    Igor held the open packet out to him, looking at the lad with amusement.
    â€˜Cover it up with your hand, at least, or the rain will put it out.’
    â€˜I’ll smoke it here, under the roof,’ the boy replied calmly. He lit his cigarette using the tip of Igor’s, then sheltered under the roof of the kiosk to the left of the window.
    â€˜Where on earth did you get those boots?’ asked Igor. ‘They don’t make them like that any more.’
    â€˜I found them in my dad’s shed. They’re army boots,’ the boy replied earnestly, not noticing the irony in Igor’s voice.
    â€˜Lucky you! They knew how to make boots in the old days. Not like now.’ Igor looked down at his cheap Romanian boots, which he’d already had fixed twice.
    â€˜They don’t really fit me,’ grumbled the boy. ‘My dad’s feet were bigger than mine . . . Could you spare another one?’
    Igor took a cigarette out of the packet and held it out to the boy. Then he walked off, without saying goodbye. When he reached the bus station he stopped and took a moment to look around. He walked over to the noticeboard and scanned the handwritten and photocopied adverts stuck to the wall. They were all ‘For Sale’ or ‘Wanted’.
    Maybe I should join the police, thought Igor. I’ve already got a gun! He smiled. Then he thought about the uniform and sighed.
    He felt like a coffee, but after a cigarette you need a real coffee and instant was the only option anywhere near the station. Deciding that it would be better than nothing, Igor went into a little shop, ordered one and drank it right there, next to a glass counter that was showcasing several varieties of sliced sausage and smoked chicken. Igor suddenly remembered the shopping his mother had asked him to get. He checked his pockets then asked for a fresh loaf of bread, half a kilo of sliced sausage, some butter and a tin of sprats. Poverty was certainly not an issue. Unable to control this burst of purchasing zeal, Igor looked directly at the young sales assistant and declared in a firm, confident voice, ‘And a bottle of Koktebel brandy. No, not that one – the one with five stars!’
    He was feeling happier now. It was nearly lunchtime, and hunger was gently tickling his insides. On the way home, he reflected on something that had only just occurred to him: he drank more brandy, or felt like doing so, when it was raining.
    Igor and his mother had lunch sitting opposite one another in the kitchen, next to the rain-streaked window. Elena Andreevna was happy to partake of the brandy, although Igor was on his third glass before she had even finished her first.
    â€˜I wonder where Stepan’s got to,’ mused Igor.
    â€˜He’s a grown man,’ his mother replied with a shrug. ‘And besides, he’s not officially registered here. So what if he’s decided to move on? He’s got no one to answer to but himself.’
    â€˜Mmm, not officially registered anywhere,’ nodded Igor. ‘People like that are usually wanted by the police.’
    â€˜Hold your tongue!’ exclaimed Elena