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

Andreevna. ‘You never know what life is going to throw at you. It’s only by the grace of God that you’re not in his situation. He’s clearly an honest and reliable man. And he thinks before he speaks. Unlike you!’
    Igor said nothing. He glanced at the scales on the windowsill. He poured himself a fourth glass of brandy, still thinking about the gardener.
    Later that afternoon, his mobile phone rang. It was Kolyan, brimming with his usual enthusiasm.
    â€˜Hi! What are you up to?’
    â€˜Nothing much. I’m at home.’
    â€˜Aren’t you coming to my birthday party?’
    â€˜Oh, is it today?’
    â€˜Yes, that’s why I’m calling. Come to the Petrovich club in a few hours’ time. You know, the Retro Party place. Just make sure you wear a Young Pioneers’ neck scarf or something like that, in keeping with the theme. They love all that Soviet stuff. The owner’s probably a former Komsomol activist.’
    Igor glanced at the wet window. He didn’t feel like setting foot out of the house, let alone travelling to Kiev, but he couldn’t exactly say that to his best friend without offend-ing him. It was already too late to try and get out of it by pleading a cold or an upset stomach. If he’d wanted it to sound plausible, he should have said it right at the start of the conversation.
    â€˜OK, I’ll think of something. I’m drinking a brandy in your honour as we speak,’ said Igor. ‘Any specific requests, as far as presents are concerned?’
    â€˜Presents? Oh, you know me – I’ll be happy with anything. Apart from flowers. I can’t stand cut flowers. It’s like watching your money wilt. No, I’d prefer hard cash!’
    â€˜Do you take roubles?’
    â€˜Roubles, dollars, it’s all the same to me!’
    Igor smiled, thinking about the Soviet roubles in the suitcase.
    â€˜Fine, roubles it is then! See you later!’

8
    IGOR’S HEAD WAS buzzing slightly from the brandy. He stood looking at the police uniform, which he’d laid out on his bed. The leather boots stood on the floor, shiny and proud. Nearby, on the bedside table, lay the bundles of Soviet hundred-rouble notes. They were held together with bands of paper.
    I could take it with me and get changed there, thought Igor. He gave a sigh, then waved his doubts away. Oh, what the hell! I can put my anorak over the top. It’s dark outside anyway, no one will be able to see.
    Igor pulled on the boots, realising immediately that they were at least a size too big. He found some thick woollen socks, put them on over the thin pair he was already wearing and tried the boots on again. Now they seemed to fit.
    â€˜OK,’ he nodded decisively. ‘I’m a retro police officer for the evening. And I’ll pay for everything with retro money!’
    Igor put on the tight-fitting breeches and the tunic. He tightened the belt around his waist and went over to the mirror, leaving the gun and its holster on the bed. A smile crept over his face. He liked what he saw.
    â€˜Nice one,’ he murmured. ‘The girls are going to love it!’
    Taking the gun out of the holster, he turned it over in his hands as he contemplated taking it with him. Common sense penetrated the brandy fog.
    He stuck the gun under his mattress and closed the empty holster, then picked up the gold watch and put it in the left-hand pocket of the breeches. He would show it off in front of the birthday boy, if he got the chance. He looked out of the window. It was no longer raining. He went out into the hallway, trying to make as little noise as possible. His mother was watching television in the living room.
    Looking down at his feet in order to avoid the puddles, Igor walked out of the gate and headed towards the bus station. As he walked he ran his hands over the pockets of the breeches, enjoying the way they bulged with the bundles of roubles. If only they