The Gardener from Ochakov Read Free

‘Can you imagine? A night in the mausoleum! You, alone in the dark . . . with Lenin! Eh?’
    Igor shrugged. His mind was elsewhere.
    â€˜Can’t you just show me?’
    â€˜No, I’m not going to show you anything on an empty stomach,’ insisted Kolyan. With a final glance at the poster, he started walking again. Five minutes later they arrived at Cafe Borshch.
    â€˜So, what are you having?’ asked Igor, knowing that Kolyan was going to take pleasure in keeping him in suspense, watching his growing irritation and milking the excitement and impatient curiosity that were written all over his face.
    â€˜Let’s see now . . . I’ll have a Russian salad,
okroshka
soup and some fruit cordial,’ said Kolyan.
    Igor relayed this information to the waitress and sat down opposite Kolyan, without ordering anything for himself.
    â€˜Aren’t you having anything?’ asked Kolyan, surprised.
    â€˜I’m already full with curiosity. Anyway, your appetite’s enough for both of us.’ Igor gave a forced smile. ‘So, are you going to show me or not?’
    â€˜All right, here you go.’ Kolyan held the tube of paper out to him.
    Igor opened it up. The printout was black and white – or rather, grey and white – but perfectly comprehensible. Stepan’s shoulder was no longer visible, but there were words and an image. The letters looked unsteady, shaky, ready to dissolve again at any moment into a random agglomeration of dots.
    â€˜â€œOchakov, 1957, Efim Chagin’s House”,’ read Igor. There was an image of an anchor beneath the words. ‘Where’s Ochakov?’ asked Igor.
    â€˜Don’t you know?’ asked Kolyan, surprised. ‘On the Black Sea, somewhere between Odessa and the Crimea. Berezan Island is just off the coast . . . You know, where Lieutenant Schmidt was shot. Or haven’t you ever heard of
Battleship Potemkin
either?’
    Igor nodded, picturing the approximate location of the little town on a map of Ukraine.
    â€˜Did he seriously not know what the tattoo said?’ asked Kolyan.
    Igor smiled. Now his friend was the one itching to know more.
    â€˜He had no idea,’ said Igor, shaking his head.
    Half an hour later, they went their separate ways.
    â€˜Hey, don’t forget it’s my birthday in two weeks! I’m expecting a present!’ Kolyan called after his friend.
    â€˜I’ll be there,’ promised Igor, turning round for a moment. ‘As long as you remind me nearer the time!’
    Igor bought a loaf of Darnitsky rye bread before getting the minibus back to Irpen. On the way home, he kept looking at the printout of the reconstructed tattoo. His imagination was on fire, and even Radio Chanson could not tear his thoughts away from the words and the anchor. He had gone to Kiev with one mystery, and he was coming home with another. Well, it was essentially the same mystery, but knowing more about it only made it more fascinating.
    Igor went through the gate and straight round to the back of the house, to the shed. Stepan was inside, sitting on a little stool up against the wall. He was reading a book.
    â€˜What are you reading?’ asked Igor.
    â€˜Just something about the war,’ answered Stepan, getting up.
    He closed the book and put it on the stool with the cover facing down, as though he didn’t want Igor to see the title or the name of the author.
    â€˜Well, I’ve managed to decipher your tattoo!’ declared Igor, with childish pride.
    â€˜Have you now?’ the gardener asked in surprise. ‘What does it say, then?’
    Igor held out the piece of paper.
    â€˜â€œOchakov, 1957, Efim Chagin’s house”,’ Stepan read aloud slowly. Then he froze, his eyes fixed on the words.
    Igor stood waiting for the gardener’s reaction.
    â€˜Go on now,’ said Stepan, his voice suddenly cold. ‘I need to be alone for a while, to think about