Andrey Kurkov - The Gardener from Ochakov

MA, YOUR FRIENDS at the gate, and shes got another dodgy man with her! Igor shouted cheerfully.

Keep your voice down, will you? said his mother, coming out into the hallway. Shell hear you!

Elena Andreevna shook her head as she looked reproachfully at her thirty-year-old son, who had never learned to lower his voice when necessary.

It was true that their next-door neighbour, Olga, did seem to be taking rather too much of an interest in her personal life. As soon as Elena Andreevna and her son had moved from Kiev to Irpen, Olga who was also fifty-five years old and single had taken her under her wing. Elena Andreevna had divorced her husband before shed retired, largely because he had started to remind her of a piece of furniture, being inert, silent, perpetually morose and apparently incapable of helping out around the house. Olga had been smart enough not to get married in the first place, but she spoke about it casually, without regret. I dont need to keep a husband on a leash, she had once said. Put them on a leash and they start to behave like dogs, always barking and biting!

Elena Andreevna went out to the gate and saw her neighbour. Next to her stood a wiry, clean-shaven man of around sixty-five with an expressive face and a determined chin, closely cropped grey hair and a faded canvas rucksack on his back.

Lenochka, Ive brought someone to meet you! This is Stepan. He fixed my cowshed.

Elena Andreevna looked sceptically at Stepan. She didnt have a cowshed, and nothing else needed fixing. Everything was in perfect working order, for the time being, and she wasnt in the habit of inviting unfamiliar men into the house for no reason.

Although the look of amused indifference in Elena Andreevnas eyes had not escaped his attention, Stepan politely inclined his head.

Do you by any chance need a gardener? he wheezed, his voice full of hope.

Stepan was dressed smartly in black trousers, heavy boots and a striped sailors undershirt.

People usually hire gardeners at the beginning of spring, remarked Elena Andreevna, unable to hide her surprise.

I prefer to start now and finish in late winter. I can prune the trees and tidy everything up, and then Ill be on my way. Trees need looking after all year round. My rates are quite reasonable, too Ill be happy with a hundred hryvnas a month, plus board and lodging. Mind you, Im quite fond of cooking myself.

A hundred hryvnas a month? Elena Andreevna thought with astonishment. Why so little? He looks perfectly strong and capable.

She glanced over her shoulder, hoping to consult her son, but Igor wasnt in the yard. Which was probably just as well. He might have accused his mother of losing her marbles in her old age.

Elena Andreevna sighed. We dont really have any room in the house, she said, reluctant to make a decision without her sons input.

I dont need to sleep in the house. Ill be fine in an outbuilding, as long as I have something to put over myself when it gets cold. I never touch alcohol, and Im completely trustworthy.

Elena Andreevna looked at her neighbour. Olga nodded, as though she had known Stepan for years.

Well, I suppose you might as well stay for now, conceded Elena Andreevna. Weve got a shed, and its empty at the moment. We dont keep any animals. Theres a bed with a mattress, and an electric socket. I just need to speak with my son

The shed was just visible behind the house. Stepan nodded and began walking towards it.

How long have you known him? Elena Andreevna asked her neighbour.

He was here before, about two years ago. He didnt steal anything, he fixed everything I asked him to and he did a bit of gardening. I wouldnt think twice, if I were you! Hes a useful chap to have around.

Elena Andreevna shrugged and went into the house to look for Igor. He was greedily smoking a cigarette when his mother told him the news. The gardeners arrival didnt seem to interest him much.

He can dig up the potatoes, said Igor. Its more work than the two of us can manage.

Stepan dug the potatoes up, single-handedly, in no time at all. Then he laid them out in the yard to dry. Seeing this, Elena Andreevna was quietly glad of his help and gave him a hundred hryvnas straight away a months salary in advance. She cooked some of the potatoes for supper that evening and served them with braised beef.

In the morning Igor was woken by an exuberant spluttering and snorting outside his window. He looked out and saw Stepan standing there in nothing but a pair of black underpants, pouring cold water from the well over himself. What piqued Igors curiosity was the top of Stepans left upper arm. It bore a number of blurred dark blue marks, as though someone had tried to cover up or remove an old tattoo. Igor went out into the yard and asked Stepan to pour a bucket of water from the well over him too.

The water burned Igor, in a good way. He too gave a loud and exuberant snort. Then he asked Stepan about the marks on his shoulder.

Stepan contemplated his landladys pale, skinny son, wondering whether or not to give him the time of day. Igors piercing, light green eyes seemed to invite honesty.

You know, Stepan said quietly, I wish I knew. I was about five years old at the time. It hurt, I know that much. I can remember crying. Apparently my old man included some kind of secret code in the tattoo. Either for me, or for himself. My uncle never really explained it. He just said that my father sent me to him on the train, and then he went off somewhere and disappeared. I never saw him again. I was brought up by my Uncle Lev and Aunt Marusya in Odessa. They told me that my mother left my father when I was about three. I was forever asking my uncle to tell me more, but he took the full story to the grave.

All I learned was that there was more to my father than met the eye. He was sent to the labour camps in Siberia three times. What for? No one knows. Maybe theres some important information contained in the tattoo, but as I grew my skin stretched so that the ink blurred, and its impossible to make any sense of it all!

Stepan glanced at the marks on his shoulder. Igor moved closer and inspected the blurred tattoo. It was made up of a number of dark blue blotches, which didnt appear to form either letters or a recognisable image.

Wheres your old man? Stepan asked suddenly.

Igor looked into the gardeners eyes and shook his head.

Somewhere in Kiev. My mother left him a long time ago. She did the right thing, said Igor. He wasnt interested in either of us.

Dont you ever see him? Stepan asked with a hint of disbelief.

Igor thought about it. Then he shook his head again.

Why would I want to? Were all right, just the two of us. Ive got a couple of scars to remember him by.

Stepans face flushed with anger. Did he beat you?

No. My mother used to send me off with him to the park or the fairground rides. He would always let me go off by myself, so he could go and drink beer with his friends. Once a cyclist knocked me over and broke my arm. The second time was even worse.

The gardener frowned. All right, he said, waving his hand dismissively, thats enough about him!

Igor was amused by Stepans desire to change the subject. He grinned and his eyes returned to the tattoo.

It might be worth trying to decipher it, you know, said Igor, after a few moments reflection.

And how do you suggest we go about that?

We need to take a photo first. Then we can play around with it on-screen. It might work, you never know! Its worth a try. Ive got a friend whos great with computers he might be able to help us.

Well, theres a bottle in it for you if you manage to figure it out, grinned Stepan.