Iâm going away this evening for a couple of days,â he said after a pause. âItâs nothing to worry about â Iâm just going to see some friends who live not far from here, on the way to Kiev. Iâll sort everything out in the garden and the vegetable patch as soon as I get back. Weâve got plenty of time to prepare for winter.â
âYes, thereâs plenty of time,â agreed Elena Andreevna.
She had the impression that something was bothering Stepan. Heâd seemed tense over dinner. Elena Andreevna was pleased with her casserole â the meat and vegetables were particularly tender â but the gardener hadnât said a word. On the other hand, heâd eaten everything on his plate and even scooped up the last of the gravy with his bread . . . Maybe he was the kind of man whose actions spoke louder than his words.
7
IGOR WOKE UP at about 3 a.m. He switched his light on and sat on the bed for a while, just thinking. Then he decided to go out into the yard.
As he approached the shed, he was astonished to see the padlock on the door. It occurred to him that Stepan might have gone for good, taking his treasure with him. He very much hoped that wasnât the case. Igor couldnât for the life of him remember where they kept the spare keys.
His mood ruined, Igor went back to the house and tiptoed into the living room. The house was surprisingly quiet. His mother was asleep, and the mice hadnât started rustling about under the floorboards yet. They only came into the house in the winter, when it got really cold, and the first frosts wouldnât arrive for at least another two months.
As Igor opened the top cupboard of the dresser he remembered that a bottle of walnut liqueur had been lurking in there for some time. He extracted the bottle carefully, selected a small shot glass and walked over to the table. He sat on one of the chairs, which had a knitted rag cushion tied to the back with a couple of ribbons, poured himself a shot and started thinking. He thought about the trip to Ochakov and the nocturnal âtreasure huntâ. Whichever way you looked at it, they had definitely broken the law. But then again, wasnât everyone breaking the law these days in one way or another? With the possible exception of his mother. Actually, heâd never done anything illegal before the trip to Ochakov. It had simply never occurred to him. Something had been holding him back in Ochakov too, whereas Stepan didnât show even a momentâs hesitation. Heâd known exactly what he was doing when he took Igor to the hardware shop to buy a crowbar. And heâd known exactly how to use it too, to open doors and smash padlocks. Heâd said that his father had been in prison three times . . . Maybe Stepan had too? Yes, that was it. He must have been in prison, and when he came out he hadnât been allowed home! That would certainly explain the vagabond lifestyle.
Igor sipped his liqueur. It was strong and viscous, bitter but sweet. The pleasant assault on his senses distracted him from his thoughts. He stopped thinking altogether and simply sat there, without moving. Suddenly he ran his hand over his naked thighs, realising for the first time how cold he was. He wondered whether he ought to get dressed. Yet he finished his drink slowly, returned the bottle to the dresser and tiptoed back to his bedroom.
In the morning he was woken by his motherâs quiet, reproachful voice. âSo, drinking vodka in the middle of the night now, are you?â she asked, glancing into his room. âYou should take a leaf out of Stepanâs book â he doesnât drink at all!â
âThatâs right, heâs already drunk his fair share!â answered Igor, still half asleep. He opened his eyes and looked at his watch. It was 7.30 a.m. âIs Stepan back then?â
âI havenât seen him. Get up, if you want some breakfast. Look, people
âYes, thereâs plenty of time,â agreed Elena Andreevna.
She had the impression that something was bothering Stepan. Heâd seemed tense over dinner. Elena Andreevna was pleased with her casserole â the meat and vegetables were particularly tender â but the gardener hadnât said a word. On the other hand, heâd eaten everything on his plate and even scooped up the last of the gravy with his bread . . . Maybe he was the kind of man whose actions spoke louder than his words.
7
IGOR WOKE UP at about 3 a.m. He switched his light on and sat on the bed for a while, just thinking. Then he decided to go out into the yard.
As he approached the shed, he was astonished to see the padlock on the door. It occurred to him that Stepan might have gone for good, taking his treasure with him. He very much hoped that wasnât the case. Igor couldnât for the life of him remember where they kept the spare keys.
His mood ruined, Igor went back to the house and tiptoed into the living room. The house was surprisingly quiet. His mother was asleep, and the mice hadnât started rustling about under the floorboards yet. They only came into the house in the winter, when it got really cold, and the first frosts wouldnât arrive for at least another two months.
As Igor opened the top cupboard of the dresser he remembered that a bottle of walnut liqueur had been lurking in there for some time. He extracted the bottle carefully, selected a small shot glass and walked over to the table. He sat on one of the chairs, which had a knitted rag cushion tied to the back with a couple of ribbons, poured himself a shot and started thinking. He thought about the trip to Ochakov and the nocturnal âtreasure huntâ. Whichever way you looked at it, they had definitely broken the law. But then again, wasnât everyone breaking the law these days in one way or another? With the possible exception of his mother. Actually, heâd never done anything illegal before the trip to Ochakov. It had simply never occurred to him. Something had been holding him back in Ochakov too, whereas Stepan didnât show even a momentâs hesitation. Heâd known exactly what he was doing when he took Igor to the hardware shop to buy a crowbar. And heâd known exactly how to use it too, to open doors and smash padlocks. Heâd said that his father had been in prison three times . . . Maybe Stepan had too? Yes, that was it. He must have been in prison, and when he came out he hadnât been allowed home! That would certainly explain the vagabond lifestyle.
Igor sipped his liqueur. It was strong and viscous, bitter but sweet. The pleasant assault on his senses distracted him from his thoughts. He stopped thinking altogether and simply sat there, without moving. Suddenly he ran his hand over his naked thighs, realising for the first time how cold he was. He wondered whether he ought to get dressed. Yet he finished his drink slowly, returned the bottle to the dresser and tiptoed back to his bedroom.
In the morning he was woken by his motherâs quiet, reproachful voice. âSo, drinking vodka in the middle of the night now, are you?â she asked, glancing into his room. âYou should take a leaf out of Stepanâs book â he doesnât drink at all!â
âThatâs right, heâs already drunk his fair share!â answered Igor, still half asleep. He opened his eyes and looked at his watch. It was 7.30 a.m. âIs Stepan back then?â
âI havenât seen him. Get up, if you want some breakfast. Look, people
Similar Books
