The Milkman in the Night by Andrey Kurkov

Author:Andrey Kurkov
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781407085821
Publisher: Random House

64

Dali bar, Yaroslaviv Val, Kiev

At around 10 p.m. the barman of the Doors café asked Semyon and Volodka to move to another establishment, because he was closing early.

Semyon didn’t feel like standing up. Not because of the amount of whisky he’d drunk, but because he was afraid it might cause his understanding of the events of the previous night, as described in detail by Volodka and in which he himself had played the leading role, to unravel. If it had all been stored away in his memory, he wouldn’t have been so worried about it. Memories can be blurred but the details are all there, waiting to be recalled – all it takes is a trigger, a specific reminder of the past, and everything comes flooding back. But that was the trouble: Semyon had absolutely no recollection of the events in which he had allegedly taken part. To all intents and purposes he hadn’t even been there. Finding out what you’ve been doing from somebody else is not normal. Of course people sometimes drink so much that they can’t remember anything and have to ask their friends to supply the missing details, but Semyon hadn’t been up to any drunken antics. He’d been living a mysterious double life without even knowing it, and if it hadn’t been for Volodka he wouldn’t have had a clue about this second self, this second life that was so separate from everything else he knew.

‘What was she like?’ Semyon questioned Volodka.

‘Getting on a bit, sixty or so I’d say … I couldn’t really see, to be honest. You kissed her hand, and she made the sign of the cross over you, only there was something weird about the way she did it. It wasn’t the Orthodox way. Oh yeah, and another thing – she seemed to be having a go at you about something. I couldn’t really hear, but you were clearly having some sort of disagreement. Your mobile phone rang and you spoke to someone for a couple of minutes, then you passed the phone to her. She spoke for a bit, and when she’d finished she gave you a carrier bag. You looked inside the bag, and she seemed to be explaining something to you.’

‘What time was this?’ Semyon asked, getting his mobile out.

‘About two.’

Semyon checked his incoming calls. He’d had a call at 1.45 a.m. from a ‘withheld’ number.

‘Where did she go next?’

‘I don’t know. I followed you home. There were two other men watching you, and I was worried they might follow you too.’

‘What about the bag?’

‘You took it home with you.’

‘Right.’ Semyon sighed. He looked over at the bar and met the barman’s weary gaze. ‘OK, OK, we’re just going!’ he said.

They cut through the courtyard connecting Reitarska Street and Yaroslaviv Val and went down into the Dali bar, which was situated in a snug and spacious basement.

They ordered a couple of tequilas and sat in a corner, drinking them in silence.

‘Wasn’t Alisa there?’ Semyon asked suddenly.

‘No, you didn’t meet her this time.

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