Free Death and the Penguin by Andrey Kurkov Page A

where they were.
    Hard as he stared, he couldn’t see Sonya among them. Quickly putting on his sheepskin coat and fur hat, he dashed from the flat. Spotting some other children a short distance from the block, he ran towards them, but there was no Sonya.
    Hearing an engine start up behind him, he swung round. An old Mercedes was moving off from the block opposite. Something prompted him to give chase. Managing by some miracle not to fall, he caught it up at the turning before the exit to the road, but here, feet skidding beneath him, he fell forward onto the boot, to the consternation of the driver, the sole occupant ofthe car. Picking himself up, Viktor walked back to the block.
    He had been foolish to let her go out, after what the Chief had said.
    At the top of the stairs, he found her leaning against the door of the flat.
    “Where have you been?” he shouted.
    “At Anya’s, on the ground floor,” she said guiltily. “She was showing me her Sindy doll.”
    He ought to punish her in some way, he thought, but gradually he grew calmer.
    “Like something to eat?” he asked.
    “Has Misha eaten?”
    “No.”
    “Then we can eat together,” she said happily.

33
    After supper Viktor rang Sergey Fischbein-Stepanenko, asking him to come as soon as he could. He did, and they shut themselves in the kitchen, leaving Sonya and Misha in the living room.
    Viktor thought first of inventing some cover story for Sergey’s benefit, but in the end saw the stupidity of doing so. Why, when needing help, bring in deceit? The account he gave, if lacking in coherence, found Sergey quick on the uptake.
    “I’ve got a dacha,” he said. “One of an MVD group. There’s a public phone, a fireplace and a TV, and food in the cellar … Why not celebrate New Year there?”
    “But where were you planning to celebrate it?” Viktor asked cautiously.
    Sergey shrugged. “Nowhere,” he said. “You know the extent of my intimate circle.”
    “And your mother?”
    “Won’t have anything to do with New Year. Doesn’t like festive occasions. When would you like to go?”
    “The sooner the better. Today?”
    Sergey looked out of the window. It was getting dark.
    “Right, but I must pop home first as I haven’t got the keys with me.” He rose from the table. “Back in an hour. You get your things together.”
    After seeing him out, Viktor looked into the living room.
    “Sonya,” he said, squatting down in front of her, “we’re going away.”
    “When do we come back?”
    “In a few days.”
    “What if Grandfather Frost comes and we’re not here?”
    “He’s got keys,” said Viktor. “He’ll leave his presents under the tree.”
    “Will there be a tree where we’re going?”
    Viktor shook his head.
    “Then I shan’t go,” she declared firmly.
    He sighed a deep sigh.
    “Listen,” he said sternly. “When Daddy comes back, I shall tell him how naughty you’ve been.”
    “And I shall tell him you don’t read to me, or buy me ice-creams,” vowed Sonya.
    Finding the reproach justified, Viktor fell silent.
    “OK,” he said after a while. “You’re absolutely right. Butwe’re expected. We can take our tree with us, if you like.”
    “Is Misha coming?”
    “Of course.”
    “OK.”
    Together they removed the decorations and toys from the tree, and wrapped them in paper.
    “We’ll take the presents, too,” Sonya insisted, and obediently Viktor put them into a shopping bag.
    “Wait,” she said, suddenly stopping. “What if Grandfather Frost comes and there’s no tree, where will he put his presents?”
    He was at a loss. No sensible answer suggested itself. He felt infinitely weary.
    “Perhaps we should paint a fir tree on the wall to tell him where,” said Sonya, pondering the matter aloud. “Got any green paint?”
    “No,” said Viktor. “I know what – we’ll leave a note in the kitchen saying put them on the table.”
    Sonya thought.
    “
Under
is better.”
    “Why?”
    “So nobody