Chapter 12
“And what, erm, what year is it?”
For the second time Boris stopped. This time he put his hands on his hips and looked up at Nathan with a frown.
“Don’t tell me you are soft in head. Govno! What year you think this is?”
Nathan felt his cheeks burn. “Two thousand sixteen?” he replied sheepishly.
“That is right. Is 2016 here, too,” said Boris with a satisfied nod.
They approached a caravan painted with stylised red horses that wore black and blue and white decorations. When they arrived, Boris pounded on the small, wooden door with his fist and then stepped back, twisting the tip of his moustache between his thumb and index finger while running his eyes over Nathan’s tattoos.
The door swung open and a face with a strong jaw and an olive complexion peered out.
“What is it?” said the man, looking first at Boris and then at Nathan.
“Is Nathan. You will show him bunk. Introduce him around.”