The Summer Garden (57 page)

“I saw your tattoos the other day when you were doing the subflooring,” Dudley said to Alexander. “You got some nifty ones. A hammer and sickle on your arm?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Where’d you get it?”

“Catowice.”

“Voluntary or forced?”

“Forced.”

“How’d they get you to sit still for that? I would have fought until I was bled out before I had that on my arm.”

Tatiana reached over and put her hand on Alexander’s leg—her way of comfort, and of warning. He ignored it, turning to silently stare down Dudley with his back to her. “You’ve got tattoos from your neck down to your back,” Alexander said. “The other day at the Schreiners’, I saw on your forearm a tattoo of a dragon doing unspeakable things to a damsel in distress. You’ve got knives plunged into people’s hearts, beheadings, disembowelings. All that is better than a hammer and sickle?”

“Better than a Red brand? Where are you living? Absolutely!” said Dudley. “And I got those willingly, not held down in chains. The choice was mine.”

“Did you get them at the big house?”

“Yeah. So what?”

“Ah. Prison was your choice?”

The other people in the chairs looked uncomfortably into the green grass.

“Prison was not my choice,” said Dudley slowly. “But tell me, is a SchutzStaffel Eagle on your other arm your choice? A hammer and sickle on one arm, a swastika on the other? Where the fuck did you come from?”

“Dud, come on, there are ladies present,” said Jeff.

Dudley continued as if not spoken to. “The Nazis didn’t brand POW with SS Eagles. You know who did?”

“
I
know who did,” said Alexander grimly.

“The Sovietskis. In Germany, when they took over the Nazi camps. I know it because we were in one of them watching the Soviet guards with one of their own prisoners. They did it as a sign of respect after the man didn’t confess despite severe torture. They beat him, tortured him, tattooed him and then shot him anyway.”

A groan of pain came from Tatiana behind him.

“What’s your point?” Alexander said, stretching his hand back, to touch her, to say, it’s all right. I’m here. It wasn’t me they shot.

“My point is,” Dudley said too loudly, “you may be in the Reserve now, but you were never in our army during the war.”

Alexander said nothing.

“Who were you fighting for?”

“Against Hitler. Who were
you
fighting for?”

“You and I, we never fought on the same side, buddy. I know it. No one has tattoos like you. The SS Eagle is a badge of blind honor for the Nazis, a sign of ultimate respect—they would saw off their own dicks before they gave one to an American POW—even in a fuckhole like Catowice. No, you were captured too far east to have fought for us. Americans never got to where you were.”

“Dudley, what the hell are you saying?” asked Steve, getting up out of his chair and walking over to stand near him.

“This man is an impostor,” said Dudley. “He is in hiding here. This man was in the Red Army. The Germans branded the Soviet officers with the hammer and sickles—before they shot them. The Soviets branded the Soviet expat soldiers with the SS Eagles—before they shot them.”

There was silence in the circle. Everyone gaped at Alexander, who said nothing, his mouth clenched, his eyes dark. Tatiana squeezed his leg. They exchanged a glance. She said quietly, “You think we should go now?”

“No, no, don’t be silly, stay for the fireworks,” Amanda said quickly. The girls tittered uncomfortably. Jeff said, “I’m sure Dudley’s mistaken. It’s some kind of mistake, that’s all.” Raising his eyebrows, he looked over at Cindy. “Cin, you know what? This is a very good time to go dance.”

Everybody got up except Tatiana and Alexander. Even Dudley managed to hoist himself off the chair. “What a great idea,” he said, crossing Alexander’s path heading to Tatiana. “Want to dance, Tanechka?”

Alexander stood up suddenly and body-checked Dudley, who lost his balance and fell to the ground.

“Dudley,” said Alexander, having already pulled Tatiana out of the chair and away, “if you’re right about me, then you must know what I will do if you touch her again.”

Before Dudley, back on his feet, could even open his mouth, Jeff and Steve were already between them. “Guys, guys, come on,” said Jeff, pushing Alexander away, while Steve pushed Dudley away. “Alex, what’s wrong with you? It’s a party. At my
father’s
house. Dud, forget it, come with me, let me introduce you to Theo. Come, you’ll like
him
.” With a sharp stare at Alexander, to say, cool it, can’t you see he’s just wasted? Steve led Dudley away, and Amanda was about to lead Tatiana away, but Tatiana went to Alexander, placed her hand on his chest and said, “Do you want to go home? We can go right now.”

Jeff said not to go. “He’s drunk. It’s nothing. Alexander, forget about him. He’s not worth it, man.”

Tatiana was not moving. She pressed against him and looked up. He brushed the hair out of her face, stroked her cheek briefly and then disengaged from her. “We’ll wait for the fireworks. Look, Margaret is looking for you again. Go. Just remember what I told you.”

Casting him a nervous look, she left, flanked by Margaret and Amanda, and Alexander remained with Jeff. Balkman came over, and they got caught up discussing breaking ground on the Hayes house and whose palms needed to be greased in order to get the inspectors to the site in two weeks and not in two overbooked months. Suddenly Alexander wasn’t paying any attention. The Balkmans had a large lawn, with a pool, a gazebo, landscaped bushes and trees. Across the lawn through the bushes he spotted a plaid shirt and a ponytail. From beyond the man’s jeans, Alexander saw the floral print of Tatiana’s green dress.

His gaze briefly losing its focus, Alexander barely excused himself as he made his way across. Tatiana was pressed against the wood fence and he was leaning over her. Alexander didn’t acknowledge Dudley as he pushed between them to separate them, his eyes on Tatiana’s distressed face. He pulled her away from the fence and only then did he turn. Behind him, Tatiana was grasping his shirt.

“You are completely fucked up,” Alexander said quietly to Dudley. “What are you doing? I’m telling you, walk away. Turn around, walk away, stay away from my wife.”

“What is your
problem
, man? This is a free country, unlike that red country you came from. And your wife, for your information, was talking to me. Weren’t you, Tania?”

Tatiana, her mouth tight and skin pale, took Alexander’s hand and said, “Come on, Shura. The fireworks are about to start.”

But Alexander could not walk away. He could not turn his back.

It was dark; there was much commotion. They were near the edge of the lawn slightly away from other people. The first burst of fireworks whistled into the sky and exploded. Over the whistling of the rockets, Alexander heard Dudley’s voice.

“You didn’t answer me,” said Dudley. “I said, what in the world is your fucking problem?”

“What in the world is
your
fucking problem?” said Alexander, turning square to him. “Tania, go wait for me across the grass.”

Tatiana squeezed his hand. “No. Please. Come on, Shura,” she said, trying to pull him away. “Let’s go home.”

But Alexander wasn’t moving. He and Dudley faced off, eye to eye.

“You’ve had a problem with me from the very beginning,” said Dudley, spitting out a black chunk of chewed tobacco.

“You’ve been out of fucking line from the very beginning.”

“Oh, really?” Dudley said. “Well, you want to take it outside?”

“We are outside, asshole.”

“Shura, please!” She walked between them, taking hold of both of Alexander’s hands.

“Tania!” Alexander ripped his hands from her, not for a second taking his eyes off Dudley. “I
said
go wait for me across the grass.”

“Let’s go home, darling,” she said, still in front of him, looking up at him, still trying to take hold of him. “Please.”

“Yes, let’s go home, darling,” mimicked Dudley. “
Please
. And I’ll get on my knees and suck your cock.”

“Shura, no!”

Alexander moved Tatiana forcibly out of the way with one hand and punched Dudley so savagely and swiftly in the face with the other that if Dudley hadn’t fallen backward, no one would have known that anything at all had transpired between them. The fireworks continued to burst in the sky. People were clapping, cheering. There was music playing. Harry James and his orchestra were finally beginning to see the light.

But fall Dudley did into the corner of the lawn, in the dark, near the bushes. Tatiana, ever the nurse, peered at him. He was bleeding profusely from the mouth. His front teeth were dangling by their bloodied roots. Alexander—who had been methodically trained and then baptized by fire in vicious hand-to-hand combat through the Byelorussian villages, fighting the Germans with knives and bayonets and with single fatal blows up through the nose—thought that Dudley got off easy. Without breathing out, he took Tatiana by the hand. “Now we can go,” he said. Nothing in his face moved.

Speechlessly she stared at him.

He walked across the lawn to the back gate. Margaret and Bill were standing on the patio watching the fireworks. Alexander, barely even stopping, came up to Balkman and said into the man’s initially smiling and then sinking face, “That’s it. I’ve had it up to here with you and your fucking business. I quit—for good. Don’t pay me for last week, don’t give me any of the money you owe me. I’m done with you. Don’t ever call me again.”

“Alexander! Wait! What’s happened?”

Balkman ran after him.

“Alexander! Please wait! Steve! What the hell happened?”

Alexander was moving quickly, pulling Tatiana behind him; she had to run to keep up. Outside on the front walkway, Steve intercepted them, running around to face them, panting, red, fists clenched. “How dare you! How dare you—after all we did for you—”

Alexander jerked his head back but not before Steve jabbed him hard in the chin, knocking him into Tatiana, who lost her footing and fell.

Alexander, without straightening out, punched Steve, smashing his jaw. Steve doubled over. Alexander uppercut him again but harder. He would have hit him a third time, but crumbling onto himself, Steve fell on the stone walkway. “Let’s see how well you lie your way through your miserable life now, you sack of shit,” Alexander said, kicking him hard, and then turning to a frightened and panicked Tatiana to help her off the ground.

They were driving in a matter of minutes. They were utterly silent for several miles.

“Are you all right?” Tatiana asked.

“I’m fine.” He wiped his mouth.

“You could’ve broken your knuckles.”

“They’re fine.” He clenched and unclenched his fist.

She was watching him. “Shura…?”

“Tania,” he said calmly, “I don’t want to talk about a single thing, a single fucking thing. So just—sit very quietly and say nothing.”

She fell instantly mute. In a few minutes, he stopped his truck on an empty Shea Boulevard by the side of the road. Somewhere far away fireworks were going off. Inside the truck his unsteady hands were gripping the wheel.

“Darling…” she said soothingly.

“I have been such a fucking idiot. I don’t even know what to do with myself.”

“Please, it’ll be all right. Do you want me to drive?”

His head was on the wheel. She scooted over to him on the bench seat, sat by him. When he looked up, she took a napkin and dabbed his lip. He moved her hand away, and soon began driving again. “Are
you
okay?” he asked. “That bastard hit me knowing you were behind me, knowing you could get hurt. I didn’t even have a chance to move you out of the way.”

“Are you surprised he wasn’t more of a gentleman?” asked Tatiana.

“Did you not hear me when I said I don’t want you to say a single fucking thing?”

After a while she spoke. “Dudley asked me if I had heard the rumor about him. That he
keeled
a man in Montana. I said that he’d been at war, he must have seen plenty of death. And he said, ‘War isn’t real. Montana, now that’s real.’”

“I’ve seen Montana,” said Alexander, his hands grim around the wheel. “I don’t think it’s so real.”

Tatiana couldn’t sleep. He slept. She made out the hands of the clock. Ten to two. The house was quiet, outside was quiet, it was the deep of night by the mountains. Nothing was moving, except Tatiana’s anxiety, freely roaming around in her chest. She couldn’t sleep at all. She was unsettled and anxious.

Quietly reaching over him, she replaced the phone back on the cradle. He always took it off the hook at night before he made love to her.

Anthony was sleeping over at Sergio’s. She wished Ant were home, so she could go and check on him and feel a bit of comfort. Instead, Tatiana placed her hand on Alexander’s chest and listened to his heart. All her adult life this is what she did—listened to his heart. What was it telling her now? It was rhythmic, subdued, whooshing. Lightly she rubbed her lips back and forth against his stubble, kissed him softly, brought her hand down, cupped him, caressed him. He was deeply sleeping, but sometimes, if he felt her like this through sleep, he would roll on his side and throw his arm over her. Tonight he did not wake, remaining on his back. His lip was swollen. His right hand was swollen, iced over, bandaged. He barely let her bandage it. He hated to be pampered over his injuries. He liked to be pampered over other things, bathed, fed, fussed over, kissed—all that he took gladly—but he never liked any fussing over his wounds. It was like he was remembering himself incapacitated in Morozovo where he lay helpless in a hospital bed for two months until he was arrested and she was gone.

Tatiana tossed and tossed, and finally got up, threw on her cream camisole and went out to the living room. She got herself a glass of water, sat on a high stool near the kitchen counter; she didn’t move, she tried not to breathe. The air conditioner was off, there was no noise at all, and it was then, at two thirty in the morning, that Tatiana thought she heard the sound of a distant engine. Slightly opening the front door, she listened. Nothing. Outside was black dread, and there was no moon. After bolting and locking the front door, she went to quietly close the bedroom door, so as not to disturb Alexander and then from the kitchen dialed the hospital.