The Kommandant's Mistress

by Alexandria Constantinova Szeman

  Mom give him a look.

  "Can't you ever tell him any different stories? I get tired of hearing the same ones."

  "Then read your comic book," said Mom, "and don't pay no attention to us."

  Frank slammed his comic book on his legs.

  "I'm in the same room."

  "I'll read quieter," said Mom, and she snuggled down with me in my bed. "All the other farmers laughed at the man because he didn't have any children."

  "Hedgehog," I said.

  "She ain't got there yet," said Frank.

  "I thought you wasn't listening."

  "You're still reading too loud."

  Mom whispered in my ear.

  "'I will have a son,' said the farmer, 'even if he be a Hedgehog'."

  "What is a Hedgehog anyway?" said Frank.

  Mom shown him the picture. He maked the squint-eye at it.

  "Kinda like a porcupine."

  "Kinda," said Mom, "but cuter."

  "Hedgehog-head," I said. "Boy-body."

  "Retard-head, boy-body," said Frank.

  "That ain't nice," said Mom.

  "You're the one reading the story."

  "When his wife saw the baby, she cried out, 'See how you've cursed us'…"

  "Told you."

  Mom give Frank a shut-your-yap-look before she kissed me on the cheek. She shown me the picture of the Farmer and his old wife looking down on the little Hedgehog baby boy.

  "'We can call it nothing else,' said the farmer, 'but Hans My Hedgehog', and he made it a bed of straw to sleep on."

  "Then wished he'd die," I said.

  "Yes," said Mom, "then the father wished it would die."

  She put her arm around me to hold the book in front of us so we could both see the pictures.

  "But I never wished you'd die, Nicky, Honey, not even once."

  "Did Dad?" said Frank.

  Anatomy 101

  Me and Frank was on our beds with Superman and Spiderman when Dinah come in without knocking. The sign Frank maked that said Don't you come in without knocking was taped on the door with duck-tape, but she come in anyways.

  "Hey," I said. "Boys only."

  "Boys' Club," said Frank. "No girls allowed."

  Dinah had one of her Barbies, with no top and no bra neither. This Barbie use to have blonde hair before Frank done it with a brown magic marker. Now it was like Dinah's only with bangs and without no curls. Dinah holded the Barbie out so we could see her, but I already seen her when Frank done her.

  "Frankie, Nicky, you wanna tell me why my Barbie has straight-pins pushed into her breasts?"

  "Anatomically correct," said Frank, staring at the page of his Spiderman.

  Dinah turned the Barbie around and looked at her boobies.

  "They're nipples," said Frank, and he shaked his long black hair outta his eyes.

  Dinah twisted her mouth around like Dad done whenever he talked about gooks and slopes. Dinah pulled the pins out. That left two holes. Dinah pushed the pins back in. The pin-nipples was much more gooder. She turned Barbie over, pulled her skirt up, and looked between Barbie's legs.

  "You freak," she said, and throwed Barbie at Frank's Spiderman.

  "Hey," said Frank.

  "You gashed her open," said Dinah as she jumped on Frank's bed, grabbed her Barbie, and hitted him in the face with it. "You freak-show."

  When she ripped his Spiderman page out, Frank pulled off Barbie's arm and poked Dinah in the chest with it. She grabbed his long hair and pulled till he yelled. He pinched her boobie so she let go of his hair. Dinah ripped Spiderman in little pieces like snow and throwed them all over the room. Frank yanked off Barbie's head, put her face in his mouth, chewed her nose off, and spitted it out into the corner.

  Dinah screamed so loud my ears busted. She called him bad names I never even heard Mom and Dad say before. Dinah and Frank wrestled and hitted and scratched and bited each other and said more bad names. When they got tired, they stopped. Dinah was on the bottom, Frank was on top, and they was both breathing real hard with messed-up hair and red faces with scratches and bite-marks.

  When Frank kissed Dinah on the mouth, she slapped him.

  He kissed her again.

  I pulled the blanket over my head, turned on my flashlight, and looked at Superman till my eyes falled asleep.

  High-Heels

  "Frank, I gotta do a research paper," said Dinah. "Can I borrow Hunting Humans?"

  "Mrs. Jefferson's letting you do serial killers?"

  "She said we could pick our own topic."

  "Jesus, she never use to let us do that. She passed out this list that we had to sign, and only one person could do each topic. I had to do mine on stupid killer whales."

  "On killer whales," said Dinah, "or on stupid killer whales?"

  Frank didn't laugh.

  "Can I use Hunting Humans?"

  Frank pointed to the book.

  "Who're you doing?"

  "Haven't decided yet."

  "What're your choices?"

  "Black Widows…probably…"

  "Spiders?" I said, but Dinah didn't even look at me.

  "Blanche?" said Frank.

  "Maybe Nannie Doss," she said, "or Marie Bresard."

  "Who?" said Frank.

  "She's French."

  "Spiders," I said, and this time, Frank looked at me.

  Dinah gone to the bookshelf, getted the book, then standed up. She didn't move or say nothing or even breathe.

  She seen them.

  Frank looked over at me and winked. Dinah, holding Hunting Humans, gone closer to the bookshelf that had all the Barbie feet.

  "Where'd you get these?" said Dinah.

  "Found them," said Frank.

  "You found a whole bunch of Barbie feet, all wearing their high-heels?"

  "Yeah," said Frank, turning the page of Batman.

  Dinah's lips gone in a straight line as she looked at Frank hard, with her arms crossed over the book pressed against her boobies. Her hair was in a ponytail just like Barbie's, only Dinah's was curly brown, not blonde. Her hair swished against her back when she walked. Dinah come over and standed between our beds.

  "Nicky?"

  "Bread knife," I said.

  She maked a frowny-face.

  "I wanna know where you found Barbies."

  "Bread knife."

  I looked over the top of The Incredible Hulk at Frank: he squeezed his lips together, maked his first finger go across them, turned his thumb and first finger, then throwed the key away over his shoulder. I shut my yap. Dinah looked at Frank. He looked at Batman. Dinah gone back over to the shelf. She walked slow slow slow in front of the Barbie-feet-in-high-heels shelf.

  One Barbie's feet had sparkly red high-heels: click click click, there's no place like home. One Barbie's feet had pretend-glass high-heels: Cinder-ella, dressed in yell-a, gone upstairs to kiss a fell-a... One Barbie had real shiny black stilty high-heels: She can put her shoes under my bed any ol' time…

  Dinah moved her hand like she was gonna touch them, but she didn't.

  "If I open my Barbie case," said Dinah so quiet I almost couldn't hear her good, "are my Barbies gonna have feet?"

  "Dunno," said Frank. "Why don't you go look?"

  Dinah runned out of the room, her ponytail bouncing against her shoulders. Frank and me waited. My heart beated so fast, it hurted. Frank and me was dead quiet 'cause we was listening so hard.

  Dinah screamed.

  "High-five," said Frank, leaning outta his bed towards mine.

  We slapped hands.

  GI Joe

  Me and GI Joe was in the jungle, on point, looking for VC-Barbies. Sometimes VC-Barbies hided out in jungles or rice-paddies or villages or tunnels, and us GI Joes gotta find them. If they's Tunnel-Rat-Barbies, it's fire in the hole; burn all them slanty-eyed gook sonsabitches.

  Me and GI Joe crawled on our bellies through the swamps holding our guns up over our heads you know how these M-16s jam up 'specially in these goddamned bug
-infested jungles.

  I was singing real quiet in the 'Nam-jungle while me and GI Joe was hunting VC-Barbies.

  "Fighting soldiers from the sky. Fearless men, they jump and die."

  Me and GI Joe had lotsa bullets. Choppers was in the sky watching our backs. Look out for them goddamn trip-wires, Sir yes sir.

  "Silver wings upon the chest. These are men. America's best."

  Then we seen her.

  A VC-Tunnel-Rat-Barbie, naked, in the jungle — with no foots, it didn't look like. Gotta be careful with them goddamn slanty-eyed slopes 'cause they play possum-gooks. Me and GI Joe crawled over. We looked all around the jungle.

  Frank was on the back-porch-steps, cracking and popping his knuckles so his hands would get more bigger and stronger. Dinah was in the porch-swing reading about Ted: he was her favorite. When she first come to live with us instead of with her real Mom, Dinah had a poster of Ted in her room. Our Mom taked it down and tore it up.

  "That is the nastiest thing I ever seen," said Mom. "How can you have a poster of that man in your room?"

  "You can't take my stuff," said Dinah. "This ain't the Soviet Union."

  Mom slapped her before she throwed away all Dinah's books on Ted and Jeffrey and Eddie G. Later that night, me and Frank sneaked out to the Dumpster in the alley. We digged them all back out and give them to Dinah so she wouldn't run away again.

  But Mom was at the store now, Dad was at work, I was in the jungle, Frank was on the steps, so Dinah could read Ted all she wanted. Frank and Dinah was babysitting me and GI Joe. In the jungle, me and GI Joe — wearing our faded green uniform with our faces all sweaty-dirty — touched the VC-Tunnel-Rat-Barbie. She didn't move.

  Me and GI Joe dropped our weapons, taked off our shirts, and unzipped our pants. That's when I seen them: two pink dots on GI Joe's chest. I licked my thumb and rubbed the dots, but they didn't come off. I pulled down GI Joe's pants. After I screamed, Frank runned over fast.

  My eyes was already crying when Frank picked up GI Joe to look at him. Dinah swinged on the porch with her book and Ted.

  "Jesus, Dinah," said Frank as he holded up GI Joe.

  "Bread-knife," she said. "Real slow."

  "What-the…You cut a hole between his legs."

  "I believe you boys call it a gash."

  "You totally ruined Nicky's GI Joe."

  "I think it's GI Jane now," she said.

  "You bitch."

  "Ditto," said Dinah.

  After Frank put GI Joe's clothes back on, he maked his arm go around me. With his other hand, he picked up the naked VC-Tunnel-Rat-Barbie with no foots, twisted off the slanty-eyed-gook-Barbie's head, and throwed it as far as he could. He wiped my cheeks. He hugged me hard and kissed me on the face.

  But it was too late.

  GI Joe wasn't GI Joe no more.

  End Excerpt of

  No Feet in Heaven

  (a novel)

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  No Feet in Heaven

  (a novel)

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  About

  Only with the Heart

  Revised, Medically Updated, & Expanded;

  12th Anniversary Edition

  (a novel)

  How far would you go in the name of love? Would you help someone you loved who was terminally ill commit suicide? Even if it would be considered murder?

  After a lonely childhood shuffled from foster home to foster home, after a lifetime of longing for a "real" family, Claudia believes she has found that loving, "happily ever after" family when she marries Sam. Not only does Claudia now have an affectionate and devoted husband, but in Sam's mother, Eleanor, Claudia finds the mother she has always dreamed of. Or so she thinks.

  The portrait of the perfect family soon begins to crumble and fracture as Eleanor — and the rest of the family with her — descends into the nightmare of Alzheimer's dementia. As each agonizing year follows, Claudia bears the burden of Eleanor's increasing dementia and loss of identity: violent & unpredictable emotional eruptions, physical attacks, protracted silences, incontinence, even suspected suicide attempts. Soon, the money saved for other projects, including children and family-businesses, is depleted taking care of Eleanor. Claudia loses her own business, and her marriage to Sam is suffering from the strain of his mother's care.

  When Eleanor is found dead with a collection of empty pill bottles scattered around her bed, the previously unthinkable suddenly seems a reality, and Claudia is charged with murder.

  Only with the Heart is powerful fiction that moves with ease from domestic intimacy to medical & courtroom drama. Elegant and compassionate, this exquisitely crafted, suspenseful novel about the dreadful and far-reaching effects of terminal disease, especially Alzheimer's; explores our deep need for acceptance and family; as well as the difficult, complex character of love.

  On the Recommended Reading List of Alzheimer's Chapters nationwide, this Revised & Expanded edition includes an Author's Preface explaining her own experience as a Caregiver for someone with dementia; discussion questions for groups, teachers, and students; a Chapter-by-Chapter Scene Index; and new scenes within the novel itself which update the medical research, medications, & treatment for Alzheimer's since the novel was first published.

  About the writing style of

  Only with the Heart

  The writing style of Szeman's novels is highly unusual, moving as it does from past to present to a further-back-past and to present again, seemingly without warning. It imitates how the mind works, especially with respect to memory, where everything always appears to be happening in the present; and where thoughts, sounds, smells, feelings, and words lead to memories which then lead to other thoughts, feelings, etc. and to other memories associatively.

  Sometimes the switch between scenes in Only with the Heart is triggered by words in the narrator's memory; at other times, the switch is triggered symbolically by something in the previous scene(s).

  For dialogue tags, only "s/he said" is used, even for questions (as William Faulkner does in his books & stories) so that the reader can interpret for himself how the character is saying the lines.

  Read an Excerpt from

  Only with the Heart

  Revised, Medically Updated & Expanded;

  12th Anniversary Edition

  (a novel)

  In production now: Available December 2012

  (begins on next page)

  Only with the Heart

  a novel

  Revised, Medically Updated & Expanded,

  12th Anniversary Edition

  Alexandria Constantinova Szeman

  RockWay Press, LLC · New Mexico

  Copyright © 2000, 2011, 2012

  by Alexandria Constantinova Szeman

  1st Edition originally published by Arcade

  (Hardcover/Cloth, 2000, 4 printings;

  Trade Paper, 2001, 8 printings)

  (formerly writing as "Sherri")

  It is only with the heart

  that one can see rightly;

  what is essential

  is invisible to the eye.

  Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

  The Little Prince

  Claudia

  Doubts are more cruel

  than the worst of truths.

  Molière

  Chapter One

  They got there sooner than I expected. I was waiting at the upstairs window, so I saw them when they arrived, their lights flashing, their sirens silent. There were two policemen, in two separate cars, and the paramedics in the ambulance. As they got out of the vehicles, the emergency lights turned everything a strange, pulsing red: the snow, the ice at the edge of the window, the bedroom where I stood. They slipped across the yard on their way to the front porch, their breath hanging white in the air. As they rushed up the front steps and disappeared from my view, I let go of the lace curtain and turned around to
look at the body. I suppose I should have gone over to the bed and closed its eyes or covered its face, but I couldn't make myself do it.

  The squad stopped at all the other bedrooms on the floor before they found the right one. When they saw me and the body, they rushed in, plying stethoscope, oxygen mask, and blood-pressure-cuff, calling out to each other in their own telegraphic language. Their hands rushed as quickly as their words, but none of that made any difference. There was no life left in that body. There hadn't been for ages.

  All that time, I didn't move or make a sound. When the policeman came over to me, he had to put his hand on my arm to get me to look at him. It was almost as if I were the one who was dead.

  And to think that was only the beginning.

  No, that couldn't have been the beginning. Everything must have started long before I found the body, even if it seems like it all started that day. Dr. Daniels says it doesn't matter when it started because it's time for me to let go of the past. But it's the past that won't let go of me. You see, I have to know if I'm responsible for everything that happened. I have to know if it was my fault.

  Sometimes I think the beginning was over thirty years ago, on the morning of my thirteenth birthday. When I finally woke up and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth, I found a note from foster mother Grace taped to the mirror over the bathroom sink: "Claudia — Get dressed before you come downstairs." After I ran a wet comb through my hair and bundled it into a ponytail, I rubbed a damp washcloth over my face. I stood on my tiptoes and moved closer to the mirror, looking for a new outbreak of freckles across my nose and cheeks, then pulled on my jeans and sweatshirt and went downstairs. But my breakfast wasn't on the table, and no one was in the kitchen. When I opened the oven door, there wasn't any French toast with cinnamon waiting for me, not even cold French toast. My heart lurched against my ribs.