The Summer Garden

by Paullina Simons

  “Nice tattoos you got there, Captain,” Dudley said quietly.

  “Steve,” Alexander said, “did you bring the glass for the window like I asked?”

  After lunch Steve came by with the glass for the window. Dudley wasn’t with him.

  “Are you coming to our Fourth of July party?”

  “I don’t know. Tania is working.” He was eating his sandwich and trying to read the paper.

  “What’s wrong, man?”

  But Alexander knew what Tatiana had known: once said, things could not be unsaid. “Nothing.”

  Steve persisted. “What’s up? You’ve been acting very odd these last few weeks. What did I do?”

  “You know what, I’m having my lunch. I don’t want to talk about it now.”

  “Is there anything to talk about?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, come on then, let’s clear the air.”

  Alexander threw out the rest of his sandwich. “Steve, did you tell Amanda I had it off with one of the flossies you invited to the Ho?”

  Steve laughed. “No, no, she misunderstood. Is that what this is all about?”

  “She misunderstood?”

  “Yeah, it was just a joke. Manda has no sense of humor.”

  “Amanda thought it was pretty serious when she told a pretty serious Tatiana.”

  “Sorry about that. It was a joke. I didn’t mean to upset Tania.” He shrugged. “But I know she saw right through it, she couldn’t have been upset for long.”

  “What kind of fucking joke is that?”

  “Remember that tootsy? She told you for twenty bucks she would go into the room with you? And I told you for twenty more she’d take it up the—”

  “Stevie, we were drunk, but that’s no misunderstanding. Amanda told Tania I went into that room.”

  “I must have not made myself clear.”

  “You think?”

  Steve laughed. “What are you getting in a twist about? You want me to talk to Tania? Bring her by. I’ll tell her it was just a gag.”

  “No.” Alexander threw the newspaper in the trash, and stood up from the wooden plank. “And you know what else, Steve-o—I don’t give a shit about the friends you make with out-of-state prison freaks, but I better never find out you’re talking to one of them about my wife. If you want to talk to them about available women, talk about your girlfriend.”

  “What did you just say?” said Steve, squinting. “I think I must have misheard.”

  Alexander stepped closer. “Don’t ever speak to him—or anyone— about my wife. Do you understand what I’m telling you? Am I making myself clear now?”

  “Oh, come on, Dudley’s a good guy.”

  Obviously still not clear.

  “He’s a soldier like us,” Steve went on. “He fought in a war, just like you, used to plenty of women—just like you. He doesn’t know Tania from Eve, or care. Come for a drink with us, get to know him. He’s a lot of fun.”

  Alexander was walking away when he said, “No.” And never again, he wanted to add. It might take a while for Steve to get it, but finally he’d get it. And then he’d leave Alexander alone and Alexander could keep his job. That’s what he kept hoping for.

  Waiting For Tatiana. It was like a play. He was once again waiting for Tatiana—this time at Balkman’s barbecue-and-fireworks Fourth of July party.

  Margaret, Bill’s girlfriend, who tried to kiss Alexander hello on the lips, asked where Tania was. Amanda asked where Tania was. Cindy asked where Tania was. Alexander himself wanted to know where Tania was. They took Ant to Francesca’s early that morning and Alexander drove her to work so they would have only his truck after the party. She “promised” him with a smile as she got out that she would be at Balkman’s by eight, “the latest,” and here it was, 8:45 and she was still not there. He drank a bit, picked on some chips, had a beer. The food had been served buffet-style in aluminum trays over sterno heaters, but he didn’t want to eat until she got there. He was impatient and irritable. He meandered around the backyard, finally getting into a conversation with Jeff about the Korean War.

  “Alexander!” It was Margaret, leading Tatiana across the lawn. “Look who finally graced us with her presence! Party’s almost over, darling. Food’s nearly all gone. See, if you weren’t working, you could’ve had it all hot.”

  Tatiana nodded hello to their friends. “Hey,” she said to Alexander. “Erin couldn’t get off work, and she was giving me a ride. Sorry I’m late.”

  “You’re always sorry,” he said without smiling. Of course she wasn’t wearing a watch. It was like asking her to wear a weapon.

  She had on a tank sundress with a swing skirt and wide straps with satin ties at the shoulders. The dress was pale green with pale yellow flowers. The skirt was flouncy, she must have had a petticoat under it. The unusual thing was that her hair was down, flowing loose on her back. Alexander frowned. “Let’s go. I’ll get you a drink,” he said, leading her away, and when they were at a sufficient distance from everyone, he said quietly, “Why’s your hair down like that?”

  “Well, look.” Turning her back to him, Tatiana lifted the hair away from her neck to show him his nocturnal obsessions spilling over into their daytime life. There were four or five fresh scarlet-purple suck marks on the back of her neck and down the rear slope of her shoulders. “Don’t have much choice but to leave my hair down, do I?” She turned to face him. “What would you rather have, everybody see my hair or see those and imagine what you must have been doing to me?” Slightly blushing, she lowered her head. Alexander was silent, recalling what he had been doing to her. Sighing, he kissed her hands.

  Suddenly Margaret was upon them. “No, no, no. No spousal privileges at parties. You can do that at home.” She was carrying a tray of crudités. “Tania, you don’t know what a treasure you have in your husband—he didn’t flirt with anyone. He is very good when you’re not around.”

  “And that would be quite frequently,” Alexander whispered to Tatiana, standing slightly behind her. She suppressed a laugh.

  Margaret took Tatiana by the hand. “Come, let me introduce you to someone. I have a friend here, Joan—she worked once, too. I want you to talk to her about it. She got it out of her system. Alexander, now that your wife is here, go flirt. It’s bad manners for spouses to talk to each other at a party.”

  Tatiana left to mingle. Alexander, too, but every once in a while he looked for her amid the talkers. He discussed with Jeff the prospects for the mediocre Boston Red Sox this season and then became embroiled in a conversation with Bill Balkman over Truman’s firing of Douglas MacArthur, who had retaken all of Korea from the Chinese-led Communists in mere months and had wanted to push over the Yalu River right into China against Truman’s wishes; hence the sacking. Balkman said, “No, no. I agree with Truman. Moderation is key. Truman said, ‘Let’s be calm, let’s do nothing.’ MacArthur was out of line. I agree with the President.”

  Alexander said, “You don’t think MacArthur was right when he said that moderation in this instance was like advising a man whose family is about to be killed not to take hasty action for fear of alienating the affection of the murderers?”

  Balkman laughed, slapping Alexander on the shoulder. “Alexander, you’re hilarious. Look, much more pertinently, did Steve tell you our fabulous news?”

  “What news?”

  Balkman was beaming. “We got the contract for the Hayes house.”

  Alexander was pleased. Dee and Mike Hayes bought three acres of land on a freshly made lake in Scottsdale, north of Dynamite, and had been for months shopping around for a builder for their proposed 7000 square foot home. It was great news for the company and great exposure, since the house was going to be photographed for the Phoenix Sun newspaper and for Modern Home magazine. They toasted their success.

  “We’re breaking ground in three weeks. Alex, I want you to foreman the whole op—as they say in the army.”

  “Well, they don’t use the word foreman,�
�� said Alexander.

  “Ha! Get all the help you need. Mike Hayes told me he needs the house by early spring so we have our work cut out for us. Jeff and Steve have their hands full, but you’re going to finish the Schreiners ahead of schedule.” He patted Alexander affectionately. “I heard you actually put in new subflooring yourself to get it ready earlier. We’ll get a bonus for early delivery, you know. You’ll get half of five thousand dollars.”

  “Thanks, Bill.” They shook hands.

  “Borrow Dudley from Steve-o,” said Balkman. “He works hard. He’ll help you. Have you met him yet?”

  “Yes.” Alexander’s fingers tensed around his beer glass.

  “I see Tania’s met him, too.” Balkman smiled. “He’s been flirting with your wife for the last half-hour.”

  The smile faded from Alexander’s face. Tatiana was walking toward him, a plate in her hands. By her side was Dudley, swaying from the free booze.

  He had his hand on her back—on her hair!

  “Dudley-boy, I see you’ve met our Tania,” said Balkman, shaking Dudley’s hand. “Dudley’s another one, Alexander, who’ll do anything. You’re a fine worker, Dud; good to have you on board. How are you enjoying our little party?”

  Tatiana went to stand next to Alexander, not meeting his gaze.

  “You okay?” he said in a low voice.

  “I’m just dandy,” she said. “He’s been following me around for forty minutes. What, you haven’t noticed? Ah, but then, you don’t notice anything anymore.”

  Before Alexander could defend his observational skills, she walked away from him. Taking a deep breath he followed her. They went to get a drink, away from other ears for a moment. “Tania, I don’t want you to talk to him. Don’t go near him. He is fucked up—can’t you see it?”

  “Who? Dudley? Oh, come on. He’s harmless,” she said in her little mocking voice. “All men are like that. Don’t worry, he’s fine.”

  Alexander was in no mood to be mocked. “Excuse me,” he said, “if I don’t want to have this argument with you in the middle of my boss’s party.”

  “I don’t want to talk another second about this,” she said. “You’ve made it very clear you’re not listening. Oh, and about the other thing— I’ll try not to talk to Dudley, but he’s very persistent. But so what? Just men being men, right? I heard,” Tatiana said, widening her eyes, “it’s much worse in the army.”

  “Tania!”

  “Yes?”

  His back stiff, he opened himself a beer. She poured herself a little wine. They stood and drank without talking.

  Balkman caught up with them.

  “Tania, did Alexander tell you about our great coup?”

  “No,” she said curtly.

  Balkman himself told her about the Hayes house, and about his plans for Alexander for the next year. Tatiana listened—like a stone might listen—and then said, “That’s great,” but didn’t muster the sincerity or the fake smile.

  “What’s the matter?” Balkman said. “Everything all right? Another long day at work?”

  “Everything is just fine,” she replied to him, in a voice that said, you jerk, can’t you see how bad it is? “Will you two excuse me?” Her crisp skirt flounced as she swirled away.

  Alexander excused himself and went after her. “Are you kidding me,” he said, “acting that way in front of my employer? You want a fight, let’s take it home, and I’ll give you a fight good and proper but don’t bark at me and turn up your nose at my boss when he talks to you.” They were across the lawn standing tensely near the landscaped azaleas.

  “Alexander,” said Tatiana, “I am through pretending.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said. “You’re going to pretend to be gracious in his house.”

  “Like he was gracious to me in my house, telling you to put me in my place?”

  “The way you’re acting,” he snapped, “it’s obvious you don’t know it.”

  She sharply turned to walk away from him. With great difficulty, he did not grab her arm. Stepping in front of her, he said through his closed mouth, “Stop it. Right now. Do you hear me?”

  “I don’t want to be here.”

  “That much is clear. But don’t walk away from me.” He did not grab her arm, he took her by the arm, and because the arm was bare, he didn’t squeeze her, he just circled it in his hands. “Now come on. Let’s go sit. The fireworks will come on soon, and then we’ll go.”

  “Oh, yes, please. Let’s go sit by your friend, Stevie. Maybe we can talk to him about services at the Ho. I hear it’s a fine hotel. Very accommodating.”

  It was all he could do not to fling her arm away from him. They went to sit in a circle of chairs on the edge of the lawn by Jeff and Cindy, Steve and Amanda.

  Cindy had been married a month. She was telling Amanda and Tatiana what her first month of marriage was like. Alexander’s face involuntarily turned to Tatiana, sitting to his right. Ten years ago, they had been living their first month together, too. Here under the blackening Phoenix sky, they had almost forgotten. But then she turned her face to him, and in her supplicating expression, he saw that she had not forgotten. Just a glance, a blink, a short nod of the head as a toast to the everlasting Ural Mountains and the everflowing Kama.

  “We have news,” said Cindy. “Jeff doesn’t want me to say anything, but you’re my closest friends, I can’t not tell you.”

  Jeff rolled his eyes.

  “We’re having a baby!” she exclaimed.

  There was exultation and congratulations. The men shook Jeff’s hand. The women hugged Cindy. Nobody could believe it. “Already?” Amanda said.

  “Well done, man,” Steve said. “Well done! Quick work of it.”

  “Why dawdle, I say. If you’re going to do something, do it right.”

  Alexander was very careful not to look at Tatiana as they both maintained their smiles for Jeff and Cindy.

  Dudley angled by, saw them, and pulled up an empty lawn chair next to Tatiana. Everyone stopped talking about babies. Dudley asked Tatiana if she wanted another glass of wiiiine, seeing that hers was empty; called her Tania. Said that he knew some Russian soldiers when he was in Europe, and heard that Russian girls named Tania were sometimes called Tanechka. “Does anyone call you Tanechka, like you are a Russian girl?” chuckled Dudley, his mouth curled up in a seedy smile.

  “Tania is not Russian, Dudley,” said Amanda. “She is from New York.”

  “Look at that hair,” said Dudley. “That’s not New York hair. That’s Russian peasant hair.” He grinned and raised his coarse eyebrows. “Before the emancipation of the serfs,” he added suggestively.

  Alexander got up, eased a paling Tatiana out of her chair, and switched places with her. “So you and Amanda are not talking over me,” he said, sitting down next to Dudley without glancing at him. But suddenly the conversation sagged.

  “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 yo
u 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.”