The Summer Garden (83 page)

“I don’t understand anything,” Carmen said. “I thought we had agreed to meet. Did you forget?”

“That’s right,” he said. “I forgot.”

Sharply inhaling, she said, “I don’t believe you. We made plans. You couldn’t forget.”

“Except I did, Carmen, I
completely
forgot.”

“You’re trying to humiliate me! Why?”

“Why?” He took a breath to calm himself. “Why did you call my wife?”

“I didn’t call her! I was calling
you
.”

“At my fucking
house
?” Alexander’s voice was too loud. He was disgusted by her. And by himself. Don Joly amid planks on the second floor must have been listening, and how could he not, Don Joly and all his merry men, listening to Alexander fighting with a woman not his wife. This was crossing the border into another country, and it was going to get around to everyone, all because of his own indecency.

“Yes, at your fucking house!” Carmen said, just as loudly.

Alexander had enough. He took her by the elbow and led her out into the street. “Look,” he said. “I work here. Work. Do you understand? Also I’m married. Do you understand
that
? Unlike you I don’t have a pretend marriage, I have an actual marriage. You were calling my home, where I live with my wife, to ask her why I didn’t show up for our rendezvous! Have you got no fucking sense at all?”

“That’s not what I did,” Carmen said defensively. “I was very professional.”

“Professional? Screeching into the phone, ‘Where
is
he?’ That’s professional?”

“Your wife was very composed,” Carmen said. “More than you are right now. But if you didn’t want me to call, then why didn’t you just show up like you promised?”

They were standing on the sidewalk in the middle of a new street, in the middle of a new community, Alexander and a woman, arguing!

“Carmen, I never thought about it again after Friday,” said Alexander. “That’s why. But besides that, first priority to my wife, second to everything else.”

“You weren’t thinking about your wife last Friday,” she said, raising her voice, sticking out her ridiculous chest. “She was quite far from your thoughts then.”

“Not as far as you flatter yourself into thinking,” Alexander retorted. “But are you even fucking kidding coming here and raising your voice to me?”

“Stop talking trash!” she yelled. “I’m not your wife. You better show
me
some respect.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are, lady?” said Alexander, stepping closer to her and speaking quieter. “Respect? You get into a car with a complete stranger and you think because I let you suck my dick for two minutes you deserve
respect
?”

She gasped. “
Let
me?” She turned red in the face.

“As opposed to
what
? Not only did I let you, Carmen, but you didn’t get as much as a free drink from me.”

“Oh!” She was flushed and wheezing. “Oh—oh—you’ll be sorry, Alexander!”

“I’m already plenty sorry.”

“Because of your deplorable conduct, your wife—”

“You know what,” Alexander said, cutting her off, coming up close, too close, and leaning into her face. “Before you say another word, this is what you’re going to do. You are going to get into your car and drive the fuck away from here. You obviously haven’t read the papers carefully about me, and you might want to go do that, but I’m warning you right now, don’t threaten me, don’t insult me, don’t rail at me, just get quietly into your car and drive away—while you still can—and don’t ever come near me or my houses again.”

She opened her mouth but Alexander shook his head, taking one more half step until he was inches away from her face. “Not near me, or my houses, or my wife, ever again.”

She opened her mouth.

He shook his head. “No, Carmen. When I said, not another fucking word, I meant—not another fucking word. Just get into your car and drive away.” He was talking so menacingly that she finally shut up, hearing him loud and clear.

Her stockinged knees shaking, chest heaving in her va-va-voom sweater, Carmen managed to open the car door, get in, and drive away.

Having a fight with a woman not his wife! It was so unseemly, it was so scandalously wrong.

“Where is my mother?” Anthony said at ten o’clock that evening.

That was a good question indeed. Where
was
his mother? When Alexander called the hospital, Erin told him Tatiana was working a double shift.

“She is
what
?” Alexander put his hand on the counter to steady himself. “Erin, let me speak to her.”

“I can’t, she’s in major trauma, she can’t come to the phone. I’ll ask her to call you when she gets out.”

Anthony didn’t believe his mother was working a double shift. Alexander didn’t believe it himself. They didn’t know what to do as they sat numbly at the kitchen table. Earlier they had eaten the remains of yesterday’s blinchiki, and Anthony—still happy then, his mouth full—said, “Oh, Dad, thank you, what did you do so right that we have blinchiki tonight?”

What
did
he do that they had blinchiki? Certainly nothing right.

But at ten thirty in the evening, with the food long gone, Anthony said, “Something’s happening, isn’t it? Mom shuffled me off to Sergio’s in the middle of the week as if another Dudley is lying dead in our house.”

Alexander thought his son’s association was quite apropos.

An unquenchably upset boy was Alexander’s ostensible reason for driving forty miles at midnight on Thursday to see Tatiana. They sat in the waiting room with two drunks, a man with a broken leg, a woman with a hacking cough, and a feverish tiny baby.

They paged her again, and again. They had to wait another thirty-five minutes before she rushed out through the double doors. The son ran to her. The husband stayed put in his seat, grimly studying his scabbed palms.

“What’s wrong, what’s happened?” she said, extremely stressed.

“Nothing,” Anthony said. “Mom, why are you here? Why are you working a double shift? You never work a double shift. And why didn’t you call us back? We were so worried. Why didn’t you tell us you were working tonight? Why aren’t you coming home?”

Alexander thought the boy did pretty well with the questions. He forgot these: What do you suspect that I can instantly deny so I can make you feel better and touch you again, and never have to think or talk about this in my life? What have I done? What lies can I spin out now to undo it? And when is the coroner’s crew coming to clean our house of Carmen, Tatiana? That’s the question Alexander thought Anthony should ask.

Tatiana sat down in the chair. They tried to keep their voices low. The drunks were listening. “I’m working a double shift, bud, that’s all,” she said. “It’s Christmas. We’re short-staffed, and very busy. Everybody is getting hurt. Everybody,” she said, “is getting very very hurt.”

“Please,” said Anthony. “You threw me out of the house yesterday. You think I’m a child? Yesterday Dad said he was working and not coming home. Tonight you’re working and not coming home. You’ve been fighting since last week. You think I don’t see things going on?” He was near tears. “Please.”

Tatiana took his face into her hands. He was already seven inches taller than she, and fifty pounds heavier, and yet he stayed in the space where she held him, his head pressed into her neck, as if he were three. Alexander sat with his elbows on his knees, looking at the floor. He knew that space himself.

“There is a Christmas concert in my school tomorrow,” said Anthony.

Tatiana nodded. “I know. I’m coming.”

“Mom!” Anthony exclaimed. “Are you upset with Dad? Please don’t be upset with Dad about the other—”

“Anthony!” That was Alexander. “Not another word.”

“Yes, Anthony,” said Tatiana. “Not another word.”

She was paged. Another ambulance came in. She tried to disengage herself. “Bud, I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon. But right now I really have to run.”

The triage nurse called for her. One of the drunks crept up to her. Anthony was still pressed to her. Someone was wheeled fast and bloodied on a stretcher. Alexander couldn’t look at her. He knew she needed his help with Anthony, but he wasn’t giving it to her until she called him by name. “Anthony,” said Tatiana, “tell your father I
have
to go.”

“He’s sitting right here, Mom,” said Anthony. “Tell him yourself.”

Alexander got up. Very quietly he said to her, “As always—you can do without all of us sinners, can’t you?” And then physically dragged Anthony away from his mother. “Come on, bud,” he said. “Mommy is busy. Let’s go home. Look what I bought today.” He took out a bag of peanut M&Ms. “Have you seen these? M&Ms with peanuts in them. What a country. Want one?”

David Bradley flung open the double doors, in scrubs. “God, where
is
she?” Then he saw her. “Tatiana,
please
!” he called. “Now!”

“Don’t worry, son,” Tatiana said to Anthony, standing up. “Your father will take care of you. Go home.” She didn’t even glance at the father before she rushed away.

At eight in the morning on Friday, Tatiana was not home. Alexander waited until nine. Anthony’s concert was at 9:30. He drove to the school, watching for her car coming up Jomax. He found her in the packed auditorium, still in her nurse’s uniform, and she hadn’t even saved him a seat! He had to stand in the back. The principal came out, the piano played, the children sang, the band performed. He watched her clap clap clap for their son, she stood up, took pictures, and even talked to the other parents about what a nice job the children had done of rendering the Christmas classics. The children went back to their classrooms, and she vanished in the departing crowd. By the time Alexander caught up with her, she was already at her Thunderbird. His hand slammed shut the car door. “Tania!”

Her head was down. “Can you let me open my car, please?” she said.

“No. Can we do this like adults?”

“Do what?”

He leaned in to her. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing, what are you doing?” They stared at each other for a moment before he looked away. She looked immensely tired. She couldn’t stand straight.

“Did you get off work at seven?” he asked quietly, standing close, wanting to touch the pallid cheek, the blonde eyebrows.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you come home?”

“Why didn’t
you
come home?”

“I did come home,” Alexander said, his fingers reaching for her face. “Come on. Let’s go. I took the morning off work.”

“You did? Great!” Tatiana said, moving away from his hands. “One thing though—I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I know,” said Alexander. It was no longer a question of what lie to spin that she would believe. It was becoming in a whirlwind a question of how much truth to give her so that she would ever believe him again. “I know you don’t want to, but you
have
to talk to me.” He took her upper arm. “Come on, let’s not do this in the middle of the school parking lot. All these people…” The other parents were ambling to their cars, chatting happily about Christmas plans, gifts for the kids, the lovely weather, the sleigh rides together. Alexander and Tatiana stood mutely to let them pass.

“I know you’re upset with me—”

She raised her hand to stop him.

“What do you want to do?” Alexander said, opening his hands. “Go on like this? Not speaking? Eventually you’ll have to talk to me, no?”

“No,” said Tatiana, barely shaking her head and opening the car door. “I’m all talked out.”

How can you be talked out, you haven’t spoken three words to me since Saturday! Alexander wanted to say. “Let’s go home,” he said cajolingly. “You can yell, you can do whatever—”

“Do I look to you like I can yell or do whatever?” Tatiana stood at the open car door. “And do I
need
to yell?” She looked like she would fall down or faint if she didn’t sit down. Alexander reached out to hold her steady, to touch her, but she put her hands up as if she wanted him to disappear from her sight. “No.” She leaned against the car, crossing her arms, and shut her eyes.

“Open your eyes,” said Alexander. She opened them. They were almost obsidian, the color of the Black Sea. “Tania…” he said, keeping his voice from breaking—just. “Babe, please. Let’s go home. Let me explain, let me talk to you.”

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “No more talking for us. Besides, I have to go to the mission.”

“The mission?” he said, frowning. “You just worked twenty-four straight hours. You have to go home and sleep, no?”

“No. The little children don’t know and don’t care about my sleep. The children are waiting.”

“Yes, they certainly are,” Alexander said, his fists clenching, finally stepping away from her. She always knew how to say just the thing to make him step away. “Your son—who is your actual child—has been waiting and waiting.”

“His father is taking care of him, no?”

“He needs his mother.”

She clenched her own fists, and stepped
toward
him. Alexander opened his arms. “Right here,” he said. “Here I stand.”

“Indeed you do,” said Tatiana. She took a breath. “Alexander, when you asked me to marry you, did you realize our marriage might last longer than one moon cycle?”

“I was hoping.”

“No, I don’t think you were. Yes, you said, we were only going to do this once and we might as well do it right, but you were thinking do it right for a month. A year between furloughs, perhaps. While you were trying to get into Germany from Russia. I’m not saying the quest for me wasn’t real, but what else, after all, did you have to live for? You could try to find me, try to stay alive for me, or you could smoke away your life in a Soviet onion field. So you chose me. How ennobling! But this isn’t briefest Lazarevo, is it? This is days and days and months and years, and all the minutes in between, just you and me, one man and one woman in one marriage.”

“I know very well what this is, Tatiana,” said Alexander, her fragile voice like concrete pressing on his heart.

“Do you? A
marriage
isn’t as easy as taking a drink of water. This is not pretend life during war, or pretend Soviet marriage, the two of us against the NKVD, with pretend Soviet choices. This is real American life. Full of choices, full of freedoms, full of opportunities, money, conflicts, constant pressures. There is suffering—when we cannot have what we think we deserve and it torments us.” She paused. “And there is temptation.”