The Summer Garden by Paullina Simons
Tatiana was silent.
“I couldn’t place my finger on what was wrong with it, but now I know. It was a test for everyone who came in, every painter, every roofer, every framer Balkman hired. They all had to walk past that topless gate. They said something about it, they smiled knowingly, they exchanged a glance that told Bill they were on the same page. It’s not a coincidence that every crew he hired behaved exactly the same way. He hired them based on their reaction to that picture. That’s how he managed to weed them out. Now I know.”
“What did my husband do to make Bill Balkman think he was one of them?” Tatiana asked quietly.
Alexander sighed. “I did nothing. I said nothing. And that’s how he knew I would be okay with it. And he was right. I was willing to overlook it.”
Tatiana disagreed. She said that perhaps Balkman wanted some of what Alexander was to rub off on his son. Perhaps a better example than himself was what Balkman wanted for his son Stevie.
Alexander said nothing.
Tatiana couldn’t fall asleep in her own house without a tranquilizer, couldn’t fall asleep without the P-38 by her side of the bed.
Even with the tranquilizer and the Walther, she woke up every night, perspiring, screaming, seeing before her sleeping eyes an image she could not shake down, not even during daylight—her husband, her Alexander standing like a black knight, looking straight at her with his deadly unwavering gaze, pointing a .45 caliber weapon at her face—and firing. The deafening sound of that shot reverberated through all the chambers of Tatiana’s heart.
She needed nearly the whole bottle of champagne before she would let him touch her again. After a pained and underwhelming coupling, she lay in his arms, the alcohol making her woozy and light-headed.
“Tatiasha,” he whispered, “you know, don’t you, that if it weren’t for women like you who love their men, the soldiers who come back from war would all be a little like Dudley. Cast out, afflicted, completely alone, unable to relate to other human beings, hating what they know, yet wanting what they hate.”
“You mean,” Tatiana said, looking into his face, “what you were like when you came back?”
“Yes,” Alexander said, closing his eyes. “Like that.”
She cried in his arms. “You’re still like that, walking around with the war this close.”
“Yes, I’m pretending I’m civilized. What did you tell me in Berlin under the linden tree? Live as if you have faith, and faith shall be given to you. So that’s what I keep trying to do.”
“How could you have shot him when I was just inches away? And shot him with your left hand, too. God! Your marksman rating is for your right hand, soldier. You don’t know how to shoot with your left.”
“Um—”
“What if you missed?”
“I didn’t miss.”
“I’m asking you—what if you did?”
“There was a lot at stake. I tried not to miss. But Tania, you threw in your lot with mine. You knew what you were getting into. Who better than you knows what I am?” Suddenly he let go of her and moved away.
“What?” Tatiana said, reaching for him. “What?”
He shook her arm off him. “Stop talking to me. I can hear you loud and clear through all the pores of your skin. You’re so hostile. I know what you’re thinking.”
“No, you don’t. What?”
“That because I had forgotten what you are, look what I’ve let into our house,” Alexander said coldly. “Isn’t that what you said to me?”
In their bed, under the white quilt, Tatiana pulled him back to her, held him close, pressed him to her heart, to her breasts. “That’s not what I’m thinking, darling,” she said. “When did I ever expect you to be perfect? You pick yourself up and you try to do better. You fix what you can, you move on, you hope you can learn. The struggle doesn’t end just because you know the way. That’s when it’s only beginning.”
“So what are you thinking then, if not that? The things Dudley said?” He shuddered and his fists clenched. “The things he threatened?”
She shook her head. “Shh. No. He was saying the things he knew were the most vicious for you to hear because he was declaring war. He was taking what is most sacred to you and degrading it to debase you, and us. I know something about this. And you do, too—Steve’s been doing that for three years.” She paused. “But I’m not thinking of that. I’m thinking of me, not you this time,” Tatiana said. “And of what Blanca Davidovna once said to me. I wish she never said it. I wish I never knew. I saved her from the burning house and this is the thanks I get. She said to me, God has a plan for each of us. And both the crown and the cross are in your tea cup, Tatiana.”
“Yes,” said Alexander. “And my father said to me, here’s my plan for you, son. I’m taking you to the Soviet Union because I want it to make you into the man you are meant to be. And so what you and I have been doing, when there’s been a little too much cross for us, is raging against our fate. And believe me, we’re not done. Because, despite Dudley’s best efforts, our life is not over yet.”
Second Interlude
The Queen of Spades
Beware the Queen of Spades for she bears ill will.
ALEKSANDR PUSHKIN
Cousin Marina
Mama, bless her, went back to Leningrad, and Marina came to Luga.
The exhausted Mama never lifted her eyes to Tatiana, but cousin Marina, who usually did, this time lifted them to Saika. Tatiana hid behind the trees with Oleg, watching them laugh and parry. Marina was a dark, short-haired round girl with round eyes, round arms, round hips, round black birthmarks all over.
“Can you believe what’s happening in Abyssinia, Tania?”
Oh, Oleg. Can you believe what’s happening under your nose? My own flesh and blood Marina is choosing not to play with me!
“What the Japanese are doing in Nanking is unconscionable. Isn’t anyone going to stop them?”
How Saika is stealing Marina’s attention is unconscionable. Isn’t anyone going to stop her?
“Someone has to give Chamberlain an ultimatum. My country now or your country in a year.”
Someone has to give Marina an ultimatum. Choose to play with me now, or be sorry later.
Pasha sat on Tatiana, pressed down her arms, tickled her with his chin and sang, “Tania is jealous, Tania is jealous.”
And Tatiana throwing him off and pinning him to the ground, sang back, “Pasha is ridiculous, Pasha is ridiculous.”
But it was Marina who now sat in the trees and Marina who swam in the river, and went to the fields to eat clover. Like Marina even knew how to eat clover until Tatiana taught her. The cheek of it.
Saika and Marina whispered and giggled; they had girlish secrets, they were full of youthful delights. They lay on the grass with their feet up on the trunks of trees while the boys played football with Tania. Before Marina came, Saika had been at Tatiana’s window morning, noon, and night, asking to go somewhere, to do something. And worse, to divulge, to sit in the trees, to have midnight confessions. Tatiana revealed nothing, but that didn’t stop Saika, who tried to tell Tatiana secrets of a kind that Tatiana had less than no interest in keeping. So on the one hand Tatiana was grateful that someone finally came along to divert Saika’s attentions, but on the other hand—it was her Marinka! A mixed blessing, if ever there was one.
Since Saika was otherwise occupied, Oleg started talking to Tatiana again—a mixed blessing, if ever there was one.
“Oleg,” Tatiana said, goading him, “please tell me Sir Neville hasn’t appeased you, too, now that he has embraced Franco in Spain and said that the new Anglo-Italian agreement removes clouds of mistrust and paves the way for peace.”
“You are either ironic or so naïve,” said Oleg solemnly. “Almost as naïve as Chamberlain. The rest of the world is going to Fascism in a handbasket, while we stand and watch, but you just go ahead and laugh and tease and play your little games. Europe will be the battlefield and the battle in Euro
“And the Fascists will lose,” said Tatiana.
“Certainly doesn’t look like Fascism is losing now, does it, Tanechka?” said Oleg acidly.
At home her grandfather still played chess with her. Which didn’t make up for anything since Marina didn’t know how to play chess. To Tatiana Deda said, “In two moves it’s checkmate.” And Tatiana replied, emitting an exuberant giggle, “Maybe in two moves it’s checkmate, but right now it’s check.”
Three Ducks in a Row
Oh, so finally she was invited into their games. Tatiana, Marina and Saika went swimming in the river. The Luga water was afternoon-warm, soft on the body, easy on the limbs. They played splashing games where they could still touch bottom, but Saika jumped farther out, and Marina eagerly followed, splashing back, and Tatiana reluctantly followed, splashing no one. Saika jumped farther still. Tatiana called out, “Marina, don’t swim so deep into the current, stay near the shore,” and Marina called her a wet blanket. Three in a row the girls swam, Marina, then Saika, then Tatiana, letting the current pull them along—when suddenly Marina disappeared under the water.
She resurfaced, choking with water in her lungs. She tried to swim but couldn’t. She was trapped in a vortex—an eddy, where the water tripled and quadrupled to form a swirl too powerful for Marina, who flailed in a panic, only letting more water into her mouth. The choking panicked her and the water was deep; Marina was being spinned and dragged helplessly downstream. Tatiana swam all out, trying to get around Saika to catch up with her cousin, but she knew that in a moment Marina would disappear under again. She also knew that she was not strong enough to help her by herself. “Saika, quick!” she yelled. “Help me!”
Panting and not responding, Saika swam a little faster, in Tatiana’s way, keeping up with Marina.
“We can both do it!” Tatiana repeated, still trying to get around Saika. “Come on, just grab her arm and pull.”
Saika acted as if she didn’t hear. Marina went under, bobbed up, tried to scream, her arms splashing wildly.
Tatiana could barely hear Marina through her own panic, but she heard her name being sputtered. “Oh, Tania... please, oh, Tania, please . . . . . . help me.”
Taking a deep breath, Tatiana shoved Saika out of the way and grabbed one of Marina’s arms, and before the girl had a chance to pull her down like an anchor, Tatiana yanked her cousin with all her strength, once and again and then...
You’d think there would be a word of thanks after that, but no.
The next day when Tatiana came to the clearing, Anton was whispering to Natasha who was whispering to Marina, who was whispering to Oleg who was whispering to Saika, who glanced at Tatiana and stopped whispering.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked. No one replied.
Even Pasha was looking at her askance.
And no one would play football with her! Not even Pasha and Anton!
Tatiana threw up her hands and left. Later Pasha came and sat by her bed but Tatiana was buried in her book and ignored him. “So what happened in the river yesterday?” he finally asked.
“Marina was sucked into a vortex and I pulled her out.”
Pasha sat. “It’s not what we heard. We heard you pushed Saika out of the way.”
Tatiana laughed.
Pasha was silent. “Did you push Saika out of the way?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Because she wouldn’t help Marina, Pasha!”
“She said she was just about to.”
“It’s hard for me to tell what she might’ve done. All I know is what she wasn’t doing.”
“She said she was about to.”
“Convenient. However, no matter how Saika twists it, there’s only one truth about what happened.”
“Why would Saika need to twist it? Stop picking on her.”
“All right, fine,” said Tatiana. “All I know is that Saika did not raise a finger to help Marina.” Tatiana put her face back into her book.
“Well, you better talk to Marina,” said Pasha, “because she is seeing it very differently.”
“The ingrate,” Tatiana said without rancor.
The Palms and the Rowan Trees
Later, on the hammock where the children usually collected after dark, Tatiana wanting to rattle things up a bit, said, “So what are these stories you’re telling everyone about what happened in the river, Saika?”
“Oh, how silly, let’s not do this,” Saika said carelessly with a wave of her arm. “It’s water under the bridge.”
“Really, Tania,” Marina said. “It was hard to know what was going on in that river. I’m fine now, that’s the important thing.” She changed the subject. “Tonight, Saika invited me to her mother’s, who is going to read my fortune. Did you want to come? You don’t have to. But Pasha is coming. Even Dasha is coming.”
“Saika,” Tatiana said evenly, “your mother, then, will be available tonight?”
Pasha kicked her on one side, Dasha on the other.
“My mother was a kockek in the old country, Tania,” Saika said with pride. “Do you know what that is? It’s a soothsayer. It’s an ecstatic. She tells the future. And an ecstatic is someone who is prone to very strong emotion. That’s my mother. No shame in that.”
Before Tatiana could say a word, Dasha hissed, “You’re going to be prone to very strong emotion in a minute—intense pain. Keep quiet and come.” She dragged her by the hand.
When they walked in, Shavtala was chanting dirges. She had a mane of tangled black hair, was wearing a long dark kaftan and smoking unfiltered cigarettes in a room where all the windows were closed. “The cigarettes are my incense,” she said. Tatiana guessed it was supposed to be a joke.
Marina was first. Indifferently Shavtala took Marina’s hands, turned the palms over for a second or two, observed them (cursorily, thought Tatiana), told Marina that she would find satisfying proletarian educational pursuits and that she would be an asset to her country. “But cold weather is your enemy. Dress warm. Wear galoshes.”
“What?”
“I’m just telling you what I see. Also—you’re practical but lack imagination. Try to see old things in a new way. Work on that. Next.”
“How specific are these palms?” muttered Tatiana, pushing Dasha forward.
With great apathy, Shavtala turned Dasha’s palms over. “Interesting,” she said. “Very very interesting,” in a voice that said, “Boring. Very very boring.” To Dasha, after telling her about the satisfying proletarian work she would be useful for, Shavtala added, “Your heart line shows some ill health. Some unhealthy eyesight. Do you wear glasses?”
“What?”
“I might get a pair. Next.”
“Wait, what about love?” asked Dasha.
“I don’t know,” replied Shavtala. “Your cousin Marina is a worrier. Has many worry lines. You on the other hand don’t worry enough.”
“I didn’t say worry. I said love.”
“Yes, well. I’d worry a little more. And watch out for the ice. I see ice in your future.”
“Ice?”
“Ice, galoshes,” Tatiana whispered. “This woman has obviously been to Leningrad from October to April.”
“Shh!”
“But will there be love?” repeated Dasha to Shavtala. “It’s the only thing I want to know.”
Shavtala raised her lifeless black eyes to Dasha. “Yes,” she said. “There will be love.”
And to Pasha she said, “Rust is not your friend.”
“Well,” said Pasha philosophically, exchanging a dry glance with Tatiana, “whose friend is it really? And how come I don’t get any useful work?”
“Because,” said Shavtala, “you are not going to be a very good proletarian. Your heart is fickle. You next, Tania.”
“Me not next, no,” said Tatiana. “I don’t do it. I’m not interested. Ask anybody.
Standing up, Shavtala took a step forward and grabbed Tatiana’s hands, forcibly turning her palms over. Emitting a short unhappy sound, Tatiana tried to pull her hands away, but Shavtala was much bigger and stronger and didn’t let her, staring deep into Tatiana’s palms. “Whew, what a Saturn fate line, Tania.” She whistled. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Why, it cleaves both your palms in two!”
“Come on,” Tatiana muttered, pulling on her hands, trying to turn her palms inward. “Please stop. It’s not nice.”
Shavtala did not hear her or did not care. She stared into one palm, then the other. No indifference on Shavtala’s face now. She was flushed, she was panting. “Look. Heart, head, and life lines all connected, all flowing from the same source. Means grave trauma for you up ahead, girly.”
Whimpering, Tatiana squeezed Shavtala’s hands hard between her own. “Please stop!” she exclaimed, holding on to Shavtala and scowling at her. “Can’t you see I don’t like it?”
Suddenly Shavtala yanked away with a sharp cry. She dropped Tatiana’s hands, pushed them far from herself and stood looking at Tatiana with panicked eyes. Tatiana was still pale but now she was calm.
“What did you see, Mama?” said Saika.
Shavtala fell back in her armchair. “Nothing. But...Tania . . .” She stared at her intensely. “Did you just... see inside me?”
“No!” Tatiana backed away into her brother, nearly knocking him over.
Shavtala nodded. “You did. I know you did.”
“No.” Tatiana hid behind Pasha, who was dodging out of her way, pushing her forward, tickling her.
Tatiana did not look at Shavtala again. “Come on, we have to go.”
“What did you see, Tania?” Shavtala asked again.
Tatiana did not return the gaze, nor reply, nor lift her head.
Saika crouched by her mother’s side. “Mama, what is it?”
“Daughter,” Shavtala said dully, “don’t come near her. Stay away from her.”
“Pasha, are you a pod of salt? Let’s go!” Tatiana pulled at her gawking brother.