Rachel Alexander 05 - The Wrong Dog

cash, this I understand.”
    I nodded but I didn’t move.
    “What happen to you, husband desert?”
    I nodded again. I love it when other people do my work for me.
    “Happens in Russia, too. Not enough money, too much love of vodka. Children?”
    “A boy and a girl.”
    “Make shelves. Everything will be okay soon. You need help, you call Sergei.”
    I nodded and wiped my eyes with the heels of my hands.
    “Do you think I might have a glass of water? I feel dizzy.“
    “Sit, sit,” he said, pulling out a stool from under the lip of the workbench. “I get you water.”
    “And, if you have one, an aspirin. Please.”
    “Don’t fall, hold table. I be right back.”
    The moment he was gone, I took the huge flashlight from the workbench and began to shine it around the cellar. Only once did something shine back at me, two small, very dark, very intelligent-looking eyes, here, perhaps, because what I was looking for wasn’t. And, when I thought about it, I wondered why I’d bothered to look.
    I could hear Sergei coming back, his work boots squeaking on the vinyl tiles of the short hallway. I sat on the stool and put my hands on the workbench, as if I was holding on for dear life.
    He handed me two aspirins, folded into a tissue, and a glass of water so cold, the glass was sweating almost as profusely as he was, and so full, water had spilled down one leg of his trousers.
    I took the aspirin, drank the water, and smiled weakly.
    “Carla make tea. You come,” he said, his English deteriorating as his concern increased. Perhaps I’d laid it on too thick. Sometimes when I should sprinkle, I use a trowel.
    He held my elbow as we walked back down the hall to his apartment, and Carla, in an apron, the very image that took the romance out of marriage for me, was waiting just inside the door. There was a round table in the combination living and dining room and she had covered it with what appeared to be her finest tablecloth, thick cream-colored linen. The napkins were linen, too, the silverware in place, the cups sat on matching saucers, and in the middle of the table there was a teapot on a trivet, a plate of plain cookies, and a little dish of raspberry-colored jam. I was awash in guilt.
    “This is beautiful, Carla. Thank you.”
    “Is nothing.”
    I handed her the bag with the rosemary bread and the last prosciutto roll, as if I’d known all along I’d be invited to tea and actually practiced the good manners my mother had tried so hard to instill in me. She looked inside.
    “Oh, this is wonderful. This is too much, much too much. Look, Sergei.” He did, probably expecting to see a standing rib roast from the fuss Carla was making. Then he smiled, showing me his missing teeth, and pulled out my chair.
    “You didn’t find right tools?” Carla poured the tea.
    I looked at Sergei, who was looking back at me.
    “I’ll come back when I feel a little better.”
    “Goot. You come anytime. If I not here, Carla show you tools.”
    “Okay.”
    I took a sip of the tea, rich as baker’s chocolate and nearly as bitter. Carla cut the bread, offering me the first slice.
    “Do you live nearby?” Carla asked.
    “Yes—I’m in one of die other buildings,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t ask me which one. “And a friend of mine lived next door in the garden apartment.”
    Carla’s hands shot to her mouth. “Miss Gordon?”
    I nodded.
    “No wonder you don’t feel well, to lose a friend, so young, such a fine person, a teacher.”
    I nodded again. “I’ve been staying at her place, taking care of the animals. In fact, I wanted to tell you, I got very scared the other night. The dogs started to bark and woke me and I saw a rat in the garden.”
    Sergei reached out and patted my hand. “I take care. Not to worry.”
    “Should I keep the dogs out of the garden?”
    “No. I dig holes near fence and around trees and bury poison. I use in cellar, too, not where dogs go. Miss Gordon, she worried all the time about dogs. I never leave poison where dogs can get.”
    “So you’ll do it today? Because I want to stay over again, tonight.”
    “Not today. Must call exterminator. I get poison for rodents from him.”
    “Okay, good. So I’ll keep the door to the garden closed tonight.”
    “Nothing will come in when the dogs are there. Sergei takes care of problem, but you don’t worry. It make you feel...” She twirled her hand in the air.
    “Dizzy,” I said.
    “Dizzy. Thank you. My English is . . .”