I pick a green apple and hold it close to Manny’s face. It appears perfect and unblemished, pristine and innocent, just like Manny. I wish that I could go back to being free from damage. I wish that I were a fragrant apple contained within a resilient green skin, with sweet flesh, and seeds of potential slipped inside of my body.
GREEN ENVY APPLE CRISP
“Apples sit heavy in the palm of the hand, and offer a satisfying mouthful of sweet tanginess as teeth burst through skin and crush firm flesh.”
Butter
10 green apples, peeled and cut into bite-sized chunks
1/2 cup oatmeal
3/4 cup flour
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 cup sugar
8 tablespoons butter, cut into small pieces
Preheat oven to 375 degrees.
Butter a small baking pan and fill it with the peeled and chopped apples.
Mix together the oatmeal, flour, cinnamon, and sugar. Add the chunks of butter and, using your fingers, massage it into the flour mixture until it resembles crumbles. Top the apples with the crumble mixture.
Bake for 45 minutes, or until the topping is golden brown and crisp and the apples are bubbling in their own juices. Serve warm with vanilla ice cream.
Heart Attack
Mrs. Horiatis bustled about the kitchen preparing breakfast. It was barely dawn and the other members of the family were still sleeping in their beds. She had peeked into Manny’s room before she came down to make breakfast. He was lying on his back with arms thrust above his head, his brilliant red curls lying gently against his pale cheek. She feared for her grandson, wondering what little amount of her culture might trickle down to him. Kids today, she thought. They leave their customs and culture behind. To chase after—what? In his sleep, Manny found his thumb and started to nibble, finding his flesh a comforting snack.
Down in the kitchen Mrs. Horiatis stabbed raw egg yolks with a fork before beating the eggs in the bowl and laying strips of pork belly in the searing hot frying pan. Slices of white bread sat on a plate awaiting their fate. The house vibrated with desire, dissatisfaction, bewilderment, and dreams. As the fat began to sizzle, filling the air with the smell of smoky flesh, she recalled all the Sunday mornings that she had prepared American breakfast for her husband, Manoli, and Gus. Manoli would absently read the paper, and Gus was always fascinated with the flame burning hot on the stove. As she would turn her back to grab a plate, he’d stick his finger as close to the fire as he could without burning it. He would push forward just enough to make her furious and then withdraw when she’d shout with fear. The child was always challenging her in his cowardly way.
This situation is no different, she thought. He is in bed right now with that Amerikanitha, but he will withdraw. He never had the courage to get burned, and he doesn’t have it now. She poured the beaten eggs into a hot pan splattered with bacon fat drippings. She swirled the yellow clotty liquid into the black-flecked amber fat and watched the speckled curds form. The only good thing in this situation is my grandchild, she thought. Sometimes you could put two nauseating things together and find something pleasing. She stirred the eggs until they formed fluffy mounds, wholesome and flavored with savory smoke. She removed the crisp bacon from the other pan and laid the strips side by side on a bed of paper towels to drain.
“Constantino!” she yelled up the stairs. “I’m making the bread now. Come eat!” Mrs. Horiatis grabbed the plate of bread, and one by one she fried each slice in the bacon fat until it was golden brown and crisp. Her doctor would not approve of this technique, but it was delicious, and she was sure that Gus hadn’t enjoyed this kind of a breakfast since he was still living at home with her. I’d like to see the Amerikanitha make a breakfast like this, she harrumphed. Now, the Ellenopoula . . .
She indulged her fantasy of Xeni walking about the kitchen in a blue-and-white striped apron preparing breakfast for Gus and Manoli. She imagined Xeni caressing Gus’s curls as she set a plate before him of bacon-fat fried bread, her wedding band glimmering on her right ring finger. “Sweetheart, why don’t we please ask your mother to come and live with us? She would love to spend more time with Manoli, and I’d appreciate her help in the kitchen. She’s such a great cook.” Mrs. Horiatis smiled at the scene playing out in her head and imagined herself joining her family at the table, Gus pulling out her chair, and Xeni placing a fresh-cut rose in a vase near her plate. “Good morning, Mana! Could I make you some eggs? Would you like to hold the baby? I’m so happy that you’ve decided to stay here with us. I could really use your help,” and Xeni would kiss her hand and rub her feet. Mrs. Horiatis’s chest filled with oxygen and deflated just as quickly.
“Mana. You don’t have to yell, you know.” Gus lumbered into the kitchen. “Everybody is asleep. Why are you cooking so early?”
“Well, I’m not asleep. There is work to be done. Sit. Eat. We have to talk about something.” Mrs. Horiatis shoved a heaping plate of bacon, eggs and fried bread before him.
“Wow, Mana. I haven’t seen this kind of breakfast in years. Wait a minute, let me just get my heart medication.” Gus chuckled at his own joke.
“What? You don’t like it now?” Mrs. Horiatis snorted.
“I love it, Mana. I haven’t had this in forever. Just don’t make it again for a while so that I can live past fifty, okay?” Gus hugged his mother to his side and popped a crinkled piece of bacon into his mouth. She giggled freely, knowing that she had pleased him, and for a moment allowed herself to soften.
“Ayori mou . . .”
“Yes, Mana?”
“Manoli is so precious. He makes me so happy with his little smile and funny faces.”
“Yeah, he’s a great kid.” Gus bit into the fried bread, crunching through the crisp outer layer into the doughy white insides. “Mmmm . . . this shouldn’t be so good.”
“He is so precious, and no matter what the circumstances of his birth . . .” She paused to clear her throat, “. . . he deserves to be baptized. No. He must be baptized.”
Gus put his slice of bread down on the plate. “I don’t know, Mana. I don’t know if . . . I don’t know.”
“Don’t know what? What is there to know?” Mrs. Horiatis stiffened again.
“I don’t know,” he took a breath before completing the sentence, “if Callie would want that.”
“Would the Amerikanitha want your child to wander aimlessly in purgatory for eternity because he wasn’t baptized? What’s wrong with you? Who’s in charge of this house?”
“Mana. Hold on—”
“You expect me to sit and watch while you let that red devil ruin your child’s chance to enter heaven?”
“Mana.”
“Mana, what? There is no this or that. There is one way. He is Greek. He must be baptized in the Greek Orthodox Church. See what happens when you get involved outside of your culture? Trouble, nothing but trouble. It could be a lifetime of trouble unless you do something about it. Why don’t you give her some money to go traveling? Or buy her a house in hippietown? Give her what she wants so that she gives you Manoli and goes away. I can help you raise him. Or, Xeni . . .”
“Mana! Stop! Please! Callie would never give up Manny. Never. She lives for that kid. And, she’s a good mother. I don’t want to take her away from him. I couldn’t do that to him. Mana. Can’t you help me try to make this situation work instead of making it worse?”
“I make it worse? I come here to try to accept your child that you had outside the proper bounds—I make it worse?” Mrs. Horiatis was so mad that she wanted to take his finger and put it in the flame so that he could finally understand what it meant to play with fire.
“Mana. Calm down.”
“I make it worse! I better calm down before I make it worse!”
“Mana.”
“Do you know what baptism does? It releases the child of all sin and fills him with the Holy Spirit. Considering the way he came into the world, I’d say he needs all the help he can get.”
“Manny didn’t do anything wrong, Mana.”
“No, but you did. And he carries your sin until you help cleanse him of it.”
Gus was silent, and she knew she had him in her grip.
“I give up. What the hell. If dunking the kid in water a few times and rubbing him with oil will make it all okay, we’ll do it. Okay, Mana?”
“Well, don’t do it for me. Do it for Manolaki’s eternal soul,” she said reproachfully. She turned her back to Gus and smiled. He was always such a simple boy, she thought. It was a source of his charm—and his stupidity. Mrs. Horiatis flipped another piece of fried bread onto his plate, hugged his shoulders, and pinched his cheek. “Tha se faw!”
Pig Heaven
“Hey Cal, I had a great idea this morning.” Gus walked into the bedroom rubbing his bursting stomach. Callie was lying on her side in the bed nursing Manny. He grasped at his toes as he sucked at her breast, filling his stomach with sweet mother’s milk.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I was thinking it would be really great to baptize the baby while my Mom is here. It would make her so happy, and uh”—Gus grasped for another good reason—“it would cleanse him of sin and fill him with the Holy Spirit.” By the look on Callie’s face, he knew he’d picked the wrong one.
“Sin?”
“Uh. Yeah, you know.” Gus tried to remember his Sunday school lessons. “We’re all born with sin, etc., etc.”
“Please, Gus. Take a look at your son. Does he look like he’s a sinner?”
Manny was lying on his side against his mother, suckling and fiddling with his big toe. Seeming to feel that eyes were upon him, he turned toward his father and smiled, a fat droplet of white milk rolling off of his pink lips and down his chubby chin.
“He looks like he’s in pig heaven.” Gus rubbed his stomach one more time and sighed. “Look, it’s important to me and my mother that we baptize the kid. Whaddaya say?”
“Fine. I was thinking about it myself. I think it would be very uplifting to introduce him to the community through a baby blessing at Glide Memorial Church in San Francisco.”
“Glide Memorial?”
“Yeah. You know, they do really great work in the community and they welcome all people there.”
“Don’t they welcome drug addicts and homosexuals and homeless people there? Can you see my mother sitting in church next to a homeless person on one side and a big queen on the other?”
Callie sat up and pulled Manny close to her chest. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you in front of the baby. I don’t want him to see how prejudiced you are. I don’t want him growing up that way.” Manny pulled at Callie’s robe, exposing her breast.
“Ah, come on, Callie. All I was saying is that—”
“I know what you were saying.” Callie pulled her robe firmly shut. “Since when are you so homophobic anyway?”
“I’m not homophobic. Lighten up.”
“Well, what was that ‘big queen’ comment for then?”
“Ah, come on.”
“Did you know that I used to be with a woman? Her name was Nylah and we were together for three years.”
“Hey, that’s kind of hot.” Gus grinned.
“Typical.”
“Okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t mind if you were with a woman.”
“Have you ever been with a man?”
“Hell no! Are you kidding?” Gus balked.
“Well, why not?” Callie got up and bounced Manny around on her hip.
“For one thing, that’s gross. For another, it’s against my religion.”
“How is it against your religion? I didn’t even know you had a religion.”
“Of course I have a religion. I’m Greek Orthodox. Even if I never set foot in that church, I still belong there.”
“Unless you sleep with a man?”
“Well, yeah. But it doesn’t matter because I don’t plan to. What is up with you today?”
Callie hugged Manny close, kissing his forehead. “You know, I thought that . . .”
“What?”
“I thought that you loved me and our son.”
Gus hedged. “Where’s that coming from?”
“I don’t think you respect my point of view.”
“What does that have to do with love?” Gus snorted.
“Can you give me one really good reason why we should baptize Manny at the Greek Orthodox Church instead of blessing him at Glide Memorial?”
“Because he is Greek, and he has a right to his heritage. It is my job to make sure that he retains it, and that he doesn’t get lost in some blank, white American lack of ethnic identity.”
“So, it really is important to you?” Callie asked.
“Yes, it is important to me,” Gus stated, and realized he was speaking the truth.
“Well, okay. But on one condition.”
“Okay, whatever.”
“I want Xeni to be the godmother.” Callie smiled.
“Really? What about my friends, like Thanasi or Alexandros?”
“Xeni spends a lot of time with Manny. She loves him.” She added, “In a way, she’s his second mother.”
Gus noticed that Callie was suddenly blushing and flashed back on the intimacy he had noticed between her and Xeni at the Green Envy Ranch. He wondered if it was the cooking that had brought them together, or something else.
“Anyway, that’s my one condition. Take it or leave it.”
Gus knew when to stop arguing with a woman. “I’ll take it.”
Macy’s, a Holy Place
The bustle in Macy’s San Francisco created a steady roar. Each element of the shopping experience added a ring to the cacophony: the hunger and hope of the shoppers, the flirtatious dance of the sales associates offering goods and suggestions, even the sound of perfume spraying from the mouth of signature bottles and onto the customers. It seemed that no matter what day or time it was, there were always people looking for something to fill them up, to take away their boredom, sorrow, and fear and to replace it with a kind of euphoria.
Mrs. Horiatis always came to Macy’s San Francisco whenever she was back in the United States. She loved the cosmetics counter with all the makeup ladies standing at the ready to help bring out her beauty, and she always had a list from relatives with their special requests from Estée Lauder, Clinique, and Lancôme. Callie and Gus accompanied her, and she’d insisted that Xeni accompany them as well. Xeni had finally agreed to come when Mrs. Horiatis reminded her of the culinary cornucopia and cooking equipment that covered the lower floor of the store called, “The Cellar.” As she shopped, Mrs. Horiatis handed Gus her purchases as she made her way through the store. Mrs. Horiatis barely paid attention as Callie tried to make small talk while holding Manny in the baby carrier.
As the group passed the fine jewelry section Mrs. Horiatis paused to admire the gleaming gold jewelry and sparkling gemstones. She stared wistfully at the diamonds and looked at her ring finger, which still hosted her plain gold wedding band. There had been no money back then for an engagement ring, and Manoli had left before he ever made it up to her. Letting go of old dreams came hard for Mrs. Horiatis, and she lingered for several moments, silently staring at the promises in the case. The old feelings always came back at unexpected moments, and she wondered if she would ever be able to feel at peace again.
Mrs. Horiatis walked along the jewelry cases admiring the rings, the bracelets, and the necklaces, and imagined the happy women who would receive the trinkets as gifts and gestures of appreciation. She’d even heard of some men giving their wives “push presents” after giving birth to children. What a ridiculous American stupidity. The gift is the baby. She caught her reflection in one of the many mirrors propped up on the counter—an old woman, tired and dull. She needed something shiny and new, something to show her that her life had been worth it.
There was a selection of crosses in the display case, some plain, others with diamonds, in gold, platinum,
and silver.
“Constantino,” she said, “who will be Manolaki’s godparents? I want them to see this cross. It is so handsome.” Mrs. Horiatis pointed to a large slender cross with a single blue aquamarine in the center.
“We thought we’d ask Xeni,” Gus murmured, checking his watch.
“What!” Mrs. Horiatis exclaimed.
“What?” he mumbled, tapping his watch face, and then holding it up to his ear. “Is this thing working? Have we really only been here one hour?”
Mrs. Horiatis reacted before thinking. She yelled, “Constantino Horiatis! Tha se skotoso!” The jewelry associates stopped to stare.
Xeni giggled. “What did he do now? It must be pretty bad if you want to kill him.” She smiled.
“Hey. I didn’t do anything. I was just telling her that we want you to be Manny’s godmother,” Gus grumbled.
“Gus! That’s so unceremonious! I can’t believe this is how you want to ask her!” Callie said in a whisper hiss while smiling at Mrs. Horiatis. Callie took a deep breath and turned toward Xeni, who had remained silent during this exchange.
“We want you, Xeni, to be Manny’s godmother.”
Mrs. Horiatis interrupted. “Nothing personal, sweetheart,” she said to Xeni, “but,” she turned to Gus with a fierce look in her eyes, “I don’t think that would be appropriate. Don’t you have some other friend, Constantino?” Gus put the shopping bags down with deliberate slowness, as if he was approaching danger, and Mrs. Horiatis resisted the temptation to pinch her son. She shook her head and sighed as she realized he could not look her in the eyes.
• • •
I’m not sure whether to be offended, relieved, or flattered. I wonder whether this is God moving in some mysterious way, making me a mother of sorts. Could God be saying that he wants Callie and me to share Manny? I ponder the question while the others continue their arguments.
The Feasting Virgin Page 14