The Feasting Virgin

by Georgia Kolias

  “Where’s Nouna?” I asked as I looked around the dark room.

  “She went to the dentist. Why are you sitting so far away?” he asked me and gestured to me to come closer. I stayed in the chair with Doll and asked him why he was sick. Sick people have bad breath. He just laughed and told me again to sit closer and patted the bed. Above the bed my nouna had placed an icon of the Virgin Mary on a little shelf, with a lit candili floating in olive oil next to it. It was the old-fashioned kind of icon made out of pressed gold metal that showed the shape of the Virgin’s robes and her arms holding the little baby Jesus. There were holes in the metal where their faces peeked through in full color. Seeing the Virgin and Jesus made me feel better. It meant that the room was blessed and that they were watching over me. I got up and dragged the chair a little closer to the bed.

  “You don’t need the chair. Come sit on the bed.” His face was smiling but his voice wasn’t, and I knew I was never supposed to say no to an adult or else I would get in trouble. I clutched Doll close to my chest as I walked to the bed. He said, “Leave your doll on the chair.” My nouno was the same but different. He was acting weird. If he’d been at our house, I wouldn’t have hid his keys. I put Doll down on the chair. I made her sit up, facing the bed. Her eyes seemed blank, but it made me feel better to have her watching. I stood a foot away from the bed. He was still smiling. I noticed his eyes looked different: his eyelids were half shut, and I couldn’t tell what they were saying. He grabbed my arm and pulled me onto the bed with him. I tried to sit up straight and fold my hands. The bed was high, and my feet dangled off of the side. Doll was looking straight at me. She looked scared.

  He was saying, “I like your outfit” and rubbing my back. He slipped his hand under my shirt. My skin got all goose-pimply, and I tried to move so that his hand would fall out of my shirt. He laughed in this quiet way and kept rubbing my back. I tried to ask him again why he was sick, but he told me not to worry about that. I was so relieved when he took his hand out from the back of my shirt, but then he started to rub my chest and slipped his hand through the neck of my shirt. I was antsy, trying to move to get his hands off of me. My heart was feeling fluttery, and I looked at Doll to see what I should do. I wasn’t supposed to say no to adults, but my stomach was starting to feel sick and Doll was so far away.

  He laughed. “Heh, heh, heh, why are you moving around so much. Relax, relax, I won’t hurt you.” I tried to take deep breaths and stop moving around so much. He was my nouno who loved me and brought me presents. He was my nouno with his hand in my shirt, rubbing my chest, my little bumps that were new.

  I said, “I think I smell something. I think something is burning in the kitchen. I better go check,” and started to jump off of the bed.

  He grabbed me back and said, “Nothing is burning in the kitchen,” and shook his head no.

  I looked up at the Virgin and baby Jesus above the bed, and they looked so calm. It must be okay. It’s okay. I kept telling myself it was okay as he slipped his hand under my skirt. I thought I heard a noise in the house. I looked toward the doorway, my whole body alert. I think he heard the noise, too, because when I jumped off of the bed he didn’t try to stop me. I grabbed Doll off of the chair and ran to the front door, pulled it open, and rushed out into the billowing fog.

  The next day when I came home from school my mother told me that he had called. He said he had fun and wanted me to visit again. I told her I didn’t feel well, I had homework, I didn’t want to go, his breath smelled bad, I needed to clean my room, it was too cold, I wanted to stay home and help her make dinner. She whipped her head toward me and gave me a hard look, and I knew I couldn’t say no. She would give him anything he wanted as long as he kept coming back to see her. That day I chose an old red turtleneck that went all the way up to my chin. I tucked it tightly into my long green pants. I put on my lace-up boots. I was covered from head to toe, and it would be impossible for any hands to slip into or under. I left my hair messy, and I told my mother one last time that I didn’t feel well, so did I have to go? She told me to go comb my hair and hurry up, that he was waiting.

  This time I didn’t bring Doll or a coat or anything that I’d have to stop and grab before I left. I would go and sit on the chair and stay for five minutes, and then I would leave and everything would be different. Everything would be all right. Nothing would happen, and he wouldn’t tell me to keep our little secret. He wouldn’t tell me that he loved me the most and that was why he liked to spend time with me, so I should relax, relax. He wouldn’t tell me not to tell, so that other people wouldn’t get jealous that I was so special, relax, relax.

  As I stood on the doorstep of their house I stopped and looked at the fog surrounding the house. It was hard to see through it, and the mist dotted my face, covering me with secrets—and I knew there was no escaping. Before I could ring the bell, the door opened and he was standing there wearing the same pajamas, his beard a little longer and his body smelling stronger. “Come on,” he said and put his hand on my back to lead me down the dark hallway. “Come on. Hurry up.” The house smelled like avgolemono soupa, hot and chickeny and lemony, and there was a light on in the kitchen.

  “Is Nouna here?”

  “She went to the store. Hurry up,” he said and pushed me harder. He closed the door behind us and said, “I liked the little fousta you were wearing yesterday. Girls should always wear skirts.”

  He grabbed my arms and put me on the bed. This time he tried to make me lie down, but I didn’t want to. He shoved his hand into my turtleneck, and the stretchy sweater gave in. He shoved his hand into my pants and the button snapped. He was in a hurry. He didn’t tell me to relax, relax. This time he told me to be quiet and lie still. I didn’t want to. I wanted to be in the kitchen with my nouna, making avgolemono, squeezing the juice out of lemons, beating the egg whites until they got foamy, slowly mixing in the hot broth so the eggs wouldn’t curdle, stirring it all together in the big pot and watching the steam rise.

  I thought I heard something, a key turning in a lock, her voice, the pot of soup boiling over and flooding the kitchen. I was praying, please God help me. He was hovering over me, and above him I could see the Virgin Mary, servant of God. She was holding Jesus tight. This time she didn’t look calm. She looked angry. I could hear the kitchen roiling with surging waves of hot soup crashing against the walls, breaking down doors, burning tongues. I saw her lips move and she told me to say, “No!” and to kick him as hard as I could. When I did, he lost his balance and his hands slammed into the wall burning, and the Virgin came down and smashed him on the head.

  I jumped off of the bed and burst open the closed door, running toward the glowing yellow light of the awakened kitchen. The pot of soup was festering, boiling over and sizzling as the tangy drops hit the flames. He tried to catch me, but the soup rose in a cyclone of hot fury blocking his path. Something was burning in the kitchen and I was breaking free. The secrets were too big for me to keep, and I never knew who to trust until I was saved by God and the kitchen.

  AVGOLEMONO SOUPA

  “I wanted to be in the kitchen, squeezing the juice out of lemons, beating the egg whites until they got foamy, slowly mixing in the hot broth so the eggs wouldn’t curdle, stirring it all together in the big pot and watching the steam rise.”

  1 chicken, approximately 3–4 pounds

  12 cups of water

  1 1/2 cups rice

  Salt and pepper to taste

  3 eggs

  Juice of two lemons

  Place the chicken, legs up, into a pot with water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat, and partially cover so that the chicken gently simmers. Skim any foam off the top of the broth. Simmer until the chicken is falling off the bone, approximately 1 1/2 hours. Remove the chicken from the pot. Pour the broth through a strainer into a large bowl.

  Return the broth to the pot and bring to a boil. Stir in the rice and simmer until it is tender, approximately 15-20 minutes. Add salt and pepper t
o taste.

  Separate the egg whites into a large mixing bowl. Beat them until they are frothy. Add the egg yolks and continue beating. Mix in the lemon juice. Remove the pot of broth from the flame. Ladle out a cup of broth and very slowly add it to the eggs, while continuously beating them until the eggs are tempered. Very slowly add the egg mixture into the cooking pot, while stirring continuously. Shred some chicken meat into the soup and serve.

  The soup will have a beautiful foamy layer that floats over a tangy and aromatic broth.

  Resurrection

  After Manoli’s baptism, I pass out the martirika, the small lapel pins made of blue ribbon with a cross at the center, to all the witnesses of the ceremony. Mrs. Horiatis proudly passes out the bonbonieres, as they were her selection, a porcelain white-and-gold baby bootie tied with blue satin laces and attached to a tulle pouch filled with sweet Jordan almonds. I stay at the reception long enough to appear normal. Gus and Callie present me with a pair of aquamarine earrings. They dangle from my earlobes heavily, constantly reminding me of their presence. I need to leave, to get away from this confounding situation. I thought that Manolaki’s baptism might make me feel clean again, but instead it just inflamed my memories, and resurrected my shame. I offer my good-byes and pretend that my stomach hurts when they insist I stay. Mrs. Horiatis tells me to drink a 7-Up and stay. “Stay, stay,” they say. I can’t stay. I have to find a way to become clean again, to end this burning shame.

  I get into my car and drive to Mills College. As I enter the college I let the beauty of the campus sink in. Someone is getting married in the chapel. The bride in her white dress stands by the grassy curb, a smile frozen on her face. Photographers kneel in a circle around her, flashing photos and asking her to pose just so. I drive past the scene and park the car on the wide road framed by gorgeous trees and climb the wood chip-covered slope to the swimming pool. Daring that no one will stop me, I start running toward the pool, dropping my clothing along the way until I am stripped down to my white panties and bra. I enter the gated swimming pool area and sneak past the entrance booth. The pool is shimmering. Each ripple of water reflects the brilliant sunlight and white clouds. As I enter the vast pool I hear a sizzling sound as I slowly step down the wide steps into the cool water, and I pray. I pray for removal of my sins, I pray for purity, I pray to be reborn and resurrected without shame. As the water rises over my hips and waist, above my breasts, I imagine that it is cleansing me. I beseech God to cleanse me of my past. I beg him to make me pure again. I don’t dare ask for a virgin birth, because I know I don’t deserve it. When the water covers my neck and head and my hair floats freely in the water, I hold my breath until I can hold it no longer. Closing my eyes, I pray for the strength to carry through and exhale through my mouth, pushing all of the oxygen out of my lungs and allowing the water to rush into my mouth.

  I shake my head from side to side, struggling to die or live in peace. As I move my head from right to left I feel a tapping on my cheek and then again on the other side. The harder I shake, the stronger the taps. I am distracted long enough to pause in my struggle and lose my concentration, which forces me to rise to the surface. Gasping for air, my body suddenly goes cold, and I realize that I am still wearing the dangling aquamarine earrings from Callie and Gus. The pair of them saved me. The earrings tapped my face as if to bring me back to life, to bring me back to their family.

  I float onto my back with my arms spread out wide forming a cross. I float. The gurgling sound of the water hypnotizes me as I lie on the water bobbing up and down. The sun warms my cold skin. I close my eyes against it. I decide to surrender to the will of the water. It carries my body, and for the first time I feel weightless. I feel clean. I have been resurrected.

  Gus Grows Up

  “Constantino!” Mrs. Horiatis yelled out into the house. Hearing no response, she tried again, “Constantino!” Then she heard the muffled response.

  “Yes, Mana!”

  She smiled. She loved her son. She loved him more than anything or anyone. “I need you, Constantino!” She heard his footsteps coming down the stairs, and felt the floor vibrate as he drew nearer.

  “What is it, Mana?” Gus asked, out of breath.

  “You’re a good boy, Constantino.” She smiled.

  “Uh. Thanks?” Gus was rubbing some ink off of his fingers with a diaper wipe.

  “And I love you.”

  Gus looked at his mother where she stood by the couch in front of the bay windows.

  “I love you too, Ma.” He put the diaper wipe down on the coffee table and gave his mother a big hug. “Thank you for coming to visit. I’m so glad you’re here and that Manolaki is spending time with his yiayia.”

  “Constantino. I’ve decided it’s time for me to go back home.”

  “But Mama, it’s too soon. I think you should stay longer. There’s no rush to leave.”

  Mrs. Horiatis drew Gus tightly into her embrace and was surprised to feel his body quaking against hers, and the warm dampness of his tears against her cheek.

  “I know, honey. But there is nothing else I can do here. Maybe I should let you find your own way, instead of interfering. You’re a man now.”

  “I love it when you interfere. You’re my mother. You’re supposed to interfere.”

  “I know, ayori mou. My sweet boy.” Gus’s mother wiped his tears with the palm of her hand and hugged him tighter, holding his tears in her fist, treasuring them.

  “Maybe if you stay longer, you’ll get to know Callie better and it will all be okay.”

  “Constantino. It doesn’t matter if I like Callie. You made your choice.” Mrs. Horiatis found herself crying also. “I just want you to be happy. That’s why I thought, maybe you and Xeni, you might have more in common than you thought. But now she is family, and that is that.”

  “Maybe we do have more in common than I thought, Mama, but I don’t love Xeni. Not like that.”

  “I know that, ayori mou. I know.” Mrs. Horiatis paused. “I was so proud to see you, my son, in church baptizing your baby boy. I can’t believe that you’ve grown up so much. You’re a man. I have to respect that you are a man and you make your own decisions. I just want the best for you.”

  “I know, Mama. But Mama, I don’t want you to go. I want you to stay. You can stay in the guestroom for as long as you want. Please stay.”

  “No, Constantino. I realized when we were in the church that this is something that you have to do yourself. You have to decide if this is the life for you. I can’t stay here to make it better or worse for you.”

  “But Mama—”

  “No. If I stay, you’ll be distracted by me. Maybe even comforted by me?” Gus’s mother smiled, feeling vulnerable, and happy to know that her son did need her after all. “No. It will feel like home. You’ll never find out if this is really your home, or if it is just a house. If I go, you will soon see.”

  Gus nodded, still wiping tears from his cheeks.

  “Come on, come here. Sit with me on the couch and I’ll sing you a little song.” Gus’s mother pulled him down next to her on the couch and put her arms around him, rocking him and humming a little song about fishing boats leaving the harbor, “Vyaine varkoula, e varkoula tou psara, apo to pariyiali, varkoula, varkoula.” Gus settled into his mother’s arms.

  “Mama?”

  “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “I love you, you know.”

  “I know, honey. I know.”

  • • •

  Gus drove his mother to the airport on August 15. He couldn’t believe that two months had already passed since her arrival. It seemed so long ago that he’d eagerly awaited his mother’s arrival. It was almost four months since he had started pushing Callie to learn, to adapt, to change, to become Greek, all to please his mother. Callie had tried so hard, and yet his mother was leaving, still withholding her blessing. Manny was now nine months old and baptized. In a few months he would be a year old. Where had the year gone?

  Gus co
uldn’t understand why his mother had booked her flight for August 15. It was an important feast day for Greeks. It was the day that the Virgin Mary ascended to heaven, and a day they say all Greeks return home to celebrate. Her eminent departure left him feeling unmoored, but he was too embarrassed to ask her to stay again. He knew it was time to be a man. He escorted his mother to the security checkpoint, and as he embraced her one last time he felt as if he were choking with loneliness and the grief of not knowing when he would see her again. He fought the tears and the tight feeling in his throat and forced a smile onto his face, but was somehow comforted to see that she too was overcome by their parting. For once his mother was speechless, and yet Gus felt her immense love envelop him and comfort him even as he struggled to say good-bye. He waited by the windows until he was sure her plane had safely lifted into the sky. He ordered himself an ouzo at the airport lounge, and then another. He stayed there and drank, his mother’s body lifted up closer to God, and he prayed for some clarity before he became sober enough to return home, where he knew that Callie and Manolaki waited.

  The Virgin’s Feast

  Perhaps because it is August 15, or maybe because Gus took his mother to the airport and she wants to cheer him up, Callie decides to prepare a Greek meal that will comfort him, and perhaps rival anything that Mrs. Horiatis can make. It seems that Callie has still not learned that there is no woman on Earth that comes before a Greek man’s mother. The spoiling, worshipping, and coddling that a Greek baby boy experiences ends only when his mother dies, and no sooner. No wife, and certainly not an American wife, can ever rival the unbridled selflessness of a Greek mother for her son, and that son’s loyalty toward his mother.

  Still, Callie insists on cooking, and she wants me to be their guest for the night. She plans the menu herself. Roast leg of lamb with potatoes, horiatiki salata, and tzatziki, accompanied by feta, olives, anchovies, and homemade bread. A simple meal for the accomplished Greek cook, it will be a good challenge for Callie. She plans to serve plenty of ouzo and retsina with the meal to blur Gus’s thoughts of his mother soaring away from him toward God and homeland. Sometimes all it takes is a few bottles of alcohol to achieve miracles. Callie insists that she do all the cooking herself. She says she wants to cook dinner for me too, that I should just relax with the baby, and to just stop her before she makes any big mistakes.