I watched the way Gus was with Callie, and how he didn’t see her. He just saw what she wasn’t and what he wanted her to be. That can poison a person. It can cripple them and make them crawl on their knees, always trying to please, always knowing that what they are is not good enough. And there was Callie with Gus in that Kafenion. I saw her standing by his side. She is still with him, still trying to play good Greek wife, carrying his child around the festival with pride, when he doesn’t even love her enough to marry her. I can’t be in the same room with them after what I saw that night last summer. She obviously loved him enough to please him, right there in front of me. She didn’t really care about me at all. After I left I yanked my phone out of the wall so I wouldn’t be tempted to call her. I was merely some kind of Greek puzzle for her, like the lamb knucklebone game we’d play at Easter. Throw it one way and I’m the cook, throw it another and he’s the king, throw it one more time and she’s the thief. She stole my heart. But I can’t let her keep it. I have to get it back. She’s holding it in a cage of spun caramel, amber and hard, and carelessly dangles it in the air without care that it may drop and shatter.
Genuflecting three times and kissing the feet of the Virgin, I pass into the inner narthex of the church and then into the nave. I need all of my love back for this baby, real or imagined. I can’t let Callie see me. I’ll hide in this corner of the church, in a pew beside the baptismal font, and let the blue glass of the church walls envelop me in their serene magnetism. Christ will look down on me from the pounded copper ceiling with his stern expression and tired eyes and watch over me. She will not find me because I can tell that Jesus has tired of all of this foolishness. One woman cannot love another woman, especially when she is devoted to a man, when she is willing to give up her dignity and self-worth to please him. No, she will not find me.
Suddenly there is a shifting in my belly that feels like a foot jamming into my gut, a rolling sensation within my body that I can plainly see. The top of my belly, hard and round as a watermelon, is moving from right to left. Sometimes this sensation scares me. It feels so real that I wonder if I am truly insane. I worry that I may end up spending my days curled into a bloated ball, watching my belly rise and fall, feeling this inside-out sensation of movement and propulsion. In those moments my joy turns into a moment of dizzy breathlessness and convulsing sobs. I do not know my body. What is happening to my body?
I try to curl into a smaller ball in the pew, but it is impossible to get very small when your belly expands forward and to the sides and moves independently of your thought and intention. I try to curl forward, but the wooden pew ahead is too close. I am huge, as huge as the domed ceiling of the church, as huge as the sky that holds all the stars within it. I am dumbstruck by my enormity.
On the other side of the church, festivalgoers start to gather next to the display of priestly robes and bibles. They are preparing to watch the demonstration on icon painting. It is a specialized technique that uses natural minerals and egg yolk to bind them. The embryonic yolk of the egg feeds the pigment, helping it bloom into the image of a saint. The dark reds, the golds, the rich earthy colors all come together to form a face, an expression. The egg tempera paint dries into a finish that is amazingly resilient. I wonder if the artist could look at my belly and foresee a face. If they could mix egg and pigment and paint a form onto the dome of my swollen belly, revealing a curved body, an inquisitive face, hands that clutch at the world.
I lie down on the pew barely wide enough to support my girth, and point my belly up toward the ceiling. A dome within a dome. The face of Jesus reflecting on my womb. Or perhaps I could take the juices of strawberries or pomegranates and paint a portrait of my child onto my belly, giving it definition and visibility. I would like to see my baby. At least once. I would like to hold it in my arms, just as I always dreamed, a living portrait of Mary and Jesus. For all mothers accomplish some miracle in the conception and birth of their children and, given the chance, in the nurturing of them.
Lying on my back is as uncomfortable as lying on rocks now, and a thought suddenly occurs to me. What if my belly never stops growing? What if it becomes so huge that I am unable to leave the house, like the eight-hundred-pound man? They’ll have to cut a hole in the wall to squeeze me through if I ever do give birth.
I can’t fool myself. I will never give birth. This is all a figment of my imagination, a hoax. Just a physical expression of my innermost desires.
The Koimisis Miracle
Callie pushed through the people crowded around the token booth and past the young men loitering in front of the church. A cluster of Greek Americans was just outside the doors of the church blocking the way. One older grandfather was exclaiming, “Give Papou a kiss! Where is my kiss?” A young girl with long brown ponytails shyly clung to her mother’s legs. The old man, her grandfather, pointed his finger toward his grizzled cheek. “Come on, it won’t hurt you!” he chortled. Callie tried to make her way around the family, and her quiet, “Signomi” was ignored until she finally and firmly stated, “Excuse me!”—really more of a command than a request. The group gave Callie a stern look as they parted to allow her and Manny to pass. She entered the church foyer and took a moment to push a dollar bill into the donation box beside the hand-dipped yellow beeswax candles. She took a candle and walked toward the icon of the Virgin Mary. Taking a deep breath, she held her wick up to the flame of the solitary candle with the brightest spark and made a wish as she lit it. She placed her candle next to it in the upper right-hand corner, remembering that the right hand performs miracles in the Bible.
As urgently as Callie wanted to see Xeni, she found herself lingering in front of the icon, eyeing the dark interior of the church with hesitation. Clearly Xeni didn’t want to see Callie; otherwise, she wouldn’t have run away at the sight of her in the Kafenion. But she doesn’t understand what happened that night, Callie thought. If she only knew what I was trying to do . . . Maybe it was a stupid plan. But what if it worked, and Xeni has the virgin conception that she has always dreamed of? Callie’s fear was overturned by her sudden excitement and curiosity. Could it have worked?
As Callie turned to enter the inner sanctum of the church, she noticed that several people had had the same idea, including the old Papou and his young granddaughter in the arms of her mother. As they slowly filed in, Callie’s impatience was getting the better of her, but she knew that she couldn’t push past this family again without looking like a terrible, brutish non-Greek. Before Callie could stop him, Manny reached out and grabbed the ponytail of the young girl, causing her to shriek in surprise. “Manny, no!” Callie tried to apologize, but before the words left her lips she imagined she heard someone mumble the word “Amerikanitha.” Shamed by her inability to blend in, even standing there in line to enter the church, Callie had a loss of confidence. This was her pendulum, she thought, best intentions and failure.
“How old is your baby?” asked the mother of the girl, kindly.
“Oh. He’s eighteen months,” Callie smiled weakly. “I’m so sorry he pulled your daughter’s hair.”
“You should see what she does to her younger brother at home!” The dark-haired woman smiled. “We can’t control our children all of the time. They have a will of their own, don’t they?”
“Yes, indeed,” Callie replied.
“Is he Greek?” asked the woman.
“Yes, he is. His father is Greek.”
“Well, it’s nice that you bring him here to learn about his culture.”
Callie smiled again, touched by the woman’s warmness and impatient to get inside. As they entered the main hall, the darkness lifted and Callie found herself surrounded by the blue glass walls and magnificent copper-domed ceiling. She always was struck by the paintings of Christ and his disciples on the ceiling, and wondered why they had to look so stern. Wasn’t Jesus a kind and loving man? Pushing those thoughts aside, Callie scanned the church looking for Xeni. People were assembling near the demonstration a
rea, but Callie knew that Xeni wasn’t there for the demonstration. She looked toward the baptismal font where Manny had been baptized earlier that year and where Xeni had taken a vow to be his godmother. It wasn’t long after that that she’d disappeared. Callie couldn’t see Xeni anywhere. Could she have been mistaken? She was sure that she’d seen her enter the church. Callie walked up and down the aisles scanning each pew, but Xeni was nowhere to be found. Then Callie remembered the new Koimisis chapel that was under construction. Maybe she ducked in there, thought Callie. She loves the Virgin Mary.
Before leaving the church, Callie decided to take Manny up to the baptismal font to show him where he’d been baptized. As she approached the font, she became aware of a rustling sound to her left. Turning to see, she just caught a glimpse of a woman retreating up the aisle and out into the sunshine of the festival. Callie wasn’t sure if it was Xeni—this woman was much larger—but she had on a similar dress to what she’d noticed Xeni wearing in the Kafenion. “She’s larger!” she cried out loud, causing several church visitors to turn their heads.
Following her instincts, Callie made her way to the Koimisis Chapel. She passed the icon of the reclining Virgin and decided that she could look either asleep or dead, in the picture. Callie decided that she’d rather think of the Virgin as peacefully slumbering in the lovely new chapel, with the ability to wake up when she felt like it. There were few people in the chapel as Callie entered, and she didn’t see Xeni immediately. Callie pointed up toward the glass dome to show Manny the splendor of the sky, and when she looked back down she saw Xeni there, standing in front of what would become a finished altar. She looked beautiful; her wavy hair cascaded down her shoulders and back. Her eyes were wide and filled with an emotion that Callie couldn’t identify. But most noticeably Xeni’s body had changed. Her breasts and belly were swollen and her skin radiated a warmth and glow that was unmistakably the result of the divine inhabiting the mundane, the mark of a woman with child.
“Xeni,” Callie said, “you look . . .”
“I’m just fat. It’s just fat. That’s all,” Xeni replied defensively, putting an arm around her middle.
“I don’t think so, honey.”
“Yes. It’s just fat.”
Manny started to pull his mother toward Xeni, leaning his body forward and pointing to her, gurgling with an excited smile.
“Yassou Manolaki. Ti kaneis?” Xeni greeted the boy.
Manny stretched his arms out to Xeni and reached for her neck. Xeni smiled, placed his chubby arm in her hands, and took a little bite. “Tha se faw! You got so big!”
“Do you want to hold him?” Callie asked.
“Yes, of course.” Xeni took Manny into her arms and held him close.
“When are you due, Xeni?”
“I’m not due. This is how I am now. That’s all.” Xeni hugged Manny tighter and hid her face in his shoulder.
“But, Xeni. Clearly.”
“Clearly, it’s nothing. Remember what the doctor said?” Xeni looked flushed.
“I know what the doctor said, but you aren’t crazy. I did some reading. Do you know what I learned? Newsweek did a poll and seventy-nine percent of Americans believe in the Virgin Birth. Parthenogenesis has been documented in seventy species of vertebrates and a ton of insects. Lizards, birds, sharks, bees—they’ve all done it!”
Xeni shook her head. “Really? That can’t be right. I mean, maybe that’s all true, but that doesn’t explain what’s happening to me.”
“But maybe . . . your wish came true?” Callie shyly smiled, and her eyes glittered.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if my wish came true. I’m just fat. I’ve eaten a lot of chocolate lately developing my new line of sweets. Did you see them in the Kafenion?”
“The Baby Bellies? I knew that must have been you.”
“Did you see the strawberry ruby?”
“Yes.” Callie smiled and started to reach out to touch Xeni’s arm. If only I could touch her, touch her heart, make her trust me again.
“I have to go now.”
“Xeni, please. Don’t go. Let me apologize for that last night. I’m so sorry.”
“No need to apologize. You were expressing your love for your . . . baby’s father.”
“No, I wasn’t. I was expressing my love for you,” Callie said. “I know that sounds crazy. But it’s true. I’m in love with you.”
“Stop.”
“But . . .”
“Stop. We are standing in a Greek Orthodox chapel. I am holding your baby. There are strangers all around who can hear you.”
“I don’t care.”
“But I care, Callie.”
Callie was silenced, but only for a moment. “Xeni, I want you to know how I really feel. That night I was really saying good-bye to Gus although I didn’t know it at the time.”
“Good-bye? You were just in the Kafenion with him, buying sweets to eat together, dripping with, with”—Xeni’s voice became louder—“honey. That’s not what I call good-bye!”
“Please! I don’t want to be apart from you anymore. I know things have been complicated. I don’t blame you for wanting to run away, but please look at me. I love you. Please don’t leave me!”
“Do you know how ridiculous you sound, Callie?” Gus’s voice came up behind her. “Obviously, she did leave you. And look, apparently she found herself a lover and got knocked up. He must have balls of gold,” chuckled Gus. “How far along are you, Xeni?”
“I’m fat,” Xeni insisted and clutched Manny closer to her.
“Even I can tell that you’re pregnant. No need to be ashamed. What, did you get pregnant out of wedlock or something?” Gus snickered.
“Gus. Leave her alone,” Callie threatened.
“Why? She likes a good ribbing, don’t you, Xeni?”
“Leave me alone. Why are you both bothering me?”
“I didn’t want to bother you, Xeni. I wanted to see you again and apologize. To see if we could be . . . friends . . . again?” Callie said.
“I’m bothering you because of this!” Gus held out his coffee cup with the dried grounds forming the letter X. “What do you think this means?”
Xeni gasped. “I wouldn’t know! I don’t read the flitzani.”
“I bet you do!”
“No, I don’t. And if you’ll excuse me, I need to go.” Xeni handed a reluctant Manny over to Gus.
“Xeni. Wait. My mother says that you somehow hold my fate. What does that mean?” Gus implored.
“I don’t know. I don’t know!” Xeni cried, becoming more upset. “Just leave me alone. Both of you!” Xeni tried to push past Callie and Gus and toward the opening of the chapel. As she stepped forward, she heard Callie cry out.
“Xeni. I’m in love with you. I want to be with you!”
Callie held her breath, waiting for Xeni’s response. Xeni didn’t say a word but started to sway, her eyes turned upward toward the glass-domed ceiling. Suddenly, she gasped and all eyes dropped to the cement floor of the new chapel, at the spreading puddle of fluid at Xeni’s feet.
For a moment there was complete, divine silence. Gus stood clutching his fateful flitzani in one fist, and balanced his tired son on the other arm. Callie marveled at the spreading liquid, suddenly feeling extreme joy as she felt the arm of her pendulum stop on the side of good intentions, and ratchet a bit further into an unknown territory: success.
Gus broke the silence, “Are we supposed to clean that up? ’Cause my hands are full right here, see?” He shrugged as he gestured with his chin toward the flitzani, the loaded stroller, and his son in his arms. “And by the way, Callie, thanks for the love update. Real classy.”
“I’m not sure I understand what’s happening . . .” Xeni trailed off.
Callie felt herself well up with an intensity that she was unable to hold back. She clamped her mouth shut, balled her hands into knotty fists, and gripped the hard floor with her toes. She closed every orifice and pore in her body, willed her
tongue to be still. She wanted Xeni to have this moment of realization to herself. She didn’t want to explain anything at all, and she wanted to explain everything. The push of her emotions found the only outlet that Callie couldn’t shut down and pressed itself through her tear ducts and escaped down her cheeks, dropped onto her breasts, and rolled down to drop and commingle with the spreading lake of wishes at Xeni’s feet. As their fluids met, a small sizzling sound, barely audible, rose and fell, detectable only to the ears of widowed yiayias.
“I must need to use the restroom?” Xeni mumbled. “Maybe I’m getting my period? I feel a little crampy . . .”
“Cal, aren’t you going to tell her?” Gus prompted.
“No. I’m not going to tell her,” Callie murmured. “I’m never going to tell her.”
“Seriously? You two women need me to tell you what’s happening?”
“Gus. Settle down. Let her experience it,” Callie shushed.
“Experience what? Do you know what is happening to my body?” Xeni pressed.
“If none of you are going to tell her, I will.” It was the woman that Callie had met in the church earlier. Suddenly Callie became aware of all the people in the chapel, standing in a circle around them witnessing Xeni’s drenched and confused state. The woman took Xeni’s hand in hers and said, “Hi there, my name is Penny. I’m a registered nurse. How far along are you? It looks as if your water broke.”
“I’m not far along. I’m fat. I’m fat, aren’t I?” Xeni asked, her voice tremulous and quiet.
“You are pregnant, and you’re going into labor,” Penny replied. “Why don’t we sit down for a moment and get you some water?” She turned to the gathering crowd and announced, “Okay folks, let’s give her a little space, se para kalo. Please step back, give her some privacy.”
The festivalgoers, disappointed that the curtain was being drawn on the event, reluctantly shuffled away, with a few Greek yiayias lingering at the periphery, visualizing their ear canals opening to full aperture to capture any enticing words that might drop from Xeni’s lips, which they could pass on as gifts to their friends.
The Feasting Virgin Page 27