Sky Queen

by Judy Kundert

  Emma Jean sat upright and patted her friend’s hand. “Aren’t you sweet? You remind me of Mama. She wants to help every stray puppy, even if they pee all over her yellow jessamine. Why meet people that are so different from you? Maybe you should spend more time looking beautiful and learn how to paint or play the piano. Or, like me, read poetry and dream of Mr. Right appearing in your life to sweep you off to his castle.”

  Katherine thumped her fingers on the table and rolled her eyes at her friend. After releasing her deep sigh, Katherine glanced at her watch. “Okay. Thanks for your advice, but I have to meet Angelos for lunch at his relative’s restaurant in Greek Town.” Katherine paused and thought about her and Emma Jean’s trip to Athens. Katherine’s heart leaped like when she and Emma Jean danced in the Plaka. She could hear the bouzouki playing. A smile slipped across her face.

  “Darlin, you’ve got the smile of a girl in love.”

  Katherine shrugged. “Love? Not for a guy but our trip. Didn’t you love Athens? And all those ravishing Greek men that swarmed around you?”

  Emma Jean rolled her eyes, “I don’t have to go to Greece for that. You know it happens to me wherever I go.” Emma Jean sat back, jutted out her chin, and winked. “Besides, Greek men aren’t on my marriage market list. You know they only marry Greek women.”

  Katherine tossed her hands in the air. “Marriage market! I’m in the banquet-of-life market.” She paused and smiled at her friend. “For now, I agree with Epictetus saying, ‘One must not tie a ship to a single anchor, nor life to a single hope.’”

  “I know the life, the friends, and the country I want. Give me a southern gentleman and an antebellum house on the Ashley River.” Emma Jean took in a deep breath and exhaled. “If you keep flying your kites willy-nilly, you’ll get caught with your pants down.”

  Katherine shook and laughed. “I’m not worried about getting caught with my pants down. I’m a warrior woman, ready for adventure. Just like Aristotle said, ‘Travel is worthwhile.’”

  “Travel to the beach is just right for me.” Emma Jean nodded her head. “What else is there?”

  “Learning about other people. We don’t have all the answers. I got up this morning, and the idea came to me that I should give Angelos this book. Since he shared the myths of his culture, I thought he might like to learn something about our cultural history.”

  Emma Jean’s lips twisted, and her brow wrinkled when she scowled at Katherine’s book. “To Kill a Mockingbird. Will he want to read that? Never mind. I have to get to Bonwit Teller. That’s where you should be going too, Darlin’.”

  The two women waved at each other and headed down Dearborn Street in different directions. Katherine clutched Harper Lee’s bestseller under her arm. She turned and rushed back to catch up with her friend. Katherine halted and sighed. Why do I need her approval? She wants to do something frivolous like shopping, and I want to share books and knowledge. I’m not acting like a strong, determined woman. Holy cow, she almost made me into an elegant southern lady. My decision: follow my secret message that tells me to be strong and think on my own. Emma Jean and I have different roads to walk. This is my journey.

  12

  KATHERINE HOPPED OFF the Blue Line at the University of Illinois’ Halsted stop. She looked on both sides of the track for Angelos. Many young Greek men with bronze skin and wavy black hair walked by her and smiled. It was like visiting Athens.

  Katherine walked toward the stairs. Then a gentle tug on her sleeve pulled her in another direction.

  “Hey, lady,” a man with a Greek accent said. “Where are you going?”

  Katherine turned and raised her hand to slap the stranger. “Oh, hi, Angelos. I was looking for you.”

  “You looked ready to slug me.” He laughed.

  “Oh. Well, what can I say? Unconscious self-defensive action in strange territory.”

  “Hey, this is Chicago’s Greek Town. Certainly, no stranger than Athens.”

  “I agree. This area is like being in Athens.” Katherine rubbed the back of her neck. “Well, I thought you were a stranger trying to pick me up or molest me.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t meet your train because my class ran late.”

  Katherine, the great adventurer, didn’t want to appear frightened of this new neighborhood. “Don’t worry. I thought that’s what happened. How was your class?”

  “My uncle George was the instructor today. He’s a humorous instructor who gets his message across.”

  “Is your uncle a professor at the University?”

  “No, he’s an engineer but comes to lecture our math class once a month. He wants to meet you. We Greeks are family oriented—loving and welcoming to each other’s friends.”

  Katherine wrinkled her nose, cocked her head, and pondered his comment. What did he tell his uncle about her? Or did he want to fix her up with his cousin? “Do you have many relatives living in Chicago?”

  “Just a few, maybe twenty or so. And you?”

  Katherine reached for her Thunderbird necklace and rubbed it. “No.” She sighed. “But my roommate is my best friend from my hometown. I’m an only child, but Charlotte is better than a real sister.”

  “Do you get lonesome?”

  Katherine pondered the question. I enjoy my time alone. I can read and study what I want. She agreed with Albert Einstein’s quote: “The woman who follows the crowd willingly usually goes no further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has been before.” Katherine touched her Thunderbird necklace again and recalled the treasured Native American proverb: “Listen to the wind; it talks. Listen to the silence; it speaks. Listen to your heart; it knows.”

  Katherine turned to Angelos, “No, not really.”

  Angelos shrugged and grabbed Katherine’s hand. “Well, let’s eat lots of good Greek food.”

  Katherine’s eyes widened remembering the sumptuous meals she and Emma Jean had enjoyed in the Athens Plaka: grape leaves stuffed with beans and vegetables and lots of lamb, along with the pleasure of sipping ouzo. Her nose wrinkled. Lunchtime, will they serve ouzo? She warned herself, If we have that delicious drink, remember to sip it slowly and don’t gulp it.

  Angelos rubbed his ear and leaned in to whisper. “I hope you like ouzo. Since you were in Athens, you probably realize that ouzo drinking is one of our cultural rituals. Even though it’s lunchtime and ouzo drinking usually starts later in the afternoon, I asked my uncle to waive that rule for you. So, would you like some ouzo?”

  Katherine winked. “Of course, who would turn down a glass or two of ouzo? I think drinking must be why Greeks are so smart, handsome, and wealthy.”

  Katherine chuckled and breathed in the savory scents of the Halsted’s Greek restaurants. The welcoming, sizzling scents of saganaki and gyros danced in the air. Like a supernatural gift from the Greek gods, the ambrosial aromas transported Katherine to the Parthenon, the Plaka, and the glimmering, white buildings of Athens.

  “Does Greek Town make you homesick for Athens?” Katherine asked.

  Angelos opened the door of the Greek Islands Restaurant for Katherine. “Oh, no, you’ll see. I have many loving relatives here; they make me think I’m—”

  As they entered, a red-faced, cheery man in a white apron ran up to Angelos shouting, “Opa!” He took Katherine’s hand and gave it a light kiss. “Beautiful lady. Welcome! Angelos’ friends are my friends.”

  Angelos eased close to Katherine and retrieved her hand from his uncle’s grasp. “Uncle Tasso, this is my friend, Katherine Roebling. Can we sit at the table by the window?”

  His uncle smiled like a half moon on a warm spring night. “Oh yes.” He led Katherine and Angelos past the laughing, chattering lunchtime regulars to a reserved table. “You’re honored guests. Please enjoy yourselves.”

  Angelos nodded at his uncle. “Thank you. Please bring us your lunch meal and two ouzos.”

  His uncle smiled and lifted his hand to salute his nephew. “I wil
l bring the ouzo now.” He turned to a waiter and shouted, “Opa!”

  Roasting gyros aroused Katherine’s senses and awakened her sleeping hunger pains. The bouzouki music made her want to grab Angelos, his uncle, and anyone who wanted to move with and dance the Kalamatianos. Something else had happened to Katherine in Greece—her love of Greek myths had come alive. She had learned that they weren’t just ancient stories with dusty covers. They were more like new best sellers with real life stories. How had they known so much way before Christ? She leaned back and smiled at Angelos.

  Angelos touched Katherine’s hand. “Did my uncle come on too strong?”Katherine blinked. “Oh, no. He just makes me want to return to Greece!”

  Angelos smiled. “Even today, Greece is the center of the earth. Don’t you agree?”

  Katherine stared at the restaurants’ murals with scenes of the Parthenon and the statue of Athena and smiled. Then, her Thunderbird amulet tickled her chest. Katherine flipped it over her neckline and rubbed it. Hm, is there another center of the earth? My Native Americans believe that the center of the earth is Turtle Island or North America. There can’t be two centers of the earth, can there?

  Angelos pointed at her amulet. “Is that necklace original art? Did your boyfriend give it to you?”

  Katherine chuckled and released her grasped on her talisman. “No. My great-grandmother gave it to me. The Thunderbird is significant to our tribe.”

  Angelos began to unbutton his shirt. Katherine wrinkled her brow. He lifted his hand and said. “I’m a gentleman. I also have something special from my grandmother.” He lifted a sterling silver chain away from his chest and showed a blue bead with an eye painted on it. “Greeks believe it wards off the evil eye.” He slid it back on his chest and buttoned his shirt.

  Katherine smiled. “The evil eye?”

  “Yes. In Greek, they call it matiasma. It comes from someone’s jealous compliment or envy. If you catch the evil eye, it makes you feel afflicted of body or mind.” He shrugged. “People say it’s superstition. But the Greek Church recognizes the matiasma and offers prayers for those who suffer from the curse.”

  What he said about the evil eye made her think about the meaning of her amulet. Her Thunderbird wasn’t just an insurance policy; it was part of her inner core—her Chippewa core. Right now, she kept this to herself. He was a lunch date. Nothing more. She was here for a good Greek meal and a Greek experience, not to share her deeper personal self.

  She lifted the Thunderbird amulet and let it swing on her finger. “Well, this may be something else.” Angelos examined the turquoise bird and glanced up. “This is beautiful. It’s Native American!” He folded his arms on his chest. “I haven’t met any Native Americans. My knowledge comes from the cowboy and Indian TV westerns I saw at home. The TV Indians had black hair, skin darker than any Greek, and rather long noses.” He paused and cleared his throat. “You don’t look like the TV Indians.”

  Katherine knew the stereotypes. She grew up with her neighborhood boys playing cowboys and Indians. Not until she turned seven did she even realize her Native American ancestry. Before then, she’d just been another blonde American girl. “I have an eighth Chippewa blood. My great-grandmother on my mother’s side was Chippewa. She married a French fur trapper. So, their daughter, my grandmother, was half Chippewa and half French. She married a French man. And I am German on my father’s side. That’s why I have blonde hair and green eyes. I look like an all-American girl. My outer shell doesn’t tell my whole story.”

  “Is that like your saying … ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover?’”

  The Greek waiter reached over to put the glass of ouzo in front of Katherine.

  Angelos lifted his glass to Katherine. “Ya mas.” Katherine took a sip and grazed her tongue over her lips. “Yes, to your health too.” Angelos winked. “How much Greek can you speak?”

  “Just what I learned in Greece. Emma Jean and I did our share of drinking. It’s always good manners to learn the right toast when you’re a guest in another country.”

  Katherine and Angelos munched on stuffed grape leaves, steaming saganaki, and gyros. In between “opas” and ouzos, Katherine’s eyes moved from left to right. She rubbed her forehead to stop the spinning sensations. To keep herself in control, she pushed herself against the back of the chair and smiled between bites and sips.

  Like a whirlwind, Katherine’s head spun. She lost her balance and tipped toward the window. Her foot kicked To Kill a Mockingbird. It flew under the next table and landed on a dining patron’s foot. A rosy-faced Greek woman leaned to retrieve the book and shouted something in Greek. A red-faced Angelos rushed to her table and thanked her (at least Katherine thought his Greek sounded polite). The woman waved her hands in the air and shoved the book in Angelos’ hand.

  Angelos walked back to their table and gave Katherine a reassuring grin. “I apologize for the quantity of ouzo. We Greek’s try to welcome guests, and sometimes we overdo it.”

  Katherine put her hands to her mouth to hold back a hiccup. “I went way past my limit, but the more ouzo I drank, the better the food tasted. I got carried away.” She smiled and reached for the book. “That’s the book I wanted to loan you. When we talked at the Playboy kitchen, you mentioned you wanted to learn more about the United States and our culture.” She caught her breath and touched the novel. “Well, this book is a best seller and explains our race relations and its effect on our culture.”

  Angelos flipped through the book. “Thank you. When I see Americans, most of them are white. I don’t see many dark-skinned people. I guess that’s because Chicago is one of the most segregated cities in the United States.” He gave Katherine a half grin. “When I first spotted you at the Playboy party, you were trying to get away from that Italian guy.” He stopped and laughed. “I thought you didn’t like him because his skin was dark. Then you talked to me. You were polite and courteous. Even in Greece, we pick the blonde beauties. Our dark Greek ladies are our second choice.”

  “If I my skin were darker, would you like me? Would you have liked me in the first place?”

  “Maybe, but I like you as you are.” He reached for a bag under the table and put a jar of olives on the table. “It’s time for more fun. You brought the book; we Greeks always bring gifts too. These are my father’s Kalamata olives.”

  “Cosmos Country Olives! I’m impressed. This your family business.?”

  Angelos sheepishly bowed his head. “Yes, my family has an olive business in Greece.”

  Katherine smiled. “That’s wonderful. I bet I ate these olives in Greece.” She looked at her watch. “Gosh, how did we get to 1:30 so soon? I need to be back in time to help my roommate move. She’s moving into the Playboy Mansion. Oh, you may know her, Charlotte Delaney?”

  “Yeah. Everyone at the club likes Charlotte. She’s good-looking, but she’s also polite and funny. I don’t want you to get in trouble with Charlotte. You better go.”

  Still feeling the effects of too much ouzo, Katherine pushed too hard on the chair. It tumbled on its side, and she slipped to the floor. She wanted to hide under the table. She took a deep breath and looked up to discover Angelos’ outstretched hand. She grabbed it and laughed. “Shh, please keep this a secret. Tipping over chairs isn’t the way I behave.”

  Angelos laughed and put his finger to his lips. He helped Katherine to her feet and escorted her through the restaurant. Katherine’s face changed from light pink to scarlet red as they passed the silent, gawking lunch crowd.

  Outside in the bright sunlight, Katherine stood tall and steady. “I’m sorry for embarrassing you in front of your relatives, but I enjoyed myself.” She walked away and waved. “Thanks again.”

  Angelos smiled. “I had fun. I’ll call you. You passed the ouzo test.”

  As Katherine wobbled toward the L station, she kept turning over Angelos’ parting comment. You passed the ouzo test. Hm, I wanted to share our different cultures and be polite. I didn’t expect an ouzo drinking
test.

  13

  KATHERINE HOPPED ON THE Brown Line to head downtown. She liked to pretend each journey on the train was a magic carpet ride to new places and experiences. The L train’s wheels rushed over the tracks and zipped by offices on the Chicago Loop, a blurry sea of windows, brick, and grotesque gargoyles on centuries-old buildings. These moving images mirrored her thoughts. They were moving too fast. She couldn’t grab ahold of them. As soon as she caught one, it vanished. The real became the imaginary, like the light dimmed by the shadow.

  Hanging Cloud’s lyrical voice hummed in her heart and calmed her. Katherine closed her eyes and let her mind focus on her vision. “Aponi.” Hanging Cloud used Katherine’s secret name; only the two of them knew it. Her parents had named her Katherine Oriel Roebling. She never told people her middle name, except for legal necessity. Aponi was a better name. It meant butterfly. Freedom. Joy. Transformation.

  The Lake Street L arrived at Katherine’s stop, and she hopped off. She appreciated the decaying city dirt and the pigeons wandering around Randolph Street. The rock doves made her want to grow wings and soar. Katherine spoke to a friendly bird eating stale popcorn off the sidewalk. Great thinkers say that ideas come when a person’s mind wanders to a simple, unrelated activity. Katherine agreed. She continued walking toward the library with a rush of adrenaline. Okay, I’ll take a half hour and still get home to help Charlotte. I have to follow my muse’s guidance. I don’t know where it will take me, but I have to go with the flow.

  She sighed at the entrance to the majestic Central Library. She glanced up at the high dome and the Tiffany lamps. She spent lots of hours in this place immersed in the books. After the 1871 Chicago Fire, the city of Chicago had requested book donations to the library. Responses came from other municipalities and countries, and they delivered their best books. Some came from private donors such as Queen Victoria, Lord Tennyson, and Robert Browning. She wondered how to find enough time to read and get the answers to her questions. Knowledge is an endless thread. Answers only lead to more questions. Now that I’m almost finished with my Northwestern class, I can focus on my paper. I can’t believe that Professor Kingsley left me go for two years. When I told her I was leaving college to become a stewardess, I can still see her finger pointing at me and her command, ‘I’ll give you a two-year leave to finish the paper you owe me.’ For now, I have to find answers for that paper. My one class at Northwestern University got me into a study groove again, but the city campus isn’t the same as the Beloit’s traditional campus. At least I’ll get a course credit that Beloit will accept. She looked up to the ceiling and whispered, “Please direct me to a way to complete my unfinished paper and get it accepted.”