by Alex A King
But Drina's not having any of it. "I can fight my own wars, Papa."
"Okay. But if you must fight, aim for the eyes," he says.
Kiki jumps up, waves. "I'm still here."
Drina's father looks at Kiki. "Do you want to kill my daughter?"
"No."
"Then stand over there and be quiet."
The previously dead encampment is coming to life. Its people don't look well, but they do look curious. They remind Kiki of goats, the way they amble over to see what the fuss is about.
Kiki touches Thea Helena's arm. She's much too thin. Her arm feels hollow, like a bird's empty bone. "Come, Thea. I will take you home."
There's a fever in older woman's eyes. "Did you kill my Stavros?"
"No," Kiki says gently. "And I don't think Drina did, either."
"Drina?" She turns back to the Roma woman. "Are you Drina?"
Drina, the girl with only one name—apparently—doesn't speak. Got a look on her face like she wants to stab the world.
"I asked you a question," Thea Helena barks.
Drina's father glances back at her. "Answer her and maybe they'll go away quicker, eh?"
"Yes, I am Drina. Drina Bouto."
Kiki blinks, because she never saw that sharp stick coming at her eye. Stavros was married?
Stavros. Was. Married?
If Stavros was already married, what was she doing at the church, dressed up like a cake?
"Ha-ha," she says. A laugh with no muscles.
Thea Helena doesn't laugh—she flies. She rains slaps on Drina's head, face, chest. In all that black, she reminds Kiki of an oversized bat, the way she's flapping.
Drina fights back—and the woman fights dirty. It's a battle of hair-pulling and biting and comments about how Thea Helena's mother had repeated sexual orgies with farm animals, biblical figures, several politicians, and an exorbitant number of inanimate objects.
This is some daughter-in-law, Kiki thinks. No way could she have competed with that.
Big audience now. Looks like the whole encampment is here, watching the cats fight. Nobody moves to separate the woman—including Drina's father.
"Somebody should stop them," Kiki says.
Stavros's father-in-law says, "Let them fight. You must have a war before you can have peace."
She doesn't think that's true; lots of people have peace without fighting a war first. "Okay," she says. "Time to go."
She reaches into the cloud of dust and fighting women, and pulls out a leg. Eureka! She strikes gold the first time, according to Thea Helena's black shoe. Kiki tucks that foot under her arm and draaaags.
Thea Helena howls.
"You want to go?" Drina flops back on the ground, panting. She looks up at Kiki, face flushed and filthy. "Go. But she stays."
Goodbye, leg.
The battle continues, with Drina ripping the hairpins out of the older woman's hair. Thea Helena shrieks.
A collective laugh bubbles up through the audience.
Then it dies when Drina takes an elbow to the face and squeals.
A woman cuts a quick path through the crowd. She is Drina with an extra twenty, thirty years taped to her face. "Drina did not kill your son! Your fight is with me, skeela!"
If a woman wants to fight with a woman, calling her a bitch is a good way to declare war.
Except that's not what happens.
The two fighting women fall apart, each in their own breathless heap.
"Mama?" Drina says, face painted with blood—hers and Helena's.
"He was trouble, Drina. For you, for her—" She points at Kiki. "For all of us."
"You killed Stavros?"
"I had no choice," the mother wails. "You would do the same if your daughter was married to that animal!"
"My son was not an animal," Thea Helena screeches. "He was a good boy!"
Drina's mother spits on the ground. "I piss on your son's body. He was a putano. A man-whore. He stuck his poutso in everyone! Even after he married my daughter!"
Almost everyone. Kiki is one-hundred-percent sure she never saw Stavros's dick. Kiki remembers every dick she's seen. Not that there's been too many. But still, she remembers them. And contrary to her mother's opinion, if you've seen one you haven't seen them all.
Every ounce of energy in Kiki's body ups and leaves. She is her mother's pasta, boiled long past the point of al dente.
"I'm too tired for this. I'm going home. Don't call, don't write—any of you."
101
Kiki
Kiki doesn't say a word, but the story spreads anyway. Ebola could learn a thing or two from Greece.
* * *
Pariah one moment, sweetheart the next.
Poor, poor Kiki Andreou, deceived by that monster Stavros Boutos. He was married—and not just to anyone, but a tsigana! And of course, her mother killed him, because Greeks hate tsiganes and tsiganes hate Greeks right back.
The story spins round and round the town until it's only a distant relation to the truth.
The sympathy sucks as much as the murder accusations.
Kiki never wanted sympathy, she wanted freedom.
Now she has it, what will she do?
* * *
Goodbye, black. Hello, colors.
* * *
Not a word from Mama. The slamming pots and pans speak for her.
Yiayia interprets the clangs and bangs. "She thinks you should wear black for a full year."
"It's not my place," Kiki says.
And it's not. Stavros has one grieving widow—more than enough for any man.
* * *
Soula is a puzzle piece. Kiki pushes her into place with one question: "You knew, didn't you?"
"About Stavros and Drina? No. But I suspected."
"Why didn't you say something?"
Soula shrugs. Like Kiki, the summer sun is painting her a darker shade of gold. "You are my sister, and I love you more than anything in this world. How could I come to you with nothing but suspicions? I tried to grab something tangible to bring to you, but then Leo came along and you seemed happy."
"He was in my life for maybe three days."
"So? Three happy days, compared to what? A lifetime of mediocrity you would have shared with Stavros? So I stopped asking questions."
"Asking who?"
Then the alarm rings in her head, grabs her by the shoulders and screams, "Wake up, stupid!" Kiki remembers now. The Romani man and his comment about Soula's car. The honking pickup truck the night Soula went missing.
"Oh God, Mama is going to kill you," she groans.
Soula drops onto Kiki's soft couch. "I know. That is why she can never know. At least not until I am ready."
"How did you meet him?"
"He wanted to buy a house. He's been saving since he was a boy to buy his family a home away from the encampment. All the banks turned him down, but he almost has all the money saved for a good house here in Agria."
"Roma living in town. People will flip."
"Times are changing. And with it, the population is turning over. The older people with their prejudices are slowly dying out, and they're being replaced by those of us who care about the actions of the individual, not their family tree. A time is coming when sins are not visited upon the sons."
"Mama is still going to kill you."
Soula grins. "Mama is still going to kill me, but not for a long time. We are just starting out, Marko and I. And the road is filled with rocks and dirt."
The laugh bursts out of Kiki's chest. This is all too … too … something. It's funny, yes, but that's not all it is. There's no word in Greek or English for a comedy balled up with tragedy—is there? She can't think of much right now.
Loose ends. Everything but work is dangling in the air, waiting on a good breeze. Now that her hands are unshackled, it's time to tie some knots, tether her life to something solid.
"I have to go." The words burst out of Kiki's chest.
"Where are you going?"
102
Kiki
Yeah, right. She knows.
103
Kiki
Kiki twists the travel agent's arm until he gives her what she wants.
"Thank you, cousin," she says on the way out the door.
At home, she throws a week's worth of her life into a suitcase.
Mama glares at the luggage. "Where are you going?"
"America."
"To see that man?"
"To see that man."
"Why? I will find you another husband. Now, it will be easy. Everybody knows you are innocent."
"If you do, you'll lose a daughter."
Mama looks shaken. "What about school?"
Kiki kisses her mother on both cheeks. "Relax, Mama. I'll be home in time for work."
"You cannot go!"
"Yes, I can," she says. "I can do anything."
* * *
Waiting at the front gate is a car. Not the taxicab she called for, but a police car.
Detective Lemonis.
He gets out, holds open the passenger door. "Get in."
"No. I know for a fact that I haven't done anything. And …" She nods at her suitcase. "I have a plane to catch."
"Get in. I'll drive you."
Is he crazy? "To Athens?"
"To Athens."
Apparently he is crazy. Not exactly confidence-inspiring. "Why?"
"We are having a slow crime day and I am bored."
"But my taxi—"
"Not coming."
Oh.
She who hesitates winds up with a police detective tossing her suitcase into the trunk of his car, one-handed.
"You can take me as far as the bus station. I already paid for the ticket."
He stares at some point past her head. Kiki glances back, sees Soula standing on her balcony, nose in a magazine.
"Okay," he says, finally.
"I can sit in the front, right?"
"Unless you would prefer the back."
Kiki gets in, clicks the seatbelt. "Home, James," she tells him in English.
* * *
Detective Lemonis doesn't apologize for getting it wrong. This ride he's giving her, that's his sorry. He pulls up to the curb outside the bus station, lets the car idle, contributing his share to the pollution. From the pent up look on his face, it looks like he's a man with something to say.
He reaches past her, pops the glove box. Inside is the wedding gift her family mistook for a bomb. Okay, so she mistook it for a bomb, too. But only because the drama was mildly infectious.
"The case is closed. That belongs to you."
"What's in it?"
"Absolution."
Absolution. The word is heavier than the gift she lifts from the glove box.
"I'm not sure I want to open it."
He nods. "I understand."
"Do you?"
"When someone releases you from obligation or guilt, sometimes their generosity can be a bigger burden than you anticipated."
"Will the contents be a problem at airport security?"
"No. It's not a bomb." There's a tiny twinkle in his eye.
"How—"
He holds up a hand. "Drina's mother. When I went out there asking questions, she started the fire, hoping to … I don't know. Burn any evidence connecting her daughter to Stavros, I guess."
She slides the box with a carefully slit belly into her handbag. "I'm not ready for absolution."
Lemonis's nod is that of an exhausted man. "Don't be surprised if you discover you are never ready."
104
Leo
His mother leaves on a Wednesday, on the hottest day of summer. Her husband begs her to stay, but it's too late, she's already gone.
The hospital is sorry for their loss—so, so sorry—but they need the bed, because the Reaper is one greedy bastard. He touches his finger to everything and calls it his.
I shit on Death, Leo's Greek half thinks. The other half is nodding, telling the hospital staff to do what needs doing.
Three Karas men. His brother is stone, his father is water. And Leo, what is he? He signs the paperwork that okays Mom's cremation, so he must be fire. Cremation is a sin to the Greek Orthodox church, but his mother isn't—wasn't—Greek.
A funeral happens, filled with wordy people. They're all so sorry, Mom was such a good woman, she has left a hole in the world. Nothing he doesn't already know.
Tell me something, he thinks. Tell me one thing I didn't know about her. If he learns one new thing, then it means she's still alive out there, somewhere. Not here, but somewhere.
But they tell him nothing new.
Dad speaks. Leo speaks. His brother can't speak with a stone in his mouth.
After the funeral, there's food. So much food. Who can eat with all this death? Leo tries, but everything tastes like Made In China plastic.
For two days and nights, he sleeps on Mom and Dad's couch, still wearing the black suit. His old room is there, but it's a home office now. His new apartment is a stranger, and right now Leo doesn't need strangers.
When he's not asleep on the couch, he's thinking about Kiki. How he's glad they're not together, because he couldn't be Dad, couldn't be Papou, and set love on fire.
"Go home," Dad tells him on the third day. "I'm glad you're here, son. But you need to move on with your life and let your brother and I find our way."
So he drives away in the Chevy he used to love. Now it's just a vehicle, headed towards an empty apartment. Either he's gone colorblind or the world has turned gray while Mom was dying. Is this how it's always going to be now, everything shades of ashes? He's got to stuff this into its box. Put it on a high shelf in a closet he never opens. Look at it sitting up there once a year, but only when he's holding a bottle of Jack in one hand.
His new place has no soul. It's one of those places built to look like it cares, but the residents are transient and temporary. Everyone here looks like an inbetweener; stuck between college and marriage; between divorce and marriage number two. Beige walls with white balconies tacked on. Palm trees. Kidney-shaped pool that goes ignored by everyone but the kind of people you don't want sharing your water.
Leo climbs the stairs to the second floor, tugging at his shirt collar. Every step is a broken bell's hollow toll. Footsteps bounce his way. Sounds like they're happy to get out of here. A moment later, some guy—looks like a college kid—hits the stairs, headed down. Leo moves back into his lane.
"Hey, man."
"Hey," Leo says on autopilot. His fingers are hunting for the new key. It's the one that still feels foreign when he picks up his key ring. No way is this place ever going to be home.
With Mom gone, he's not sure where home is. Where does the boat drift once its anchor is gone?
He'll figure it out. In time. For now, it's this gray world for him.
Life is one funny, cruel bastard. There's no knowing which way it's going to twirl you, when it's going to shove you out of a plane at thirty-thousand feet.
When it's going to make amends and beg for forgiveness.
Today, Leo thinks. It's making amends today for its major fuck-up. Because on his doorstep, sitting next to a bright red suitcase, is the sun.
105
Kiki
His mother is already gone. She can tell by the stoop of his wide shoulders, by the dark shadows that say bad news punched him in both eyes before absconding with his heart. And still he looks gorgeous in that dark suit, with the tie hanging loose around the shirt's collar, top buttons undone.
Now she feels awkward. Maybe coming wasn't the best idea. Impulsive, grand gestures are for the Soulas of this world. Kiki does things small and with great care. A phone call, an email painstakingly crafted to offer friendship and comfort without prying or assumptions about the future—not jumping onto a plane without an invitation.
She looks at the dim, cream-colored walls, the white ceiling, the other doors lined up like soldier
s. If they're taking a side, it's not hers. She had every opportunity to call, to email, to do take things slow. Instead, she got on a plane. For better or worse.
"You look like you need a friend," she says.
"I need you." Plain. Honest. There's something boyish about the way Leo rubs his head. His dark hair is longer than she remembers, his face harder. "And not just because of my mom. I need you because I need you, because there's no one else like you." He laughs—at himself, she can tell. "And I'm not a man who has ever needed anyone."
Her hand finds its way into his.
"Then it's a good thing I'm here."
"Yeah, it is." He nods to the door at her back. "You want to come in?"
"Yes," she says. "I do."
106
Kiki
He starts in the kitchen. "This is the kitchen. I think."
"It looks like a kitchen."
"It does look like a kitchen."
It is a kitchen—one of those tiny spaces built for people whose idea of cooking is zapping food in the microwave.
Bathroom next.
"No hole in the floor," he tells her.
"Very civilized."
"But not very Greek."
"Hey, I have a real toilet."
"Did they kick you out of Greece for it?"
"For that? No. I stopped being a source of gossip, so they voted me right out of town."
"Their loss. What happened?"
She tells him in the tiny guest bedroom. By the time they make it back to the kitchen, he's laughing.
He still laughing when he picks up her by the waist and sits her on the kitchen counter.
