Free The Greeks of Beaubien Street by Suzanne Jenkins Page B

rounded and curvy. Jill was like her mother; broad shouldered and flat hipped. At Christina’s funeral, the eight year old Jill approached her.
    “May I say something, Aunt Paula?” she asked.
    “Why of course, Jillian. What is it?” Paula leaned forward in anticipation of her young niece, possibly getting ready to confess her anguish over the loss of her mother. Instead,
    “My Uncle Nick is sure handsome, isn’t he? He’s what the women around here call a ‘tall drink of water.’” She lifted her eyebrow and nodded her head toward where he was standing with his brothers. Paula frowned and told Jill they should be honoring her mother that day. This child was impossible.
    “Don’t you think that’s bad manners, Jill? This is your mother’s funeral,” Paula admonished.
    “Oh, it’s okay. Mom always said the same thing when she was alive. She liked Uncle Nick a lot.” As a child, Jill overheard her mother talking about her handsome brother-in-law to a friend. She later wondered about her uncle’s influence on her decision to be a cop. She didn’t think Uncle Nick and his uniform had much to do with it, but Paula thought it did and made sure the rest of the family knew it, too. Years later, after having too much to drink at Jill’s police academy graduation, Paula approached her husband as he stood talking to his niece.
    “She’s like the daughter you never had, isn’t that right Nicky? Look at you in your uniform Jill! If you play your cards right, your Uncle Nick might leave you something in his will, isn’t that right honey?”
    “Oh Jesus, not this again,” Nick said, kissing his niece on her cheek. “I better get your Aunt Paula home.” Self-conscious of her uniform after that, Jill was careful to be in civilian clothing when Nick and Paula were expected. She’d leave her gun and badge locked in the car.
    It wasn’t only the relatives who thought Jill was odd. Her own mother had doubts. Christina was leaving Greektown to visit Christopher in Plymouth one Saturday when she saw Jill picking at something in the gutter with Dido standing over her, the two of them talking away. She maneuvered the big car around and headed back, carefully pulling up. Later, she would tell her husband about it.
    “The child had a stick in her hand and she was turning over a dead rat. She was crouching in the gutter like a street urchin wearing a red dotted-Swiss dress. That old woman was telling her something, but the minute I showed up, she clammed up and went back to her perch at the gun shop.” Christina looked at her daughter. “What were you doing with the rat? What was Dido talking to you about?” she asked her.
    “Nothing! Dido told me that in Athens, they had rats all over their house. She said during the war they ate them when there was no food,” Jill explained. Christina took her by her arm and gave her a little shake.
    “And what were you doing with the rat?” she asked, exasperated.
    “I just wanted to see it up close. It had a hole in its side and the guts were coming out. There was a long tube curled up…” Christina yelled for her to stop.
    “That is enough! You go to your room right now! I don’t want to hear another word about rats or guts or tubes, do you understand me? And stay away from Dido!” She pointed her finger toward the staircase. “Go!” Jill, not one to let someone else get the last word in, was just as glad to be away from these old people.
    “Fine!” She put her head in the air and walked up the stairs, taking her time, knowing she was infuriating her mother.
    After Christina’s death, Jill was remorseful for having caused her anguish. Her sense of isolation increased. The other children avoided her; frightened they would lose their own mothers just by association. Now her grandmother would accompany her to Corktown school functions. Or her father would attend if he could get away. Jill would speak only Greek to them, making the family more of a curiosity than ever.