I went fishing. While on board this little bobbing in the water boat, I felt a tug to try something different, the tug was not on my line, but somehow in the wind-- cast my net to the other side. I decided to get out, to take a walk on the water. So setting aside my fishing pole and leaving my net on the other side, I took my first step out and plunged deep into the cold gray waters and sunk in deep. Once I was down there, and not struggling, I found I could breathe just fine—all I had to do was stop panicking and drown.
Taking a look around, I noticed a little Greek girl with a grandmother. It was Holy Week, you know that time when Christian folk celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ their teacher. The little Greek girl was maybe eleven and she was fasting with her Ya-ya. The rest of the family thought they were crazy to fast while also preparing for the feast called Easter that come early on Sunday morning. No one else in the house fasted and prepared but them.
The Ya-ya was strange. She had eyes with bulky lids that slid down her face and looked clear on into the other side and a thick accent, with broken English. Sometimes words came rushing but not too often. She said to the child, “You are not old enough to receive the lamb.” She had said this before but the child never questioned it. Today, while kneading the bread dough, the girl found courage. “When, Ya-ya?” she asked. “I will know,” Ya-ya responded. The girl had no idea and didn’t dare ask any further question. The grand-mother after all was strange and had those penetrating eyes that were clear and saw to the other side. The girl knew better than to ask too much.
For two years the girl waited and wondered about this lamb. What was it to receive the lamb? There were always surprises at her grandmother’s house and she had found that waiting was the best way to prove her worth. She knew pressing her grandmother would only cause further delay. Ya-ya was seldom open to negotiation. So, the child had learned that waiting quietly proved best. She was almost 14 when holy week came late that year. Spring was every where budding with pink promises of fragrant offerings and pretty colored eggs. Rabbits and robins were back in the yard again feasting while Ya-ya and grand-daughter fasted and prepared quietly in the kitchen. Working the dough that would later become Easter Bread, Ya-ya proudly watched her grand-daughter work without much instruction. She knew how to make the bread and the soup. “You are old enough now.” She said. The grand-daughter smiled and felt ready for her reward. She hugged her Ya-ya tight. “Come, it is time; the bread can wait. You will come with me.” Grand-daughter cleaned off her hands and took off her apron. Off they went to the church of all places. Just before Easter, the Greek Church became like a market place in early holy week. St Simeon always smelled of incense even outside in the courtyard. There were other smells today— sweet garlic and pungent fish and olives mixed together with the incense of the church. The outdoor area was alive was bustling people speaking and trading and haggling—some were yelling. Grand daughter had never seen this before. There were all kinds of delicacies for sale that were traditional for Easter supper. There were breads and oils and grape-leaves, some imported from Greece. They wandered the market picking up this and that, saying hello to their neighbors also preparing for the feast to come.
At last they came to a pen of cute little lambs. The lambs danced around the pen making their sweet noises, pungent barn smells were in the air. Grand-daughter loved the smell of the barn—manure and straw and wood all mixed together. It was pungent and earthy sweet. “Go ahead, pick!” Ya-ya told her. Smiling the teenaged grand-daughter found the cutest of lambs. It frolicked and danced. “That one,” she said, pointing. Ya-ya gave the farmer a look and nodding the farmer put on a bib, picked up the lamb then disappeared. The two waited but for what? Moments went by still the girl knew better than to say anything. Ya-ya was staring off far, her lined brow was deep and crumbled like a paper in a waste can. She was talking again—whenever she stared off into nothing, the grand daughter knew that she was talking to someone or something not seen. God or Angels or ancestors gone, she didn’t know—she was afraid to ask but someone was talking and grand daughter knew better than to interrupt.
The farmer returned. The white clean bib looked spattered and dipped like someone had taken a can of red paint and splashed him. But somehow the child knew better—the red paint was not a gag gone awry. The man had brown paper packages tied up neatly and he was presenting them to her—Ya-ya’s hands were full so she had to carry it. It was heavy and some of the packages were in a big shopping bag. Grand daughter accepted the packages. She cradled them in her arms knowing that they were the lamb. “Come,” Ya-ya summoned, turning quickly to leave the market. The child followed behind shocked at first then crying. “Some surprise,” she whispered behind her grand mother’s back. There was silence and they continued walking. “Some surprise!” Grand daughter yelled crying harder now. “It was awful. I can’t believe you did that to me. Some surprise. I don’t want to be old enough to receive the lamb!” Ya- ya had heard enough. She turned quickly on the child and looking her direct in the eye as the young woman was now almost taller than her grand mother, “What did you expect?” She asked—“that the lamb would become your pet to run round our house? Where does that food we have on our table every night for supper come from? Is it sent from heaven already dead and wrapped and all the animals on the farm live happy? NO! You see, you do not know and others are too dumb to know—all of life is sacrifice. The lamb died so you can live. It is sacrifice. The olives and the wheat and all that we eat on our table is sacrificed for us. This is why we pray because to not would be to forget the lamb. It is sacrifice do not forget this ever.” The grand-daughter still cried but said nothing more. Ya-ya turned and went on. They went home to prepare the feast and wait for Easter to come when they would shout “Christos Anesti! Alethos Anesti!”
I had seen enough under water. I had lost my breath and maybe drowning wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. I swam to the surface again, to the bobbing little boat where my net dangled on the side and my fishing pole was dormant.
The net was full and it was sacrifice.
It was never the same after that.
Taking a look around, I noticed a little Greek girl with a grandmother. It was Holy Week, you know that time when Christian folk celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ their teacher. The little Greek girl was maybe eleven and she was fasting with her Ya-ya. The rest of the family thought they were crazy to fast while also preparing for the feast called Easter that come early on Sunday morning. No one else in the house fasted and prepared but them.
The Ya-ya was strange. She had eyes with bulky lids that slid down her face and looked clear on into the other side and a thick accent, with broken English. Sometimes words came rushing but not too often. She said to the child, “You are not old enough to receive the lamb.” She had said this before but the child never questioned it. Today, while kneading the bread dough, the girl found courage. “When, Ya-ya?” she asked. “I will know,” Ya-ya responded. The girl had no idea and didn’t dare ask any further question. The grand-mother after all was strange and had those penetrating eyes that were clear and saw to the other side. The girl knew better than to ask too much.
For two years the girl waited and wondered about this lamb. What was it to receive the lamb? There were always surprises at her grandmother’s house and she had found that waiting was the best way to prove her worth. She knew pressing her grandmother would only cause further delay. Ya-ya was seldom open to negotiation. So, the child had learned that waiting quietly proved best. She was almost 14 when holy week came late that year. Spring was every where budding with pink promises of fragrant offerings and pretty colored eggs. Rabbits and robins were back in the yard again feasting while Ya-ya and grand-daughter fasted and prepared quietly in the kitchen. Working the dough that would later become Easter Bread, Ya-ya proudly watched her grand-daughter work without much instruction. She knew how to make the bread and the soup. “You are old enough now.” She said. The grand-daughter smiled and felt ready for her reward. She hugged her Ya-ya tight. “Come, it is time; the bread can wait. You will come with me.” Grand-daughter cleaned off her hands and took off her apron. Off they went to the church of all places. Just before Easter, the Greek Church became like a market place in early holy week. St Simeon always smelled of incense even outside in the courtyard. There were other smells today— sweet garlic and pungent fish and olives mixed together with the incense of the church. The outdoor area was alive was bustling people speaking and trading and haggling—some were yelling. Grand daughter had never seen this before. There were all kinds of delicacies for sale that were traditional for Easter supper. There were breads and oils and grape-leaves, some imported from Greece. They wandered the market picking up this and that, saying hello to their neighbors also preparing for the feast to come.
At last they came to a pen of cute little lambs. The lambs danced around the pen making their sweet noises, pungent barn smells were in the air. Grand-daughter loved the smell of the barn—manure and straw and wood all mixed together. It was pungent and earthy sweet. “Go ahead, pick!” Ya-ya told her. Smiling the teenaged grand-daughter found the cutest of lambs. It frolicked and danced. “That one,” she said, pointing. Ya-ya gave the farmer a look and nodding the farmer put on a bib, picked up the lamb then disappeared. The two waited but for what? Moments went by still the girl knew better than to say anything. Ya-ya was staring off far, her lined brow was deep and crumbled like a paper in a waste can. She was talking again—whenever she stared off into nothing, the grand daughter knew that she was talking to someone or something not seen. God or Angels or ancestors gone, she didn’t know—she was afraid to ask but someone was talking and grand daughter knew better than to interrupt.
The farmer returned. The white clean bib looked spattered and dipped like someone had taken a can of red paint and splashed him. But somehow the child knew better—the red paint was not a gag gone awry. The man had brown paper packages tied up neatly and he was presenting them to her—Ya-ya’s hands were full so she had to carry it. It was heavy and some of the packages were in a big shopping bag. Grand daughter accepted the packages. She cradled them in her arms knowing that they were the lamb. “Come,” Ya-ya summoned, turning quickly to leave the market. The child followed behind shocked at first then crying. “Some surprise,” she whispered behind her grand mother’s back. There was silence and they continued walking. “Some surprise!” Grand daughter yelled crying harder now. “It was awful. I can’t believe you did that to me. Some surprise. I don’t want to be old enough to receive the lamb!” Ya- ya had heard enough. She turned quickly on the child and looking her direct in the eye as the young woman was now almost taller than her grand mother, “What did you expect?” She asked—“that the lamb would become your pet to run round our house? Where does that food we have on our table every night for supper come from? Is it sent from heaven already dead and wrapped and all the animals on the farm live happy? NO! You see, you do not know and others are too dumb to know—all of life is sacrifice. The lamb died so you can live. It is sacrifice. The olives and the wheat and all that we eat on our table is sacrificed for us. This is why we pray because to not would be to forget the lamb. It is sacrifice do not forget this ever.” The grand-daughter still cried but said nothing more. Ya-ya turned and went on. They went home to prepare the feast and wait for Easter to come when they would shout “Christos Anesti! Alethos Anesti!”
I had seen enough under water. I had lost my breath and maybe drowning wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. I swam to the surface again, to the bobbing little boat where my net dangled on the side and my fishing pole was dormant.
The net was full and it was sacrifice.
It was never the same after that.
No comments:
Post a Comment