Píta
Koula, 53
Perth, 1999
Koula did not understand why Athena had invited her over for lunch. She had not yet set foot in that house of sin. Athena and Richard weren’t married. What was she meant to tell everyone – that her daughter had moved in with a man who was not committed to her? Koula understood that it’s what young Australian people did, but that did not include Greek-Australian young people and most definitely did not include her daughter.
‘What if we were in separate bedrooms?’ Athena had yelled at Koula. ‘Would that make you happy?’ And after the yelling the silence had taken over, seeped like darkness between them, between their family home and Athena’s (and the boyfriend’s) rental. Koula still sent her food and gifts and money via the boys or Evan. She still expected Athena to call her – and she always did in the end. Koula knew that Athena knew that Koula was right, Koula was sure of it.
Athena did not know how to cook, so Koula wondered what Athena was planning to feed them at this alleged lunch. It did not make sense to Koula that an adult woman (particularly one she had given birth to and brought up) didn’t know how to roast a leg of lamb or fold filo pastry into something sweet and luxurious. No matter how many times Koula had shown Athena how to scald butter to make piláfi or infuse sugar syrup to make baklavá, she just couldn’t do it. Even the simplest things like kouloúria at Easter time (butter and sugar and flour and eggs with orange zest – not hard!) would somehow end up a gluey mess. Athena would cry and not speak to her for a week. Koula would have to redo anything that they had tried to make together. She would leave it on Athena’s doorstep wrapped in silver foil and her best cotton tea towels. Athena washed and returned her dishes, but she never gave back Koula’s tea towels.
Unfortunately Athena just didn’t have the spark. She would never be able to run a household or even cook a simple meal. She was always reading library books or writing in her journal or floating around art galleries. She was always talking about things that made no sense to Koula. She worried that Athena would be one of those people who would never be happy.
Koula’s sons were happy. Their wives were very happy (and so they should be). But Athena? No. There was a problem there.
‘Please be nice, Koula. Just smile and nod, as they say,’ Evan said. ‘Otherwise she might not invite us again. And remember how we heard that story from Chrissie about the girl who fell out with her parents and she never invited them to her house, even after she got married.’
‘I will tell her what is what. If I don’t tell her, then who will? I am her mother. This is what mothers are meant to do. They are meant to share their wisdom with their daughters, who are meant to listen to it. My mother did the same for me,’ Koula said, positioning the air-conditioning vents so they blew in her direction. ‘We weren’t strict enough with her. We let her have all those non-Greek friends and look what happened.’
Evan took his own advice, smiling and nodding as he parked in front of a faded red-brick townhouse with a patch of dead brown lawn. The house of sin. They had a smattering of new white ceramic pots, but everything in them was on its way out. Koula had brought a red-flowered cactus for their front door.
She looked over at Evan, who was trying not to stare at the lawn and the pot plants. At least the cactus wouldn’t need much water.
Their porch could do with painting too. Maybe Evan could do that for them.
‘Smile and nod,’ said Evan, forcing a big smile. ‘I am not going to say anything about the lawn or the plants.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Koula.
Once on the porch, Koula pressed the dusty, spider-webbed doorbell.
The boyfriend opened the door, tea towel draped over his shoulder, as if he was some kind of chef and did this all the time.
‘Hello! Thanks for coming over,’ he said, reaching over to hug Koula.
‘Hello, Richard. We have brought a few things for lunch,’ Koula said, as Evan handed over the slab of píta that Koula had made that morning, the tray of baklavá and the two-litre jar of olives that Evan had marinated. And a king-size tub of Kairos Yoghurt.
‘Oh, thanks. Wow, look at all of this,’ said the boyfriend.
‘And this is for outside your front door,’ said Koula, setting down the pot plant.
‘Oh, wow,’ said Richard. He knew nothing.
‘But, Mum, we’re cooking lunch,’ said Athena, appearing in the doorway and throwing up her hands. ‘I said you didn’t need to bring anything.’
‘You could just say thank you,’ said Koula.
‘Thank you,’ Athena said.
‘Look at the cool spiky plant your mum brought us,’ Richard said to Athena.
‘It’s so nobody curses us,’ Athena said, looking at her mother.
‘Well, come in!’ said Richard.
Koula stepped over the threshold into the house of sin. It smelled like vanilla candle trying to mask cigarettes. There was something cooking in the oven.
Now, what Athena didn’t understand was that the boyfriend would sleep with her for a while and then marry someone else. You can’t just move into a house with a man without any kind of commitment. This is what Koula had been telling Athena for years, but she wasn’t listening. What if (God forbid) Athena got pregnant? What then?
So why should Koula pretend to be happy about it? And now, here she was – on a Sunday, mind you – about to subject herself to her daughter’s embarrassing version of cooking. At least she could eat a piece of píta and a few olives. Have a slice of baklavá. Try to forget about the fact that her daughter was being taken advantage of by this loser.
Athena kissed Koula on the cheek (definitely cigarettes). Koula didn’t say anything and followed them inside.
‘So, this is the house,’ Athena said, pointing wildly in all directions. ‘Do you want to see the garden?’
‘Sure, I do,’ said Evan.
Koula followed them into the back where there was a tiny square of concrete with a metal coffee table and two chairs (that looked like they had been picked up at the rubbish tip) next to an even tinier strip of grass.
‘Lovely,’ Koula said.
‘Would you like a drink?’ the boyfriend asked.
‘No, thank you,’ Koula said.
‘Evan? A beer?’
‘Sure, a beer would be great. We brought some beer.’
‘Oh, I have Crowns and Coronas.’
‘Okay, I’ll have a Corona.’
‘We can sit inside if you prefer,’ said the boyfriend. ‘It’s pretty hot today.’
‘Yes, please,’ said Koula, and she followed him to the lounge. It was a small room with faded-blue-fabric couches on wooden floorboards. There was a white ceiling fan and a single pendant light hung in the middle of the room like an egg. And then.
Koula’s eyes widened as she focused on the huge muddle of blue and black and pink which was the oil painting on the wall. A woman, naked, in bright colours with strategically placed flowers and fruit, vomiting into a gutter.
‘Oh, that’s our Anastasia,’ Athena said.
‘Your who?’
‘One of Richard’s friends, Anastasia, is an artist. She painted that for us as a housewarming gift.’
‘Anastasia is my mother’s name – you know, Athena’s grandmother,’ Koula said to Richard.
‘Oh yeah, I never thought of it in relation to Yiayia,’ Athena said.
‘Right,’ said Koula, trying to unsee the painting. It was indecent.
Koula sat on the blue couch and glanced out the window. At least there was a view of trees in the distance beyond the cement courtyard. It was such a tiny townhouse. And it wasn’t even theirs. They were paying someone else’s rent. She really had no idea about money, Athena. She didn’t understand that to get ahead you had to buy a house and start paying it off as soon as you could. Koula shook her head. Athena was nothing like her older brothers. Not at all.
‘So, Mum, do you like our place?’ Athena hovered over her, wiping her hands on a paper towel.
‘It’s interesting,’ said Koula.
‘It’s very nice,’ said Evan.
‘I want Mum to tell me that she likes it,’ Athena said, putting a hand on her hip.
‘It doesn’t matter what I like, Athena. If you like it, then that’s fine. It’s your home, you are the one – the ones – who have to live in it.’
‘Okay, I’ll take that as a no, you don’t like it. So let’s move on to lunch,’ said Athena, rolling her eyes and retreating to the kitchen.
‘What happened to smiling and nodding, Koula?’ Evan whispered to her.
Koula shook her head and pointed at the painting.
‘Look at that! Look at that, Evan! What would I say to Chrissie about that?’
‘Well, just ignore it,’ said Evan. ‘It’s modern art.’
‘I can’t! It’s huge. It’s right in my face and it’s in my mind now forever. I will never be able to forget about it. The vomiting flower woman. My mother’s name is Anastasia. How could they have named something like that after her?’
‘I don’t think they did. It’s just a coincidence.’
‘There are no such things as—’
‘Oh dear,’ said Athena’s voice from the kitchen as a charred smell drifted into the lounge.
‘I’m glad we brought the píta and the olives and the yoghurt,’ said Koula. ‘Otherwise, we would have no lunch.’
‘Come on, Koula,’ said Evan.
There was no air-conditioning. Koula watched the ceiling fan madly trying to cool the air in the room to no avail. She felt damp from sweat under her arms and on her face. She had a small paper fan in her handbag. She retrieved it and started fanning herself.
‘Oh, it’s hot today, isn’t it?’ said Richard, nodding.
‘Yes, it’s hot.’
‘I like your fan.’
‘I use it in church. We went there this morning. We are raising money to have air-conditioning in the church for next summer,’ she said. ‘Everyone is very generous in our community, of course, so it won’t take long to raise the money.’
‘Okay, I think lunch is ready now,’ Athena said, returning to the lounge and putting a strand of hair behind her ear.
‘Would you like a drink, Koula?’ asked Richard. ‘You still haven’t had anything.’
‘Could I trouble you for a glass of water?’
‘Of course,’ said Richard, racing off to her request. He returned with a glass of water, two ice cubes clinking and a slice of lime. She had asked for a water, not a gin and tonic. Who puts lime in a glass of water? Who was this guy?
‘Do you want to sit down for lunch now, Mum?’ Athena asked.
The table was small and squarish, with no tablecloth. Of course Athena had no nice tablecloths because she hadn’t got married yet and hadn’t had a kitchen tea. Or a wedding. Or any of the things that were meant to precede the moving in together part of a relationship.
‘Do you want me to put a tablecloth on the table, Athena?’
‘Oh, sorry Mum, I don’t actually have one.’
‘You don’t have a tablecloth?’
‘I just didn’t think to buy one when we moved in.’
‘Athena, I can give you some tablecloths next time you come over. When you invite people over for lunch it’s nice to have a tablecloth on the table,’ she said, mainly to the boyfriend, who might not have been taught proper etiquette.
Athena nodded from where she stood trying to sauté one dish and get another out of the oven at the same time.
‘I’ve cooked fish just like you do,’ Athena said, looking over at Koula.
‘Hmmmm,’ Koula said.
‘I’ll serve up now,’ Athena said, wrestling with the baking dish.
Koula peeked through the window to the garden. There was a jacaranda outside. It was past the week where it looked luminescent and purple. Now the flowers were falling, falling down. The boyfriend would need to sweep those up or they would attract bees. But she couldn’t imagine the boyfriend with a broom in his hand. Only with a beer and the tea towel over his shoulder. Sometimes he sang and played guitar. She didn’t trust musicians (particularly string players), although she could never really say why.
The boyfriend passed Athena the plates (thick, cheap china from that awful Swedish place – what was it called? IDEA? Bad idea, more like it).
All their plates and furniture were a BAD IDEA. The table, the chairs, everything.
Athena and the boyfriend served the fish with an underdressed green salad.
‘Thank you, Richard!’ Evan said in a loud voice.
When they all had their plates in front of them, the boyfriend raised his glass, ‘Cheers! Thanks for coming over. How do you say bon appetit in Greek?’
‘Kalí órexi,’ Koula said.
‘Yes, kalí órexi, thanks, Mum and Dad. Thanks for coming over,’ Athena said, drinking a sweaty glass of white wine.
‘So, how’s work going, Richard?’ asked Evan.
‘Oh, pretty good, you know. How’s the yoghurt business?’
‘Still going. Expanding. It’s hard to get good staff, but apart from that all good.’
Koula watched Athena, who always seemed to shut down or disappear when they started talking about the business.
‘How can you not understand that it just doesn’t interest me?’ Athena had said more than once.
‘It’s our family business,’ said Koula.
‘No, it’s your business. It’s got nothing to do with me. Yoghurt is not my thing. You know that.’
The problem with Athena was she never did things the right way. Athena had asked the most ridiculous questions when Koula took her to church (what four-year-old questions the existence of God?). And she never really understood what she was meant to do or how things would be easier for her if she just cooperated.
Her brothers had been such delightful children, but Athena, she had always been like this. Thinking she knew better than anyone. Her brothers had done the right thing and gone into the business. They were both married to wonderful ladies from good Greek families, pretty and polite, and they would be having children soon.
But Athena. They had spent the same amount of money on her education, and what was it for? Koula regretted sending her to that private school. It was only because the best boys’ school was next door and that’s where she wanted her sons to go. Athena had mixed with all the right people but it had given her too many ideas. It really had. Koula should have sent her to the Catholic one Chrissie sent her children to. Then Athena wouldn’t be sitting here with all these problems. She wouldn’t be living with a man she was not married to. The Catholics knew how to do things properly.
The fish was overcooked. Koula’s piece still had scales on it. Athena had not added enough lemon and salt. Where had she gone so wrong with her? With every soggy mouthful, Koula contemplated what a bad idea this lunch had been.
And then she thought about Mary. There had never been a night she hadn’t lain awake seeing Mary’s almond brown eyes. Her smile as her bed was made. Her mother giving her a hug. The air full of cinnamon and sugar and cloves.
Clearly Athena had been cursed because of what Koula had done. The máti she had taken. After two sons, Athena was Koula’s punishment.
Once Koula saw Evan glance at a woman on the street that looked a bit like Mary. Long brown compliant hair, very (too) slim, almond-shaped eyes. Something flashed in his face for a brief instant. Koula had never mentioned it. In fact, they had never really spoken about Mary at all.
And so many years had passed. There was no point bringing it up now. After her death, Mary’s parents had gone back to Greece and nobody ever saw them again. Someone heard that Mary’s mother had become a successful artist, but unfortunately Mary was their only child. And so, no grandchildren. What kind of a life was that?
Another thing that Athena did not understand was that women needed to have children sooner rather than later. There was a window. These days women were having children later and later because of work and all these choices. When getting pregnant proved difficult, they would whine and complain and then look for all sorts of options that didn’t really work. What worked was getting on with it. Finding a good husband, getting pregnant and having babies. That was the path to happiness. It had worked for Koula. Hadn’t it? She had married Evan. She’d had two sons! She’d had…Athena.
The boyfriend, Athena and Evan were smiling and chewing. Evan was telling a story that she had heard five hundred times before. They were all drinking wine. Had anyone offered her wine? She couldn’t remember. She didn’t know how she was going to eat this tasteless sludge of fish. Good thing her mother was on her church outing today. Although Sia would probably pretend it was delicious, because she never had a bad word to say about Athena. It was different for her: Athena was her granddaughter, not her daughter. Koula was a good daughter.
Athena giggled when she looked at Richard. They had definitely slept together.
Koula ate a big piece of the beautiful píta she had brought; at least she could hide the taste of the ‘fish’ Athena had cooked between the silky layers of spinach and cheese and filo pastry.
‘The thing is, Mum and Dad,’ Athena said, with a big gulp of wine that did not go unnoticed by Koula. ‘We wanted to tell you that we’re moving to London.’
‘London! You’re going to London now?’ Koula said, dropping her knife and fork on the plate.
‘Yes, we wanted to tell you today. Richard’s work is sending him there. Well, sending us there.’
‘And will there be a wedding before this moving to London?’
‘Mum!’
‘Koula!’
‘I’m just asking,’ Koula said, sipping her water. ‘Richard, I hope you don’t think I’m being rude. But it’s different in our culture, you see.’
‘Your culture,’ said Athena, with a panicked look to the boyfriend.
Koula shook her head. She wasn’t even going to pretend to eat the fish anymore. She felt sick. Athena was going to run off to London with the boyfriend. They weren’t going to get married. Athena would ruin her own life because she just wouldn’t listen to her own mother.
Not even Athena’s máti could save her.
The conversation continued. Evan talked in great detail about the weather and his garden.
The boyfriend pretended to care.
Athena stared at Koula.
Koula raised her eyebrows.
A tear ran down Athena’s cheek while the rest of her face remained dry. Koula watched it. Athena put her head down and wiped her eyes and then looked up again.
‘Did you like the fish?’ asked Athena.
‘Where’s the bathroom?’ asked Koula, standing up.
‘It’s next to the bedroom,’ said Athena. ‘You know, where we sleep. Together.’
Koula slammed the bathroom door behind her, took a deep breath and exhaled. Coming here was a bad idea.
Smile and nod, said Evan. He didn’t understand.
The worst thing was that there was still dessert and coffee to go. Maybe she should just leave.
Koula ran the tap and let the water cool her hands. There were two toothbrushes in the bathroom, side by side. Pink and blue. One half-used tube of Colgate. Suddenly she felt like she was intruding.
Koula emerged from the bathroom. She could smell coffee brewing.
Koula had brought a tray of baklavá. Athena would never be able to make baklavá. She had lost count of the number of times she had tried to teach Athena how to make it.
‘Don’t you think it’s strange how the Turks and the Greeks fight about who invented it?’ the boyfriend asked as he brought in the tray and set it on the table.
‘No, because the Greeks did,’ said Koula, planting herself back in the chair.
‘Of course you would think that,’ said Athena.
‘It’s true,’ said Koula.
‘Remember that my mother’s island is actually very close to—’
‘Skáse, Evan,’ said Koula.
‘Guess what, I made a cake,’ said Athena, hurrying back to the kitchen and then returning with a circular lump of burnt sponge.
‘It’s a little black on top,’ said Koula. ‘Is it meant to be like that?’
‘It looks delicious,’ said the boyfriend, putting his arm around Athena. Koula watched the stupid boyfriend eat the burnt cake. Perhaps he really didn’t know what cake was meant to taste like.
Athena couldn’t cook, but the boyfriend – Richard – didn’t seem to notice or care. To her surprise Koula found herself smiling and nodding while she prodded at Athena’s burnt cake, next to her expert baklavá oozing fragrant cinnamon-infused syrup.
Burnt sponge cake.
Syrupy baklavá.
Athena.
The boyfriend.
_____
In the car on the way home, Koula aired her main grievances to Evan.
‘And the fish! My God, Evan! Who is she? Where did I go wrong?’
‘Well, she’s always been different to you. But she’s – happy.’
‘This is a bad idea. I don’t like the boyfriend. I’ve never liked him. This is a bad idea.’ BAD IDEA. She thought of the cheap furniture wound together with an Allen key. It could be so easily unwound. There was no commitment, no deal. There was a lease of a crappy townhouse. There was a plan to move to London. London! Why did she want to go there? It was so far away. The Queen seemed like a nice lady who had a handle on things, but why would Athena leave everything here to go to London just because of the boyfriend’s job?
Koula exhaled in relief as Evan pulled into their driveway. Their garden was immaculate. Their jacaranda tree had bloomed beautifully this year and every morning they swept away the dead, crumpled purple flowers from the path.
_____
Later that night, Evan fell asleep in the lounge room in front of the TV. Koula decided to leave him there. She turned it on mute. She could see the movie. Lips moving, bright colours, but no sound.
And Koula realised that was her. She was the one in the movie. She could be as bright and colourful and expressive as she liked, but she was still on mute. Nobody was listening to her anymore. There was nothing she could say or not say to her daughter that would make a difference. At some moment in time Athena had ceased to be Koula’s daughter and Sia’s granddaughter and had become someone else, not like Koula and not very Greek. Athena didn’t care about the community, about the standards that were expected. She didn’t care what people thought.
How could Koula have done things differently with Athena? Maybe nothing she could have done would have made a difference anyway, because of the curse. She must be cursed.
If there was a curse, though, there must be a way of lifting it. Surely. She remembered some of the old ladies had incantations they would whisper. She’d ask her mother, although Sia refused to discuss that episode with Mary’s máti. Sia never asked Koula what she’d done with it. Her mother had her own secrets, Koula was sure.
In her bed Koula lathered almond-scented body cream over her arms and legs. She fondled her máti on its gold chain on her bracelet. She thought of Mary. She prayed her daily apology.