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October 6, 2024

Husband's dream, my nightmare – Chapter 5

My friend Thanassis insisted so much that Husband finally accepted to take a short trip to Germany to look for a good job. Many Greeks travelled there to get acclimated and explore the opportunities; they’d settle in the country’s largest cities, where every street corner bustled with commerce. Newcomers were almost certain to earn good money either as factory workers, clothing store owners or fast-food operators.

“What’s the best city to visit?” I asked. Thanassis replied that almost all German cities were thriving and attractive in their own way. One of his cousins had opened a souvlaki bar in Cologne in July 1965 and, 7 years later, owned a total of 8 and was now rich.

I went to the small village library to try to learn more about the city of Cologne. I liked the name and I’d almost certainly like its smell. Knock, knock. An ancient-looking woman who must’ve been 100 opened the door.
— “Ti thelis, koritsi mou?” (or, what do you want, young girl?) I explained the reason for my visit. The librarian took a piece of paper out of a wooden file cabinet as old as herself.
— “Everything is decrepit in this old place, young miss, but our fact sheets are updated every five years for foreign countries. In 1970, the city of Cologne had 1,073,096 inhabitants.”
— “Could you tell me, ma’am, how many kilometers do we have to drive to get from Thessaloniki to Cologne?”
— “Ask the mayor. He goes twice a year to visit his daughter and 3 grandsons.

I would have loved to accompany the two men on the trip, but it was out of the question. Three babies depended entirely on me at home! Thanassis informed me that the distance between Thessaloniki and Cologne was 2,157 kilometers – about a 20-hour drive – plus hundreds more kilometres more to visit the city properly.

Moreover, the German language is unusual. It doesn’t come from the tip of the tongue, but rather from the throat. Its tonalities are hoarse, guttural, rough and rocky, like pebbles tumbling down a mountain. “Does Thanassis speak German?” Husband asked.

Under my mother-in-law’s watchful eye, my sister-in-in-law Despina and I prepared a basket filled with food for our explorers. Spinach puff pastries, wine leaves stuffed with meat, roasted eggplant slices, pickled beets, feta, the basturma (thinly sliced air-cured beef) Husband loved so much, a dozen chicken oregano skewers and, of course, a large kilo of tzatziki I’d made myself with freshly grated cucumber.

In that very moment, I experienced the strange happiness of realizing that my heart never gets discouraged, it’s only capable of hoping. I made the most of Husband’s absence to convince his mother little by little to come live in Canada with Despina. Life in the village was becoming very difficult without a man at home. The arms of neighbours and cousins were no longer enough to help maintain the old 2-story cement house. Each night, when I rocked my babies to sleep, I prayed fervently we’d leave this almost deserted village. If it weren’t for my kids, lightning could strike me and I wouldn’t care! But they were my flesh, my heart, my thoughts and my tearful eyes which, slowly, were becoming clear. With Husband gone, the three little ones and I slept in the middle of the bed and dreamt that we were in paradise.

The following morning when Despina went to the post office, she learned that five large suitcases had arrived in town for Husband. After more than six months, our possessions from Montreal had finally arrived in Greece! I was immediately tempted to send them back home, but I hesitated. Would we wait for the baker’s old truck to collect our suitcases in which I’d hidden a few books in my undergarments, where Husband never looked?

I was worried, I was crying and I was dying to write a few lines of poetry to unload my burden. Like open wounds that bleed and dry without healing, my needs were never satisfied. Seven interminable days had gone by since Husband and Thanassis had left for Cologne and I still hadn’t heard from them. Had Husband found an interesting, well-paying job? Perhaps at a souvlaki bar run by a Greek? Or a position as foreman in a fur coat factory?

In Montreal, in those days, most of the Greek wives worked in fur coat factories. They’d skillfully sew the lining. They weren’t paid by the hour or the week, but by the number of coats they could line a day. The luckiest ones could count on the grandmother who lived with them to take care of the kids while they sewed away. And so these brave immigrant women would bring 2 or 3 coats home to sow after dinner, supporting their husbands until the restaurant took off.

What could I have done to support this husband of mine who danced until the wee hours of the morning and slept until noon? Not to mention his penchant for seduction! Once, at my cousin’s wedding, I saw him in action on the dancefloor with the girls who practically had to fan themselves to keep from fainting from just watching him wiggle around. His absence was like an open door. Remembering that moment on the dancefloor, I was tempted to dress my babies and run!

TO BE CONTINUED…

Cora

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