Page 6 of The Little Liar
And there I thrive.
Or die.
Three Moments
But enough of that. Back to our tale. Life changed quickly for our four protagonists during the tumultuous years of the 1930s and 1940s, when war was brewing, then stewing, then everywhere.
Let me present three specific moments.
You will see what I mean.
We are in 1938.
A festive night on Venizelou Street in Salonika. Inside a busy café, a “crowning ceremony” is taking place. In the Jewish faith, this marks the day parents marry off their final child. Food is spread across two long tables, fishes, meats, plates of cheeses and peppers. Cigarette smoke hangs in the air. A small band of musicians plays guitars and Greek bouzoukis.
The dancing is energized and sweaty. The bride’s name is Bibi, and her proud mother and father are Lazarre and Eva Krispis, Nico’s grandparents, who have been together for so long their hair is turning gray simultaneously. They are hoisted on wooden chairs and danced around the room. Evagrips her chair’s levered back, afraid of falling. But Lazarre is enjoying himself. He raises his hands in an “up, up, up” motion.
Little Nico is seven years old. He stomps his feet to the music.
“Higher, Nano!” he yells. “Go higher!”
Later, around a table, the family cuts pieces of baklava and walnut cake soaked in syrup. They drink dark coffee, smoke cigarettes, and converse in multiple languages, Greek, Hebrew, or Ladino, a Judeo-Spanish spoken commonly in their community. The children have already finished their dessert, and some of them play on the floor.
“Whoo, I am so tired,” Bibi says, taking a seat.
Bibi is the last of her parents’ three children to reach the altar. She is hot from all the dancing and wipes the sweat from her forehead.
“Why did you wear that thing over your face?” Nico asks.
“It’s called a veil,” his grandfather interjects, “and she wore it because her mother wore one, and her mother’s mother wore one, and all the women going back to the ancient days wore one. When we do something today they did thousands of years ago, do you know what that makes us, Nico?”
“Old?” the boy says.
Everyone laughs.
“Connected,” Lazarre says. “Tradition is how you know who you are.”
“I know who I am!” the boy declares, pointing his thumbs at his chest. “I’m Nico!”
“You are a Jew,” his grandfather says.
“And a Greek.”
“A Jew first.”
Bibi taps the hand of her new husband, Tedros.
“Happy?” she asks.
“Happy,” he says.
Lazarre slaps the table, smiling broadly.
“Next, a grandchild!”
“Oh,Papa,” Bibi says, “let me get out of the wedding dress first.”
“That’s usually how it happens,” Lazarre says, winking.
