| WORLD VOICES DANCING FOR MY MOTHER
BY DUFF BRENNA |
Contents World
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beaming,
her lovely
mouth mirroring light—heavenly. You are told to call him Pappy. Later,
Pappy
changes to Daddy or Sir. Even though he is three years younger than
your mother
she calls him Daddy too. From
him you learn: the Greeks are the
chosen people, the smartest, most inventive, most advanced race of
white men on
this earth, the Greeks invented everything, including books and
writing, the
Greeks are the best warriors for war, in the ancient world no one could
conquer
a Greek, especially if he was Spartan. For years and years you will
find
yourself wishing you could be Greek. You will lie and tell people you
are Greek
and that Nick Pappas is your real dad. You doubt that many are fooled
looking
at this towheaded emaciated stick figure with skin so pale and
translucent you
can see veins running like blue tentacles all over his chest and arms.
You can
easily count his ribs. His spindly legs are hollow things with knobby
knees and
blades for ankles. His blue eyes, blond hair, high forehead, little
round chin
make him look Scandinavian. Which is what half of him is, the other
half Irish.
Pappas is six foot two, 200-plus pounds, size 13 shoes. He has black
curly
hair, bulbous lips that can thin into a line that looks chillingly
grim. He has
a large nose with a hump in it. His teeth, though very even and very
white, are
surprisingly small. His irises are so intensely brown they’re almost
black. The
eyes are mildly hooded. The black brows arching and well-defined, the
forehead
smooth and broad. Your mother says he looks like Victor Mature the
actor in My
Darling Clementine. So
this Pappas is your new daddy. Your
mother loves him like a god. She thinks he is gorgeous. She keeps
saying he is
a veteran of the war, a hero six-footer real man, a man from head to
toe. They
marry quickly. You’ve seen the wedding picture, so you know it’s true.
It is a
disappointing picture because Pappas is wearing a suit and tie. Without
his
sailor suit the shine is off him. Turn the page to early evening, one of the first with Pappas as Daddy. A man leads a pinto pony around the courtyard. The man has a camera. For a small fee kids get to sit on the pony and wear a cowboy hat and chaps and have their picture taken. You are at the table eating dinner when the pony man comes by. You can see him out the window. Kids are climbing in and out of the saddle. It looks thrilling. Carol Marie bolts her dinner and gets permission to go downstairs and get a cowgirl picture taken. You can go too if you finish your liver and onions. You eat the liver but push the filmy onions aside. Your mother has never made you eat fried onions before, but those mollycoddling days are over. Pappas insists you eat your onions. No pony picture for boys who won’t eat fried onions. This is the first time Pappas asserts his new daddy-authority with your mother present. You try. You try really hard. By the time you put the first forkful in your mouth the onions are cold. Cold and slimy. You choke on them. You spit them back on your plate coughing and retching. You little bastard! Pappas roars. He slaps your face. Of course, sniveling little snot that you are, you immediately start wailing. He slaps you again. And he says, Stop that goddamn crying or I’ll slap you again! You believe him. His anger is terrifying. Stinging cheek and shock notwithstanding you stifle your sobs. 4
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