Princess of Passyunk (26 page)

Mouldar Toschev cleared his throat, and stroked his red beard for good measure. Then he said, “The next gift will symbolize the food of love which all families share. The brides will make for us...” He glanced about the table at each prospective groom. “Galobki.”

Ganny all but choked on his water. Galobki! Svetlana should be pleased to hear that. Certainly she knew much about the creation of galobki, for the small cabbage-wrapped packets of spiced meat were a favorite in most Polish households.
Little pigeons
, they called them.

Mouldar Toschev was regarding Ganady down his long nose, waiting for him to recover himself.

“Sorry, sir,” he murmured. “Galobki, you said.”

“Galobki. Galobki that will be served at Sunday dinner next at our house.”

“They want galobki.”

Ganady fixed The Cockroach with a curious gaze, watching for any sign that it had heard him. It turned toward him and waved, as was its habit. In fact, he had found that wherever he went into the room, The Cockroach seemed to track his movements. Sometimes, when he drew very close, it would lift its forelegs from the shoulder or head of the icon and seem almost to reach for him. It was doing that now.

“I figure that's probably something you're good at, huh?”

There was no answer, nor had he expected one.

“Well, anyway, that's what they want. Galobki.”

“Isn't that kind of a weird thing to be praying to Saint Mary about?”

Ganny almost knocked the Virgin over in his haste to pull away from the dresser. Nick stood just inside the door.

“Is that what you did with the rug? Came up here and prayed to the Virgin that Lana knew how to weave?”

“Uh...uh, yeah.”

“You weren't sure she could do it, were you?”

Ganny smiled and shook his head. “No. I even thought I might have to...you know...cheat.”

“Cheat? You mean go out and
buy
something?”

“Yeah. I guess I should have had more faith.”

“So you didn't buy that rug?”

Ganny looked at his brother sharply. “Of course not. Lana wove it.”

Nick shrugged and began shedding the white dress shirt he had worn to dinner. “Sure she did.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Come on, Ganny. Come clean. There is no Lana, is there? You made her up. Admit it.”

Ganny glanced at the dresser. The Cockroach had disappeared. “No, Nick, I didn't make her up. She's real, and when the time is right, you'll all meet her.”

“When—at the wedding?”

Ganny shrugged.

Nick hung up his shirt, pulled on a tee-shirt, and rolled up the sleeves before saying: “Then what is it, Ganny? Why haven't you brought her home? Is she really ugly?”

“No! She's beautiful! Heck, Nikki, she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.”

“Okay. Is she Protestant?”

“No! I told you—her family's Jewish. But she's okay with being married in the Church.”

“Then what is it?”

Ganny sat down on the foot of his bed. “It's her family, Nikki. They...they aren't speaking to her because she won't work these butcher shops. Her Da says she's dishonoring the family. I think...I think she feels like maybe she can't meet our family until she doesn't have that over her head anymore. I think she hopes they'll come around and accept what
she
wants.”

“That doesn't sound so good, Ganny. What if they never come around? What if you can't get her family's blessing?”

“I don't know.”

Nick shook his head. “Tough luck, kid,” he said and pulled on a jacket. “I'm going over to Annie's for a while. Maybe you should go back to praying. Couldn't hurt.”

When Nick had gone, Ganny stood and moved back to the dresser. The Cockroach was not on the icon. In fact, it was not on the dresser anywhere. Maybe it was off making galobki. Or maybe he had just told his brother the biggest lie since the Serpent spoke to Eve.

He got down on his knees then, facing the dresser. “Hail, Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you,” he murmured, because his brother was absolutely right—it couldn't hurt.

oOo

They discovered the tray of galobki on their way out the front door to the Toschev's for Sunday dinner. It was in a box beautifully wrapped in gold foil and tied with a verdant green ribbon. The small gift card was also backed with gold foil and said,
To my new family—a brocheh.

“A blessing she gives us!” said Baba Irina. “How sweet your girl is, Ganady. The other galobki did not come with such lovely cards or in such fine packages.”

They sojourned to the Toschev's with their galobki, which were summarily dispatched to the kitchen in the care of the womenfolk. When the families were seated about the table, the galobki reappeared arrayed on three serving dishes that were set before Mouldar Toschev's place.

The Toschev Patriarch stood and addressed the gathering. “This evening we are pleased to have received gifts from the young women our sons have chosen to marry. Without further ado, I shall serve the galobki of my daughter-to-be, Nadezhda Chernenko.”

He hoisted the platter containing Nadia's gift and sent it round the table so each diner could take one. When the plate had returned to his place, Mouldar Toschev took a galobki for himself.

Ganady cut into the “pigeon” and studied the contents of the cabbage leaf. Inside, the meat was pale—not at all an appetizing color—with a speckling of dark green, red, yellow, and brown.

“It is almost white,” noted Rebecca Puzdrovsky. “Do you suppose it is veal?”

Ganny watched his father's face as he bit into his portion and chewed, vaguely aware that Mouldar Toschev mirrored the movement from the opposite end of the table.

“Hmph,” said the Puzdrovsky patriarch.

“Not veal,” said Yevgeny's father.

The other diners cut into their galobki, bit, chewed, and swallowed.

“It is quite mild,” said Yelena Toschev, glancing hopefully at her husband.

“It is bland,” he replied. “And I believe...yes, I believe it is made of
chicken
.”

There was stunned silence among the Toschevs for whom the very idea of a chicken galobki was, if not culinary heresy, at least a venial sin.

Ganady took a small, curious bite and found that Nadia's galobki possessed substantially less flavor than a Connie Mack hotdog.

They turned their attention next to Antonia Guercino's gift. The meat inside the leafy packet was of an extraordinary color: a vivid shade that rivaled the red of Ganady's Phillies cap.

The galobki was passed and served. The household heads each took a bite and chewed; everyone else watched.

Vitaly Puzdrovsky's chewing accelerated. “Hmmm,” he said. His eyes sparkled, then a tear rolled down his cheek and he blushed.

Just as Ganady began to suppose that this must be the best galobki his father had ever tasted, Mouldar Toschev began to cough. Seconds later, both men were coughing wildly and groping for their wineglasses. Vitaly downed the contents of his in one gulp.

Ganady put down his knife and fork and eyed his own galobki with suspicion, awaiting the pronouncement from the head and tail of the table.

“Well,” said his Da when he could at last speak again. He dabbed at his lips with a napkin and accepted a second glass of wine from his wife. “Well. I think I have never tasted such spices in a galobki.”

“Perhaps it is an Italian recipe,” suggested Yevgeny's mother.

Everyone nodded and agreed that that surely must be the case, and that some variety of pepper must account for the red speckles.

“I
like
spicy food,” said Baba Irina, glancing aside at her eldest grandson, who seemed positively stricken at the reception his fiancée's gift had received.

But Rebecca Puzdrovsky said, in a very small voice: “Oh, Mama, don't eat it, I'm sure it's pork!”

Baba Irina put down her knife and fork and tilted her plate so that the offending “pigeon” rolled back onto the serving platter.

It was time for Svetlana's gift now, and everyone at table looked at the final platter with reservation. The meat within the vividly green cabbage was neither as pale as Nadia's, nor as vivid as Antonia's. It was a beautiful shade of golden, reddish brown, with little flecks of yellow and green. The aroma that wafted from the plate as it was passed around made Ganady's mouth water.

And when the family fathers had cut and chewed and swallowed their portions, there was a long silence. Then Vitaly Puzdrovsky sighed and cut himself a second piece. He had a bite halfway to his mouth when he noticed that everyone was watching him and not eating their own galobki.

“Eat, eat!” he said. “This is a true galobki.”

They did. It was.

“Oh, it is so...savory,” said Yelena Toschev.

“I can taste it all over my tongue!” exclaimed Marija.

“Oh, that we had such galobki to serve at The Samovaram!” said Zofia.

“It's perfect,” admitted Yevgeny.

“Try it with the sweet cabbage,” suggested his mother, passing the bowl to her guests. “And the noodles.”

“Ganny,” said Nikolai, “you are going to eat
well
.”

With his mouth full, Ganny could only smile and nod. Svetlana's “little pigeon” was the most delicious thing he could remember having eaten. He glanced to the head of the table, where Mouldar Toschev sat in silence, just chewing. His eyes were closed and an expression of complete bliss transformed his craggy face. As Ganady watched, a great tear rolled down his face and disappeared into his flame-bright beard. Ganady almost expected to hear it sizzle.

“They want...a
babka
.”

Ganny stood on the roof of Mr. Ouspensky's apartment. It wasn't really Mr. Ouspensky's apartment, of course, but a dreamer's facsimile of it, for not only were Mr. O and Baba Irina here, but Svetlana, as well.

She stood next to Ganady on the flat roof, listening as Baba Irina and her beau nattered about how best to fine tune the time-eddy so that it would show them a game out of season.

As if it were a cantankerous radio, thought Ganny, that only needed a little nudging and patting to bring in a stronger signal.

“Ooo, a babka! You make it sound so scary!” teased Lana, tucking a stray lock of hair up under her woolen hat.

“Have you ever made one?” Ganady asked.

“At my Mama's knee. Mama's very good at babka.”

“Your mother hates it,” said Baba from third base.

“Making babka?”

“Babka,” said Baba Irina, “is a labor of love. You would have to be crazy in love to spend two days making a
nosh
.”

“But we get them at least twice a month.”

“What did I just say, hmm? Crazy in love.”

Lana put her lips close to Ganny's right ear. “I think you're going to be eating a lot of babka.”

Ganny closed his eyes, savoring the warmth of her breath on his ear. A chill breeze kissed his left cheek as it swirled, goading pigeon feathers, dust, and dry leaves into a wild dance. He felt the tickle and scratch of feather and leaf against his face, felt the gusts shake him ever so gently.

He sneezed—and woke with a start to find himself in bed, awash in tiny gray feathers. Some circled lazily over his head, suspended in the breeze from the open window.

“Eider Man wakes!” crowed Nikolai from the edge of the neighboring bed. He was fully dressed in his Sunday best with his hair combed back. “What were you dreaming about?”

“What? Where did these feathers come from?”

“My pillow. I was trying to wake you up and the pillowcase split. It's getting late. What were you dreaming about?”

Ganny rolled up onto one elbow and regarded his brother warily. “Why? What did I say?”

“You said, ‘Making babka?' But it didn't sound like you meant making babka.”

“What did it sound like I meant?”

“
You
know,” Nikolai said, his ears flushing red.

“I was dreaming about Lana. I'm sure I meant ‘making babka.'“

Nick burst out laughing, rolling backwards onto his own bed.

“What?” Ganny demanded, trying to shake himself free of the eider down and the dream. “Da asked for a babka. So, I asked her to make a babka. Then Baba said Mama hated making it and I was surprised to hear that, that's all.”

Nick had stopped laughing and rolled sideways to look at his little brother. “What are you talking about? What's Baba got to do with it?”

Belatedly, Ganny realized what he had almost admitted. He got up and shook the remaining feathers from his pajamas and hair. “Nothing. Just...I remember Baba telling me that one time, about Mama hating to make babka. So I was real impressed that Lana didn't think it was such a big deal. I guess I just put the two things together and dreamed about it.”

He'd worked his way over to the dresser now, and opened his underwear drawer. He looked up as he pulled out socks and boxers and saw The Cockroach looking back at him from her usual place. As he watched, she waved at him, flapped her translucent wings several times, and then disappeared over the icon's shoulder. Ganny grasped the statuette and picked it up. The insect had already gone down the back of the dresser.

Off to make babka?

“So what're you all dressed up for?” Ganady asked his brother. “You look like you're on your way to church.”

“I am. Annie and I are going to counseling with Father Zembruski.” He chuckled. “You know what Baba asked me?”

Ganady pulled on a tee shirt, shaking his head free of the collar. “What?”

“She asked me how a man who wasn't allowed to be married could counsel anybody about marriage. She said I should go to Rabbi Andrukh because he's been happily married for seven years.”

“So, what did you say?”