Nicolai's Daughters by Stella Leventoyannis Harvey Page A

strands was a pale patch of skin at his crown. Nicolai used to cover his bald spot by combing his hair back and tying it into a ponytail that hung just under the collar of his shirt. Long hair, wrinkled linen suits, no tie and leather loafers sometimes with, but more often without socks. His style, as he called it, never changed.
    When she was a teenager, Alexia’s friends used to say, “Your dad is so hot. And the way he dresses is so cool.”
    â€œYou’re crazy,” she’d tell them. “At least your dad looks like a dad is supposed to.”
    â€œYou mean old,” they’d say.
    â€œHis age.”
    â€œLike her father,” one of Alexia’s aunts said now. She understood a few Greek words she’d heard her father use when he forgot the right English word.
    â€œ Ne. ” She overheard two others agree. “Tall and skinny.”
    â€œOnly in looks?” another aunt asked.
    Alexia looked over her shoulder and the aunts smiled, went back to rapidly swallowed Greek. Their chatter competed with the noises rising around them: the babble of strangers, the screech of a policeman’s whistle, the blare of car horns from the queue of impatient drivers and the persistent growl of departing airplanes. They walked through the smog as if through yellowed curtains. Alexia coughed. Her eyes felt itchy, her head ached. None of the others seemed troubled by air they could see. They laughed and talked, their voices raised above the racket.
    â€œI get to sit by the window,” one of the cousins said as they approached the van.
    Her brother, one of the three Yannises, nudged her and their mother, Maria, slapped the back of his head and glared at him. Alexia caught a smirk on his sister’s face.
    â€œ Po po po, that boy has mischief,” Katarina said.
    Her father used to use the same expression. When she heard him say it the first time, Alexia had asked him what it meant. “It’s just an expression, nonsense words kind of like tsk-tsk , something like that, but they are not really words, nothing I can translate.”
    â€œHe can’t sit still,” Maria said.
    â€œHe is a young man now,” Katarina said. “He does not need to act like a child.”
    â€œWhat do you know about children?” Maria said. Her hands were on her hips. She looked up at the sky and muttered a prayer as she crossed herself three times. Unlike the others, who wore shades of black or navy suits, Maria wore an elegant floral print dress cinched tight at the waist. In her shiny black stiletto heels, she loomed over the others. A couple of the older women stood back from the family, shook their heads and whispered to each other, their critical eyes fixed on Maria.
    â€œSomeone always finds a reason to fight,” Christina said. “Ignore.”
    Alexia nodded as if she understood. All their antics are hard to ignore, she thought, standing aside from the commotion. She wanted to look at a map, see where Diakofto was, and figure out how much time it would take to get there. Her bag was hanging from her aunt’s shoulder. Alexia reached for it and her aunt shook her head. “It is too heavy for a little one like you.”
    The others began discussing seating arrangements.
    â€œWhy did you rent the van?” Alexia asked, interrupting the discussion. “Separate cars might have been easier.”
    â€œIn America you do this, yes,” Christina said. “Everyone goes in a different way. Sometimes, our way is more fun, sometimes no. But we take good with all the bad.”
    â€œI will sit beside our guest,” Maria said. “I am much younger than Katarina. I would have more to say to our guest.” She wrapped an arm inside Alexia’s.
    â€œI speak better English,” Katarina said.
    â€œI will sit in the back,” Yannis said. “When are we going to have lunch?”
    â€œYes, when will we eat?” another cousin