George Pelecanos: The Cut

“Hey, Ma.”

“Hi, honey.”

She kissed him on the cheek and they hugged. Eleni was in her early sixties, with dark hair, lively hazel eyes, and a full figure. She had put on ten pounds in her fifties, but it had stopped there. Her neck had begun to turkey. She was a lovely woman, but laugh lines and grief had marked her face, and she looked her age.

“We need a vase for those flowers,” said Eleni.

“I’ll get it,” said Leo. They had only one and he knew where it was. The tallest in the family at six-foot-one, Leo was the go-to guy for items placed on the cabinet’s top shelf.

“You boys want a beer?” said Eleni.

“I’m all right for now,” said Spero.

“I got that Stella you like.”

“All right.”

“Leo?” said Eleni.

“He’d prefer a microbrew,” said Spero.

“Screw you, malaka.”

“Leonidas,” said Eleni.

Malaka meant “jerkoff.” It was a noun and oddly enough was used as a term of endearment for Greeks.

“I’ll have a Stella, Mom,” said Leo.

She got them a couple of beers out of the side-by-side and popped the caps. They could have gotten the beer themselves, but it pleased their Greek mother to serve them. By the time she handed them the bottles, they were commenting on each other’s sartorial choices, an inevitable progression of their conversation.

“You didn’t have to dress up for Mom,” said Leo.

Spero was in his usual 501s, low black Adidas Forums on his feet. He pinched a piece of his long-sleeve Bud Ekins T and held it out. “Johnson Motors,” he said, a bit hurt. “Special order out of California.”

“Look more like General Motors to me. You wear that to the factory? When you’re carryin your lunch pail?”

“Least I’m not wearing the tablecloth from an Italian restaurant,” said Spero.

“It’s gingham, Spero.” Leo was particular about his clothing. He favored Hickey Freeman suits and Brooks Brothers casual when he could afford it. He was impeccably groomed and, with liquid brown eyes and an easy smile, handsome as a movie star.

“Last time I saw one of those, it had spaghetti sauce on it.”

“You’re confusing my shirt with your undershirt.”

“Are you two hungry?” said Eleni. “Or do you want to wait?”

“What are we havin, Ma?”

“Kota me manestra,” said Eleni.

“I’m ready now,” said Leo.

“Set the table, then,” said Eleni. Before the words finished leaving her mouth, her sons had begun to mobilize.

They ate dinner at a glass-top table on the screened-in porch out back. Golden time had come and gone and dusk had arrived. Eleni had lit candles and the dogs slept beneath the table. The diners were high above the yard at tree level, and branches and leaves brushed at the screen. A half mile over the District line and they were in a canopy of green.

The table was heavy with food. In the center sat a whole chicken roasted with garlic and lemon on a bed of orzo in tomato sauce, a large bowl of salad, bread, and a plate of tarama, olives, and feta cheese.

Eleni poured herself another glass of wine. Spero and Leo were still working on their first beers.

“Pass me that manestra,” said Leo.

“Again?” said Spero.

“I can’t stop eating it, man.”

“Fas na pachinis,” said Eleni.

“He’s already grown, Ma,” said Spero, passing the orzo to Leo. “He’s not gonna get taller if he eats more, he’s just gonna get fat.”

“Do you see any fat on me?” said Leo. “ Do you?”

“A little in your peesheenaw,” said Spero. He was speaking of Leo’s behind.

“You were givin it a good inspection, huh?”

“You can’t help but see it. It’s like a billboard.”

“That’s all muscle back there,” said Leo. “That’s why I can’t wear those skinny Levi’s like you do. I got a man’s build.”

“Your father used to tell me to buy you Lees,” said Eleni, looking at Leo. “And he’d say, get Levi’s for Spero.”

“Lees had more room in the back,” said Spero helpfully. “To accommodate your manly build.”

“In the front, too,” said Leo.

“Stop it,” said Eleni. “More salata, Spero?”

“Entaxi,” said Spero, telling her that he was fine.

They spoke a combination of Greek and English when they were home. It made their mother happy. Neither Spero nor Leo was Greek by blood, but, somewhat defiantly, they considered themselves to be honorary Greeks. Both were Orthodox, raised in the church. Of the four Lucas children, they were the ones who had attended Greek school, an after-public-school program, when they were young, which they loathed at the time but which paid off with dividends later on. Both had played basketball in the Greek Orthodox Youth of America league as well. Spero had been a wrestler primarily but was a strong athlete and had held his own on the courts. Leo had been a standout point guard in high school, and in the church league he tore it up. He was thirty years old, and it had been twelve years since he had last played GOYA, but in the Baltimore-Washington corridor Greek guys of his generation, even those who had cursed him at one time, and a few who had muttered racial epithets under their breath at him, now spoke of Mavro Leo with reverence.

“Your sister called me,” said Eleni.

“Epitelos,” said Spero. It meant, roughly, that it was about time.

“What’d she want?” said Leo.

“Just to catch up,” said Eleni, noticing the look between Leo and Spero. Irene, the eldest of the siblings, rarely called home and visited even less frequently. She had made her break from the family long ago and had not looked back. As for Dimitrius, their older brother, Eleni knew not to mention his name in front of her younger sons. Leo in particular had no love for his older brother, whom he simply called the Degenerate, and couldn’t forgive the stress he had put on their parents. Leo didn’t care about his whereabouts or how he was doing. Eleni, of course, had forgiven Dimitrius for everything and would have embraced him without reservation if he were to walk through the front door. She didn’t speak on Dimitrius to Spero and Leo, but he was still in her thoughts constantly, and she prayed for him every day.

“What’s goin on with Irene?” said Spero, not much caring, appeasing his mother.

“She just won a case. Some corporate thing.”

“Big money,” said Leo.

“I suppose.” Eleni had a sip of wine, looked at the glass, and killed what was left. “How’s work going, Leo?”

“Good,” said Leo. “I got this class, all boys. I’m really enjoying it, and I think they are, too.” He looked at Spero. “You’re coming to visit, right?”

“For career day?”

“We don’t call it that. I bring in people who have had success, from different backgrounds, to show the boys their options. You got a story, man.”

“I’ll come in if you want me to.” Spero pushed his plate away. “What are they reading in your class, The Scarlet Letter, somethin like that?”

“We’re finishing up an Elmore Leonard,” said Leo.

“Which one?”

“ Unknown Man #89.”

“Good one.”

“Hell, yeah.”

“You can do that?”

“I gotta clear it, but I can teach pretty much any book I want.”

“You’re enjoying it,” said Eleni.

“I am,” said Leo. “I found my calling.”

“Better watch out for the big boss,” said Spero. “That superintendent gets a wild hair up her ass and you might be out on the street.”

“She’s not gonna fire me, man,” said Leo. “I do my job.”

“What about you, Spero?” said Eleni, her eyes slightly unfocused. “How’s things?”

“I’m busy.”

“Working on anything in particular?”