My
first memory of Cousin Toula is of her sneaking a drag on a cigarette—actually
several drags, I think it was my husband, Nick's cigarette—and blowing the
smoke into the darkness of a warm Greek summer night. It was something similar
to what I'd done with one of my friends more than ten years prior, while sitting in the
wooded area near my house. Two American thirteen-year-olds experimenting. But
Toula was not a teenager and she was not experimenting. It was 1983 and we were twenty-something-year-old
young women in the small village of Margariti. Even I who wore short shorts and
tight tube tops at home in New York but long sundresses in Margariti, knew that
Toula was playing a dangerous game, this female-smoking-a-cigarette thing.
I immediately liked her.
When I met my sister-in-law, Eftihia, for the first time, she was wearing jeans—long
legged Levis. She was the only pant-wearing woman I saw in the village as well
as in the small city of Igoumenitsa. Again, it was 1983 and I myself was clad
in a dark colored dress of conformity. My jeans were strictly for
the plane ride to and from New York. But Eftihia explained (though no
explanation was necessary as logic made it obvious) that carting wood for
cooking, trekking to the spring to get drinking water and the heavy laborious
work in the house made dress-wearing a ridiculous idea. Those around her tried
to make her see the reasoning in conforming to societal rules. But she wasn't
having any of it. In fact, when a naughty male passenger had a bit of a feel on
a crowded bus one day, she turned around and punched him in the face and made
his advances known to all. It never happened again. Not to her anyway.
Cousin
Toula, against strong and fearsome objections from her father, opened a bar in
Margariti. Yes, a bar! She tended to drinks and conversation for over fifteen
years—against threat of disownment and humiliation. She followed her own path—swam
against the tide and made a good living for her family.
Eftihia
negotiated her own marriage. The young men who were smitten with her—she was a
beautiful woman—had to agree to her terms or there would be no deal. In the end
her current husband listened and agreed as she laid out her expectations and
objectives for married life. Whether or not it went as she expected—I’ve never
met a woman whose expectations of marriage bore fruit—it didn't matter. She
did the unthinkable. She laid out what she wanted in her future husband rather
than accepting what was expected.