Page 71 of Symphony of Salvation

The tension between August and his daughter was masked in a classroom full of students. With only the three of us at the dinner table, static rippled the air. Constance’s smiles vanished. She focused on her plate, eating tiny bites of food between sips of a thickened beverage. A cloud hung over her head.

I cut into a cabbage roll, juices spilling from inside, fragrant steam billowing. “This looks incredible.” The filling consisted of minced pork, carrots, rice, and onions. “Not like the traditional cabbage rolls I’ve had in the past.”

“The Greek version is much better.” August watched as I brought a forkful to my mouth, blew the heat away, and tried it. An array of bold spices danced along my palate. “Oh, wow. That’s good.”

“You sound surprised.”

“No, it’s… Honestly, though. Is there anything you can’t do?”

A lot, Constance signed, and I chuckled.

I tapped her foot under the table. “Be nice.”

August shot his daughter a confused look that morphed into a frown. His pride seemed to prevent him from asking what he missed, but his perturbation glowed.

Instead of promoting what August perceived as petulant behavior, I filled him in. “She claims there’s a lot you can’t do.”

“I see.” He cut into his meal.

The strain between father and daughter brought the four walls of the already tiny cottage closer. “So, what standout Greek Christmas traditions should I know about?” I asked, hoping to stir conversation.

“Food.” August displayed his fork with a meaty cut of cabbage roll skewered on the tines. His smile was back, a faint spark emanating in the dark forest of his irises.

“And?”

August considered as he chewed. “In Greece, the big cities are lit with tens of thousands of lights for the holiday. In the smaller villages, markets sell all kinds of local foods and wares.” He tapped his wine glass. “We’re big fans of wine, in case you didn’t notice my fondness for the beverage.”

“Oh, I noticed. We have that in common.”

“Well, you’d fit in. You won’t find a Greek who doesn’t celebrate the holiday with at least a few bottles.”

Boat decorating, Constance signed, interrupting August’s and my shared moment.It’s more popular than decorating trees.

“Oh really?”

It’s done to honor St. Nicholas because he’s the protector of fishermen and sailors.

“Ah, and Greece is surrounded by water. That makes sense.”

“Constance.” August injected an edge of warning into his daughter’s name. “Could you please—”

She ignored him and continued to sign.Yiayaka and pappoúlsi have a boat. I used to help them decorate it when I visited for the holiday. Mom took me. Did you know, in Greece,you don’t get presents on Christmas day? It sucks. They make you wait until New Year’s Day. There was this one time when—

August smacked the table, leering at his daughter as he silently fumed. “You’re being rude.”

Constance glared right back.How?she signed, but even that simple gesture went over August’s head.

She rolled her eyes and resumed eating, stabbing her food with the fury of a killer out for blood.

August offered a tight, apologetic smile and focused on his meal as well.

Not wanting to come between the feuding pair, I didn’t ask follow-up questions about boats and grandparents, changing the subject, aiming to draw August away from the ledge. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No. Only child.”

I’m an only child, too, except my dad didn’t want me,Constance signed, nose in the air.

I didn’t translate for August and veered in a new direction.

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