Majka

1. “What would induce a woman like you to go out with a boxhead like me?” Darko ambushes me outside Pet Valu on a sweltering July afternoon, hauls a 50 lb. bag of Purina Cat Chow up my apartment stairs then collapses in the doorway. Queer, musky sweat. Thighs like tree trunks.

2. Darko books a romantic Montreal getaway including a stopover at his mother Irena (aka “Majka”)’s apartment on Nuns’ Island. A tall, pigeon-toed woman in shiny gold pants and clashing print tunic is pacing in the lobby. “Here you are finally. What a lovely dress! Is that jersey knit?” “Um…maybe rayon?”

3. We sip wild thyme tea in tulip-shaped glasses on the plum velvet sofa. A sketch for Macedonian National Theatre’s 1949 production of Faust dominates the mantelpiece. Darko is hiding out in the guest room playing Donkey Kong. I fake spellbindedness for the next hour while Irena reminisces: “Did Darko tell you my parents were costume designers? I skated on those marble floors, sat in the orchestra pit and had a walk-on part as a tree branch. The theatre director’s soul was as black as your old hat. He had a face like a knitting-needle abortionist but my parents needed the money so we stuck
it out until I was ten…”

4. Tinned Cordon Bleu chicken on iceberg lettuce with vinegary coleslaw for dinner. My face erupts in welts from the unlabeled gold-tinted wine. I take an antihistamine in the soft-lit powder room. A framed 1959 Montreal Gazette wedding notice is mounted on a cream background. Highlighted in gold are breathless descriptions of socialite wedding attire. Pencil sketches of the women’s gowns fill the margins. “The bride wore an Albere model of white silk chiffon over palest pink, the hand-pleated bodice having a portrait neckline, tiny cap sleeves and a high-waisted effect.” “The mother of the
bridegroom wore an imported ensemble of honey beige lace, the short sleeves of the jacket banded with dark Majesty mink, a tiered hat of tulle in mink tones.”

When I ask Darko if Irena has wealthy connections his face twists oddly. “Are you kidding? When we came to Canada from Macedonia, she was a pieceworker. Majka and her mother sewed inseams for $1 an hour.”

5. During her surprise Toronto visit, Irena takes me aside. “Sunshine, I’d like you to have this scarf (a vintage orange and cream Hermès with a pattern of wild geese in flight). It’s perfect for your complexion if you wear a brighter lip colour. And Annee darling (She clasps my hand between her roughened paws), Darko is almost as boring as his father. I wouldn’t be angry in the least if you left him.”

6. Autumn Equinox. The Hermès geese grow skittish when the sun falls into place on the equator. On my first wearing, we fly all night and land in an airfield. The sign on the café reads: “Be Sure to Try Our Stuffed Waffles and Macedonian Plum Palacinki.” The geese are content to graze in a nearby field. They claim the late planted soybeans “are actually quite juicy with an ideal 14 percent storage moisture.” I’m wearing my super stylish scarf in a classic French knot. When I loosen the knot to dig into my waffles, I notice the three-toed digits stigmata-ed on my neck and am weirdly charmed.