Chapter 17 Good? Friday

It's long, but it's mostly dialogue between characters, so it should read quickly. There's also some discussion of religion. But best of all, more Poland!

On Good Friday, Onkel Vash went to an early service at a Protestant church, but everyone else either cleaned or got in each other's way in the kitchen. Maria helped Muti polish silver. "When are we going to color the eggs?" she asked.

"After lunch," Muti replied. "Onkel Roderich is boiling them now and then they need to cool." Vati wandered in with a ladder and a duster. He raised an eyebrow at the two females. "I now know why Austria insists on hosting us for Easter every year." He sneezed. "We do his spring cleaning for him!" He got on the ladder and starting dusting the chandelier, sending clouds and cobwebs onto the dining room table. Muti scolded him and he laughed, saying it was better to clean the lights now than after they had polished the table and changed the linens.

Maria went into the kitchen to get more silver to polish. Onkel Ludwig and Onkel Roderich were arguing about which recipe to use for the lamb cake, Tante Elizabeta was smashing garlic cloves for her soup, and Onkel Feliciano was rolling out pasta. Lithuania sat next to Hungary, peeling potatoes. Maria got the silver pieces and brought them back out to the dining room, where Vati was dusting the carved cornices that crowned the walls. Sometimes she wondered why adults put themselves to such trouble, especially when it caused people to quarrel.

"Can I take a break,Muti?" she asked and her mother nodded. Maria went into the kitchen, put some herring in wine sauce in a little bowl and stepped out into Austria's garden. She enjoyed the chance to get away from the bustle indoors and to sit alone with her thoughts among the daffodils, hyacinths and tulips.

She heard the side gate open and saw Poland come into the garden. He turned, mumbling and looking at a strand of beads in his hand. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going and he almost walked into her as he climbed up the stone steps. "Hey!" she cried.

The short wiry man pulled up, green eyes as wide as a startled horse's. He blushed and backed away. "Sorry, I, uh—"

"It's all right." Maria wondered why he was so awkward and nervous around her; she was just a kid, she thought. "That's a nice necklace," she said gently, nodding at the beads from which a cross dangled.

"It's a rosary," Poland muttered. He studied her. "You know what that is?" Maria shook her head. "You're, like, Lutheran, right?"

"I'm not any religion," Maria said. She knew Muti was Catholic and attended services in her own land, but she had never discussed it with her. And Vati claimed being East Germany had cured him of religion's madness. So they celebrated the Christian holidays, but she had never really thought about their significance beyond family celebrations and traditions.

"Oh Mój Bój!"1 The Polish nation plunked down next to her. "So you, like, have no idea what this day is about, do you? You must think it's like clean Austria's house day!"

"I know it had something to do with Jesus on the cross," Maria said. She didn't want him to think she was completely ignorant.

Poland huffed in amusement. "You bet, chickie! Today is when we remember the Passion, Suffering and Crucifixion of Our Lord Jesus Christ," he said solemnly. "I just came back from a Stations of the Cross Service at one of the Catholic churches. I was going to finish my rosary, break my fast, and then, like, get my cooking done before sunset."

Maria studied him. "You're like really serious about your religion."

Poland flicked his blond hair back. "My faith kept me going for, like, centuries. It kept me alive when your father and his buddies tried to wipe me off the map, when your uncle and father tried again to destroy me, and when that crazy monster Ivan tried to make me his little puppet." He turned to her, no longer shy or awkward, but proud. "You know who brought down Communism? A Polish pope and a Polish electrician!"

"Some people would argue otherwise," an unfamiliar voice said. Maria and Poland turned and saw Lithuania wiping his hands on a dish towel and leaning against the French doors that opened onto the back porch.

Poland waved his hand dismissively, "Tak, tak, I know you Balts are all, like 'Baltic Way' and 'Singing Revolution', but we totally got the ball rolling."2 He gestured for the other nation to come sit down. "Toris Laurinaitis, Republic of Lithuania. And this chickie is Gilbert's girl, Maria. She's going to be my neighbor someday, Mecklenburg-Vorpommern, tak?"

"Tak, będę," Maria replied, grateful for all the years her Polish au pair had cared for her.3 Poland grinned, his eyes unguarded for the first time. He nudged Lithuania, who good-naturedly smiled.

"Wieç mówisz Polską?" Feliks asked her. "Twój ojciec uczyć?"4

"Nie, mój au pair."5

"Good," Poland replied, returning to his strangely accented German. "Because he would have totally taught you only curses and insults."

"Feliks, that's a mean thing to say to his kid!" Toris exclaimed. He tapped the hand that held Poland's rosary. "Good Friday, Christ died for our sins, come on, man!"

"Sorry." Feliks returned to his blushing, mumbling self. He turned to Lithuania. "When are the potatoes going to be done? I'm like ready to faint."

"When you offer Maria here a real apology." Lithuania's blue-green eyes flashed at his partner.

Feliks sighed and turned to Maria. "I'm sorry for that little jab. And I'm, like, glad you're learning Polish and you seem like a cool kid." He smiled shyly. "Things really aren't that bad between me and Germany. Ludwig and I are like cool. And your dad, well…I asked him to forgive me for some bad stuff I did to him and he accepted. So we can be, like, civil to each other." He got up and dusted off his fine woolen pants. "Come by the kitchen later when I'm making my stuff." He and Lithuania went back to the house.

Maria went back to help her mother finish the silverware and fetch the extra serving dishes they would need for the Easter Sunday meal. "Muti," she asked, "why didn't you go to a church service today?"

Muti gestured at all the activity going on around them. "I was needed here," she said. "We have a lot to get ready for Sunday, Spatzchen."

"But isn't this the day Jesus died on the cross?" Maria persisted. She wondered how someone as good as her mother could see Good Friday so differently from a fellow Catholic nation like Poland.

"Ja," Muti said. She went back to checking the serving dishes for cracks or dirt. "Your Onkel Vash takes Good Friday very seriously."

"But he's not Catholic and you are," Maria said slowly. She edged over and looked down over her mother's shoulder, watching her small hands wipe the antique porcelain platter. "Poland's Catholic too, and he just told me he came back from a church service."

Muti turned and looked up at her. Her dark green eyes were serious. "Some nations are more devout about their religions than others. Some like to focus on suffering and martyrdom, and others on reconciliation and joy. Some are very fussy about following rules and others are more flexible." She turned back to the serving ware. "Maria, it wasn't my place to decide about your religious education. It was your father's and he decided that religion causes more trouble than it's worth."

Maria thought about what Poland said about his faith sustaining him for centuries. Then she thought about how her history teachers and books said so much misery had been caused by religious differences: Christian crusaders against Muslims, Christians against Jews, Catholics against Protestants. On the news, she heard stories about rallies in different German states and cities against Muslims, or fundamentalist Christian missionaries from the United States. How could someone derive comfort from something that made mortals and nations so upset with each other?

"Ja, Easter is about the resurrection of Christ," Muti continued. "To Christians, that's about redemption from our sinfulness and hope that we are forgiven and loved by God. But to me," and her voice started to quaver, "it is about the love we have for each other and how that love can save us and give us hope for better lives. Love allows us to forgive and be forgiven. Love redeems us." She wiped her eyes, excused herself and left the dining room.

Maria stared after her mother. She didn't mean to make her feel like a poor excuse for a Catholic. "Muti, wait," she called, but her mother had gone upstairs. I better not make it worse, she thought, and she wiped off the rest of the serving dishes. It was the least she could do, she decided.

Austria spread some dye-splattered sheets over the dining room table and announced it was egg-coloring time. He, Northern Italy, and Poland had claimed the kitchen for their cooking, so Hungary, Lithuania, Switzerland and Maria found themselves with little bowls of various dyes, cartons of hard-boiled and hollow eggs, various glitters and stickers.

Lithuania ignored the latter and set up a little decorating station of his own. He set up a tea candle in a shot glass and a shallow metal bowl on top of it. He took out a block of beeswax and shaved some pieces of it into the bowl. Maria watched over his shoulder as the wax melted and he took out a stylus, dipped it in the wax and began drawing a design on an egg. "That is so cool," she breathed.

Toris turned around and smiled at her. "Not done yet." He dipped the egg in green dye. "Now we wait." He removed the bowl from the candle and added more wax. "We take the egg out of the green dye and now we add more designs." Maria, watched, fascinated at how he added more wax strokes with practiced assurance. "Now, we put it in the blue dye over there and wait." He started on a new egg and then directed Maria to take the first out of the blue. "Put the second egg in the yellow dye," he directed, "take out and dry off the first and bring it and that old handkerchief over here." She did and watched as he hovered the egg over the candle. The wax melted and he wiped it off. The egg was now a deep turquoise blue with green and white geometric designs. "And you have genuine Lithuanian margučiai."6

"News flash, Toris," Hungary sniffed. "You're not the only one who can do this." She went into the kitchen and came back with a small electric hot plate, a miniature frying pan and her own stylus. Lithuania shaved off some wax for her and she melted it in her pan and began working on her own egg.

Maria was intrigued; this was a lot more artistic than slapping bunny stickers or glitter on an egg! "Can I try?" she asked and Lithuania nodded and handed her the stylus. Working with the wax was tricky, because it seemed to have a mind of its own; it dried quickly and she needed a fresh dip in the melted wax for every line she wanted to make. But each design got a little better. She dipped it first in red, then in blue, and was happy when Toris told her it was a good first effort.

The afternoon fled in a cacophony of song: Lithuania and Hungary sang their own Easter hymns, Italy's tenor voice floated opera arias from the kitchen, and Austria started blasting St. Matthew's Passion over portable speakers. It was too much for tone-deaf Maria; she remembered Poland's invitation to join him in the kitchen. She fled there and saw him kneading a raisin-studded dough.

"Mogę ci pomóc?" She asked.7 It had been one of the earliest phrases Sofia had taught her.

Poland startled, turned and relaxed when he saw her. "Tak, chickie. Knead this dough for five more minutes, shape it in a loaf, put it in that pan, cover it with a cloth, and let it rise. Then you can help me with the chrzan."

"What's that?" Maria asked.

"Grated horseradish root with some beet for sweetness and color." Poland hummed happily as he grabbed a grater and what looked like a giant, knobby beige carrot. "It's like totally fabulous with ham and eggs!"

Northern Italy opened his eyes with alarm. "Per l'amor di Dio, Polonia!8Grate that stuff outside! It makes me cry worse than onions!"

Poland huffed and looked at him. "You're, like, always putting dried hot pepper on stuff!"

"Vee, that's my brother!" Feliciano wrung his hands. "Please, Feliks, it'll stink up the kitchen!"

"Whatev." Poland sighed. He grabbed a bowl. "Come on, chickie, let's do this on the porch."

Maria and Feliks sat down on the cold stone patio and Feliks began grating the horseradish into the bowl. "We'll take turns," he said. "I start tearing up, and then it's your turn, tak?"

Maria nodded, eyes already stinging. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure, but I don't have to answer."

"You said your faith gave you strength during the centuries. But how can that be when it causes so much fighting and suffering?" Maria was barely able to finish as tears ran down her cheeks.

Poland shrugged. "It allowed me to believe things would get better, that my suffering had meaning. It wasn't just random and pointless. Just like Christ suffering on the cross wasn't just because some of the people in Jerusalem were threatened by him; he underwent the whipping and nails and hours in the sun for something greater than politics." He paused and wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve and then continued grating. And people get into fights because they believe their ideas about God and how to worship Him are better than others. If you believe your way is the right way, then you want to correct everyone who's doing it wrong, tak?"

"But who's to say whose way is right or not?" Maria kept wiping her eyes. The stupid horseradish was making her cry harder than a Walt Disney movie.

"God does, in the end. But maybe we see it in results on earth. My way, like, led to the collapse of an oppressive government; others' ways lead to reigns of terror. 'By their fruit you will recognize them.'9 Your turn." He shoved the bowl and grater towards her.

Maria grabbed the horseradish root and began grating. The pungent root overwhelmed her and she had to wipe her eyes after only grating a few times. Poland was staring at her, puzzled and amused.

"Pryzko mi," she gasped, putting the root down.10 Poland shrugged and took the root and bowl from her.

"You tried. I'll finish this up and then I'll show you how to make butter lambs." He resumed grating and then paused to wipe his eyes. "Say, you want to go to church with me, Liet, and Austria to get the food baskets blessed tomorrow?"

"Sure." Maria thought it sounded more interesting than cleaning and cooking.

"Dobry!11Now go wash your eyes and face with cold water so your parents don't think I was, like, making fun of you or something."

Maria went back to the kitchen and helped Onkel Roderich prepare pickled beets. When Poland returned and finished mixing the horseradish relish, he pulled out some tiny lamb molds and showed her how to pack softened butter into them. "They're like totally cute!" he exclaimed. "I wanted to bring the lamb cake, but Roddy told me that he and Ludwig were going to make it. So I was like,'fine, gotta let the Germans think they're good at something.'"

"I'm not German," Austria retorted.

"Nie, you're good people, Roderich. You were like a total gentleman to my sister Krakow during the partitions." Poland looked up at Austria and smiled. Roderich nodded and resumed slicing red cabbage. Feliks turned to Maria. "Did you know that he was like a dad to your mother, chickie? He made her a principality and looked after her. When your dad and Germany tried to recruit her in the German Confederation, she was like 'no thanks,' and Austria kept an eye on her until the end of the First World War."

Maria looked at Austria. "So are you like my grandfather?"

Poland and Northern Italy began to laugh. "Dziadek Austria! Nonno Austria!"12 Austria blushed. "Stop it, you two!" To Maria's surprise, they did.

She went back to the dining room and saw her mother had returned. Muti and Hungary chatted and decorated eggs together, while Lithuania was engrossed in his own complicated patterns. Maria remembered how hurt her mother had seemed earlier that day and she went over and hugged her. "Ich liebe dich, Muti," she whispered.

"Ich liebe dich auch, Liebling." Muti looked up at her and Maria thought how sweet her mother was; her classmates told her stories about busy mothers, scolding mothers, sarcastic, jealous mothers, and promiscuous mothers who brought sketchy predators into her friends' lives.. Suddenly she realized how lucky she was to have someone like Muti.

"Muti, Poland asked me to go with him and Lithuania and Onkel Roderich to church tomorrow to bless the food baskets. Can I go?"

Muti looked up, her round youthful face alight. "As far as I am concerned, ja, you certainly may go. But you should also check with Vati."

"Where is he?"

"I think he and your Onkel Ludi discovered a plumbing problem in the main bathroom on this floor. Go check there."

Maria went to the bathroom, and sure enough, her father and Onkel Ludwig were arguing with each other under the bathroom sink. She knocked on the doorframe and they banged heads, cursing.

"Uh, Vati, can I go with Onkel Roderich and Poland and Lithuania to a church to bless food tomorrow?"

Her father wrinkled his brow at her. "We're not Catholic."

"I know," Maria said, "but they invited me and I want to go."

"Why?" Her father emerged from the bathroom sink cabinet. "We've been coming to Austria's house for Easter for several years and you've never wanted to go to church until now."

"Let her go," Onkel Ludwig said. "She's older now. Maybe she's curious."

Vati looked at Onkel Ludwig and tightened his mouth. "Why hasn't she shown any interest in a Lutheran or Reformed church?" He turned to look at Maria. "I notice you didn't ask to accompany Onkel Vash to a Good Friday service today."

Maria felt uncomfortable, as if she were betraying a whole side of her family. "They're getting some food baskets blessed tomorrow," she mumbled. "It sounded interesting."

Vati stared at her, and for the first time, she felt like a stranger. He's mad at me, she thought, why?

"Go." Onkel Ludwig said. Her father turned towards him and looked stunned. "Go," her uncle repeated. "And on Sunday, you will go with me and your Onkel Vash to a Protestant Easter service. Do we have a deal?"He offered his large, broad hand to her.

Maria took it, even as she felt like a traitor to her father. "Ja, Onkel. It won't be too early, will it?"

"But the sunrise services are so meaningful!" her uncle said and he winked at her. "Nein, we'll go to one at a reasonable hour. We'll be back in time for the whole Easter feast."

"Danke, Onkel. Danke, Vati." Maria looked at her father but he refused to return her gaze.

See? The world didn't end and we got more Poland, and I give you some springtime in winter. I try to please :) And reviews please me. I'd love to hear from you, especially long-time silent readers!

1 Polish: Oh my God!

2 23 August 1989, millions of citizens of the three Baltic states—Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia—joined hands in a human chain that went from one capital to another as a way to draw attention to the 50th anniversary of the of the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact and the secret clauses that led to the Soviet occupation of the three republics. The Singing Revolution is a term used to label the series of events from 1987 to 1991 that led to the independence of the Baltic republics from Soviet Rule. It refers specifically to the mass demonstrations of Estonians singing national songs, hymns and other songs forbidden by the Communist government. These demonstrations led to the eventual declaration of Estonia's independence in 1991.

3 Polish: Yes, I will

4 Polish: so you speak Polish? Did your father teach you?

5 Polish: no, my au pair.

6 Lithuanian: Easter egg

7 Polish: Can I help you?

8 Italian: for the love of God, Poland!

9 Gospel of Matthew 7:20

10 Polish: I'm sorry

11 Polish: Good!

12 Polish and Italian for Grandpa Austria