Norman's Neighborhood

Ten

In the back part of the market, there was a private space for family use. Norman had followed the people through the rear entrance, keeping close by the elderly woman called Yaya as the dark-haired girl and the red-haired woman helped her into an old brown recliner.

"Look, Yaya, the dog is guarding you! He rescued you, and he's helping us keep you safe," the girl said. "Mom, don't you think he needs a treat?"
At the word "treat", Norman's ears lifted. That word usually meant he was going to be given something good...

The skinny woman paused to look up at her daughter as she tucked a soft micro-fleece lap robe around Yaya's legs.
"Go tell Dad what happened with Yaya, and ask him if he has something suitable for the dog." She brushed the loose strands of hair back from her face and pushed her coppery glasses up.
"Can you help me, Lina?" quavered the white-haired woman. Her brows drawn together, she stared at the younger woman.
"I'm Valerie, Yaya - your daughter-in-law," corrected the redhead softly. "Lina's not here, but I'll help you. What do you need?" Yaya's mouth opened, but she just continued to stare wordlessly at Valerie.

Norman saw a large, olive-complected man with curly black hair coming through the doorway, followed by Zoë - who carried a dish of something wonderful! His nostrils twitched in anticipation.
"Mom!" the man exclaimed, patting Yaya's shoulder, "I hear you have a protector. And you," he continued, bending down to pat the head of the big gray dog, "deserve a plate of kotopoulo me ryzi!" His mouth opened in a wide smile beneath a luxuriant black mustache, and he directed Zoë to set the plate down for the heroic dog.

Yaya peered up at her big son. "Sammy?" she inquired, in a rare moment of mental clarity, "Will you bring me some of that?" Sam Ganas threw back his head and laughed. "Sure, Mom! You deserve some too!" He looked with satisfaction at the appreciative dog, who was eating chicken and rice for the second time that day. This dish was flavored altogether differently from the food prepared by Evelyn Uluivuya, but both were ultimately satisfactory...

"I'd better get back out there - Zachary is by himself. Zoë, come with me and get a plate for Yaya." Sam motioned to his daughter, and she followed him to the market kitchen where he prepared house-made Greek specialties.

Zachary, her older brother, was at the register ringing up a customer; when he saw his father, he called out,
"Dad! How much spanakopita is left?"
"About a pan and a half," answered Sam.
"Hi, Sam," the woman - a regular customer - said, waving. "I'll take the half."

Zoë returned to the family room with a dish of kotopoulo me ryzi for her elderly grandmother. She also carried, at her father's suggestion, an empty bowl to fill with water for their canine guest of honor. When she entered the room, she saw that the big gray dog was busily licking his plate clean. He glanced up at her from under his bushy brows, then returned his concentration to removing every bit of food from the plate.

Valerie had wheeled over a hospital-style table to Yaya's chair. She cut up the chicken and handed a fork to her mother-in-law, while her daughter went over to the sink.
The old woman poked the fork into a piece of meat and put it in her mouth, sighing blissfully, "Ahhmmm..."
As Zoë was returning with the bowl, along with a glass of water for Yaya, there was a rattling at the back door.

"There's Zane," surmised Valerie, as the lock opened with a "Tchk!"
A stocky redheaded boy burst into the room like a small bull charging at its target. His curly hair was ruffled, his face pink, and his glasses askew. Plopping down on the worn blue couch across from the recliner, he puffed out his round cheeks and exhaled,
"Whooo..."
Norman recognized the boy as one of Todd's friends who had witnessed the encounter with Hansel, the dreadful dachshund.

Valerie raised her eyebrows at her younger son.
"You look like you've been dragged through a knothole backward!" she remarked. "Did you have fun?"
"Yeah - we had to go inside when it rained, though." Zane suddenly became aware of the furry presence at his grandmother's feet.
"What's that dog doing in here?" he asked curiously. Zoë answered,
"Yaya got outside, and I went after her. She was trying to cross the street, and this great dog grabbed her!"
Zane eyed his sister and pursed his lips.
"γιαγιά," he stated firmly, in an impeccable Greek accent - sounding more like he was pronouncing soft "g's" than "y's".

Zoë rolled her eyes and protested, "Mom - !"
Valerie narrowed her own eyes, pressed her lips together, and said sharply,
"Zane! Don't patronize your sister!" The boy's mouth opened preparatory to defending himself, but Zoë broke in hotly,
"I know you're studying Greek, Zane. I know you have an authentic accent. I appreciate that. But we've always just called her Yaya. She's not even full-blooded Greek herself, and she doesn't care if we don't call her the Greek word for grandma with a perfect accent!"

"Zoë - " their mother quietly said, twitching her head slightly toward Yaya, the object of discussion - who seemed oblivious to the conversation and was placidly eating her meal, "You make very good points, but let's tone it down. She might get upset if this goes on. Zane, you know we're all proud of what you're learning, and I'm sure you're saying it very well - but you need to learn some tact."
Yaya looked up from her plate and remarked, "It's all Greek to me."