Nomads

Chapter 3

Upon getting home that night, Luke found himself stuck in bed with a fever for the next few days.

A fever that was incredibly unwelcome and had put the already moody boy into quite a funk.

It did, however, give him plenty of time to think about all the things that Naomi had said that evening.

He was having such a hard time getting over it. He thought that by now he would have stopped feeling so restless every time his mind went back to that conversation. Her conviction, the burning fire behind her green eyes, the brokenness when she talked about her parents, the certainty, the sincerity. Everything about her was nothing like what he associated with religious people.

Any time he used to think of a Christian, he would picture a sour old lady wagging her finger and scolding with a condescending tip of her nose toward the air.

But now all he thought of was her dancing in the square, her laughing, her voice, her expressive face, her burning eyes, her... passion. It was like there was a force to be reckoned with that surrounded her.

Something was so familiar about it. Like he had seen it before or felt it before. It reminded him of his mother when he was little, when they'd come visit his grandparents in Greece. She used to have that... what was it? A glow? An atmosphere? It was on the tip of his tongue but he couldn't place it.

So he tossed and turned the first few days of his fever, replaying and dissecting every second of that day spent in Kypseli. The kindness behind Iosif's teasing, the laughter of the kids running around them, the peaceful atmosphere as the two men slaved over some silly shelf. He carefully thought through every detail he could remember about that conversation with Naomi.

And at around day two, he came to the conclusion that he didn't understand.

But he wanted to.

So he did what any curious and confused person would do. He began to ask questions.

His grandmother, bless her heart, fussed over him tirelessly as she nursed him back to health. Consequently, she was his first target in his effort to find answers.

"Γιαγιά," he croaked toward the end of day two, his resolve to wait until he could ask Naomi breaking. "I have a question for you."

She shuffled over to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and placing the back of her wrinkled hand on his forehead. "No, Luca, you are not well yet. And no, my boy, you cannot leave the house."

He rolled his eyes, swatting her hand away. "That's not what I was going to ask."

The old woman quirked a brow, letting her hand fall to her lap. "Oh? What were you going to ask me, then?"

"Γιαγιά, do you believe in God?"

She froze, not at all expecting that question to tumble from his lips. Clearing her throat, she replied, "Why yes, as a matter of fact I do. Why do you ask?"

"Why do you believe in God?"

She let out a breath of air, and in that moment Luke saw that his Γιαγιά had lived a long time, and considering the wrinkles on her face and the depth in her eyes, the passage of time and the hardships of life had taken their toll on her.

"Well, that's a rather complicated question that doesn't have a short, simple answer. Think you can bear with me as I tell you a story?"

He nodded, shifting under the many blankets to get comfortable.

She smiled at her beloved grandson, running her fingers through his hair. "Well, I guess I should start at the beginning. I was born into a Greek Orthodox home, and I was raised in the church. I grew up learning about the stories in the Bible from my mother and grandmother, who were incredible storytellers. I listened to the sermons in Ancient Greek every Sunday, I played with the other sons and daughters of the church members afterward as everyone sat around eating and talking. I grew up with them. I enjoyed my youth. I fell madly in love with your grandfather and married him. We moved to the US, and soon after I gave birth to my firstborn."