In the absence of Charles, Old Iota never cooked beef. She preferred rabbit or chicken, the smaller animals of the land. The butcher’s youngest son, Geranium Leaves, made these deliveries to our front door. About a month after the birth of my blessed second, the butcher began to deliver Old Iota’s orders. He arrived in the early mornings with his hair combed and still wet, and he would ask if the Sióra was home. If told no, he would reluctantly leave the order plus a gift for me in Old Iota’s hands. He delighted in purchasing for me pastries and confections. Boxes full of kourabiedes, their little half-moons dusted with icing sugar; amygdalota, shaped like tiny pears, each studded with a clove for its stem; and pasteli, chewy and thick with sesame seeds. If I agreed to see him, then Old Iota would take Giorgio and Patricio out for a stroll.

Elesa, your eyes are betraying you. You must learn to hide their disgust, as the Sióra would tell you. Dear girl, do you think that I gave myself to this man of meats? I was not a fool, and I was not blind. Also, I could still smell him before he even turned onto my lane.

Reminding myself of his odor has soured my stomach. Pour me a glass of water, Elesa. Pour one for yourself too, if you would like. Or, perhaps, we should stop for that pot of tea now?

You would prefer to continue? Ah, I thought so. You are a very bright girl, Elesa.

Tip a bit of whiskey into that water glass. The flask is underneath the bed pillows. Then I will tell you what to do when life gives you a butcher.

Sióra Gazi said that whatever their profession—military commander, surgeon, landowner—when it comes to matters of the heart—the Sióra did not say “heart,” she said “flesh”—either a man is a butcher or he is not.

I laughed out loud when my butcher was an actual butcher.

You are polite to him. You look somewhat disappointed whenever he departs your company. You note where his eyes linger when he offers you his goodbyes. My butcher’s eyes were on my waist, which was not surprising, because his wife, like him, was barrel-shaped, her waistline lost long ago to her five children.

My blessed third is heavy within me now, so I know it is difficult to imagine me as I once was. My waist, corseted, same as yours, Elesa, could be encircled by a pair of male hands.