Another Mary
7
my family is from there. My mother came over here to marry a friend of her uncle’s, but when she arrived in the United States and met the fellow, she didn’t like him. Her uncle was angry because the friend had paid her passage, but she wouldn’t have anything to do with him, and there was a big spat. One of her uncle’s other friends from Croatia was there at the time, and he thought it was pretty funny, so he said to my mom, ‘If you won’t marry him, will you marry me?’” My mother looked him over and said, “Yeah, I will.’ So he paid the first guy for her passage, and my parents were married for forty years.” I love Mary’s stories, so I keep her going. “Where did you stay in Croatia when you visited?” “My cousins live in a little village—a selo. They took me sightseeing through castles and caverns and all the churches around. Yesterday I got a call from one of them, but in the middle of the conversation I forgot a word.” She shakes her head sadly. “No one is left here to speak Croatian with anymore, so I’m out of practice.” My interest intensifies, and I ask, “You speak Croatian?” “Of course I do. It’s just selo Croatian—the kind they speak in the villages, but that’s fine for what I need to say.” The language barrier is the main thing that has me worried . . . aside from the bullets and fifty-millimeter shells, of course. So I ask her if she would be willing to teach me a few words and phrases of Croatian. “Sure, honey, I’ll be glad to. Here’s a pencil—you better get started.”