“I think we should let the police deal with this,” Mel advised. “This chap obviously wants to get away from the nasty bribing wife beater and defect. The police will be able to help him.”
“I take it you haven’t met the incompetent Pancratius?” Evangelia asked with raised eyebrows.
“Well at least he will know who to contact to help this poor fellow with his wish to defect,” Mel insisted. “I’ll walk him over there now then head right back.”
Evangelia continued to clean. Determined the health inspector wouldn’t find anything amiss she filled the now drained fish pedicure tank with potted plants, pebbles and shells, hoping by transforming it into a decorative feature the health inspector would never suspect its original unhygienic purpose.
“Are yous in there Evangelia? I’ve a bag of tiddlers ‘ere if yous want ‘em,” Gorgeous Yiorgos called out.
Stepping outside Evangelia thanked the fisherman, explaining the salon wouldn’t need any more tank refills.
“Take ‘em anyway,” Yiorgos offered. “Yous could cook up a nice fish meze.”
“Oh really, no, I couldn’t,” Evangelia protested, nauseated by the very thought after hearing about the true source of the food poisoning epidemic. Not wishing to offend the kind-hearted fisherman she added “a gentleman is taking me out to eat.”
“Petula will be delighted to ‘ear that, she’s always sayin’ yous could do with a good man,” Yiorgos beamed.
“I forgot to ask Yiorgo, how’s your burned head doing?”
“It was nothing. I ‘ave to say coffee works a treat disguising my grey ‘airs, it looks much better than it did smeared with boot polish.”
“Sofia will be pleased to hear that scalding you wasn’t completely in vain.”
The pair was surprised to receive a pleasant greeting by the passing Pappas who they hadn’t run into since he’d been attacked in the church by crazy Koula.
“Did you hear the good news?” the Pappas asked. “Poor old Vasilis has come out of his coma, such a relief for his devoted wife. It is so ironic he should return to life on this very day, the day those heathens were promulgating as being the end of the world. Vasilis was pessimistically fearful his time on this earth would end on this day, but instead he has enjoyed a resurrection, it is truly God’s miracle. Of course he can’t remember his fears as he has no memory. Well I can’t stand here chatting all day; I must slip home before opening the church for the evening service.”
Gorgeous Yiorgos and Evangelia were both dumbstruck by the Pappas’ change of character. They had heard about his personality transplant but had dismissed it as so much nonsense.
“Ere Pappa, take this bag of tidddlers, yous will need to keep yous strength up if yous is just out of ‘ospital. They’ll make yous a lovely fish meze,” Yiorgos said, forcing the bag of tiddlers on the Pappas.
“Blessings, my child. I just hope my inferior cooking skills can do them justice,” the Pappas replied.
Walking home the Pappas smiled to himself, appreciating the salty sea fresh air after his hospital confinement. He waved cheerily to the fishermen tending their boats and offered jovial greetings to the men drinking coffee at the kafenion. Remembering how he used to enjoy taking his pet goat Krasi for long walks, before his estranged wife Petula turned it into road-kill whilst out for a driving lesson with her paramour, he determined to call in on Bald Yannis the next day and purchase one of his cutely dressed goats as a pet.
“Ah, the first tortoise of the year,” he fondly muttered, picking up the slow moving creature and placing it in an olive grove, safely away from any oncoming traffic, a completely out of character gesture for him as he would have previously derived a perverse pleasure from treating the tortoise as a football as long as he thought no one was looking.
Finally reaching home he was shocked to discover the house was like a pig sty. Recalling Iraklis’ mother, Kyria Syshpean, had spent the night there before he was so brutally attacked, he felt ashamed she had seen him living in such squalor.
Picking the broom up he began to attack the dusty cobwebs with gusto while planning his next church service. A timid knock on his door revealed the presence of a teenage girl with neon pink hair. After introducing herself Sofia made a suggestion that the Pappas, in his new charitable mode character, hadn’t the heart to turn down.
Chapter 34
Granny’s Fabulous Fungal Fighter
Arriving home from the hospital, Nitsa announced, “I needs to find myself a toy boy. Imagine the ‘orror of bein’ stuck with an old fool that cant’s even remember ‘is own wife.”
Fotini agreed with Nitsa there was no point in being married if you couldn’t recognise your other half, even though she was still under the deluded impression her husband was away doing business in Athens when in reality he’d been dead for ten years.
“The kitchen looks like a bomb site,” Nitsa observed, taking in the mess Fotini had created. “I thought Hattie was in charge of cleanin’ while we is out workin’ to supplement our meagre pensions.”
“I sent Hattie out to pick capers,” Fotini explained. “I ‘ave been experimenting to create my own line of a traditional herbal remedy to rid feet of fungus.”
“So that’s why yous is wearing K-Went-In’s hazmat suit. What’s in yous remedy?”
“I ‘ave created my special formula from capers, honey, olive oil, vinegar, oregano, an’ a secret ingredient.”
“What’s the secret ingredient then?”
“Spit,” Fotini cackled.
“Fotini, yous is a genius. We will ‘ave to come up with a brand name,” Nitsa praised, sticking her finger in the thick green sludge and declaring it ‘tasty.’
“Yous is meant to rub it in, but I’m sure we can come up some edible uses,” Fotini guffawed. “I was thinkin’ to call it the ‘Fungal Foot Fighter.’
“That’s brilliant, but ‘Granny’s Fungal Foot Fighter’ ‘as that extra appeal. Or if yous dropped the foot bit yous could market it as ‘Granny’s Fabulous Fungal Fighter’ - reaching all the extremities yous never knew could fester.”
“Nitsa, yous is so clever. I just ‘ope there’s enough fungal feet to make us a fortune.”
“Let me try it,” Nitsa demanded, slapping the green gloop onto her fungal patches. “My feet ‘ave been festering somethin’ terrible. We should sell some to Did-Rees, she’s plagued with warts.”
“I might ‘ave to stick a different label on the stuff an’ call it ‘Granny’s Wart Exterminator.’ We could say it is good for acne, too,” Fotini cackled, excited by the unlimited curative properties of the pungent green sludge. “An’ hair growth, we could market it as good for fixing baldness,”
“Do yous think the baldies would fall for it?” Nitsa asked.
“There’s nothing to fall for, it works. I only ‘ad my legs waxed the other night an’ after rubbing this stuff in they are sprouting thick black wiry ‘airs already.”
“I’ll take some round to Bald Yannis tomorrow, ‘appen I’ll let ‘im ‘ave it cheap if he lets me rub it into ‘is ‘andsome bald pate,” Nitsa chortled.
“Ere, dont’s be giving discounts,” Fotini objected.
“Yous do realise we caught this foul foot itch in Evangelia’s fish tank? We could demand free makeovers to keep our mouths shut,” Nitsa schemed.
“I cant’s see Mel letting us blackmail the hairdresser. It seems he’s gone a bit sweet on ‘er,” Fotini revealed. “He’s takin’ ‘er out on a first date tonight.”
“Well put on yous glad rags an’ we’ll go and gatecrash,” Nitsa cackled. “That gormless pair next door ‘ave booked a taxi so we can get Did-Rees to try out yous wart cure on the way.”
Next door Quentin was waiting as Deirdre dithered between twin-sets whilst fulminating as she still refused to get in the vomit smelling old banger, insisting on going to the taverna in a taxi.
“Why can’t we just walk there, it’s a lovely evening? I have no desire to be stuck in the taxi again with that old hag
from next door,” Quentin argued.
“You try walking with these warts and see how far you get,” Deirdre challenged. “Anyway, if we go in the taxi you can have an extra glass of wine.”
“I’ll need one if Nitsa’s been on the brandy,” Quentin sighed. A loud hammering on the door prompted him to ask “I wonder who that can be?”
Opening the door he was pushed aside by Fotini and Nitsa barging straight in, saying they too were going to make a night of it at the taverna.
Quentin and Deirdre gawped at the ridiculous spectacle the two old crones presented. Fotini was dressed in her usual hideous old lady dress, paired with leopard print wellingtons. Nitsa was done up in a shiny silver jumpsuit made of shimmering Lurex, the low cut neckline seductively revealing the top of her thermal vest. The trousers were way too long for her short stubby legs so she’d rolled them up in ludicrous cuffs that caught in the top of a pair of wellingtons that were the exact match of those modelled by Fotini.
“What on earth are you wearing?” Deirdre asked.
“Is yous jealous of our new fashionable wellies, Did-Rees? We got ‘em off the gypsy man’s shoe van,” Fotini preened. “Yous mother ‘as a pair just like ‘em, K-Went-In.”
“My glamorous outfit is one of the mail order floozy’s cast-offs. I thought I’d vamp up my sex appeal as I’m after a toy boy,” Nitsa cackled, tossing her hair extensions in a diabolically skittish parody of Masha.
“What happened to Fotis, I thought the two of you were back together?” Quentin asked
“I just cant’s be doin’ with ‘is interfering old bag of a mother. I ‘ad to give Fotis an ultimatum, I told ‘im it’s ‘er or me.”
“So he chose his mother?”
“I’ve no idea, he’s not called an’ he’s been nowhere near the ‘ospital to visit the old witch,” Nitsa revealed.
“Aren’t you worried about him,” Deirdre enquired.
“Dont’s be daft, he’s a grown man. We’ve brought you something for yous warts, Did-Rees. It is a traditional an’ natural cure handed down through the generations,” Nitsa lied, knowing full well Fotini had just invented it in her kitchen.
“That’s very kind of you, but I have some ointment from the pharmacy.”
“Po po, I bet it’s not working?”
“That’s true, it isn’t working. It is so embarrassing having warts,” Deirdre sighed.
“Wait till they spread an’ yous starts gettin’ ‘em on yous face and inside yous bloomers,” Fotini warned.
“Perhaps I will try your natural remedy after all,” Deirdre said, accepting an old yogurt tub with a filling of ‘Granny’s Fabulous Fungal Fighter.’
“We ‘ave to work on the packaging,” Nitsa said. “That’s right Did-Rees, just smear it in.”
“It will also get rid of yous acne, fungus and bald bits,” Fotini sagely advised.
“I don’t have acne or bald bits,” Deirdre snapped, wondering if the two old crones were deliberately trying to insult her.
“No, but I think K-Went-In is trying to hide something with that ghastly comb over,” Nitsa cackled.
“Actually, it does feel quite soothing. How much do I owe you?” Deirdre asked.
“Five Euros,” Fotini said.
“She means fifteen,” Nitsa corrected, rolling her eyes at Fotini. “It’s a bargain when yous think of all the things it can cure.”
“It ‘as capers in what do wonders for flatulence,” Fotini added, “just spread a bit on some crusty bread.”
“Well I have to say it’s worth every cent ladies, this is the first relief my feet have had all day,” Deirdre exclaimed, handing over the money. “Quentin, don’t just stand there, pour our guests a brandy.”
“But Nitsa’s driving the taxi,” Quentin objected.
“I’ll phone Pedros and tell ‘im to come an’ chauffeur us. We feel like lettin’ our ‘air down to celebrate our entrepreneurial skills in creating Granny’s Fabulous Fungal Fighter, Wart Exterminator, Acne Eliminator, Hair Growth Facilitator and Flatulence Extinguisher,” Fotini announced, snatching the bottle of brandy.
“That’s a bit of a mouthful. I think ‘Granny’s Traditional Greek Cure All’ has more of a snappy ring to it,” Quentin suggested.
“Perfect,” Fotini shouted, delighted with the catchy product name. “Nitsa, give K-Went-In a free smear under ‘is comb over.”
Chapter 35
Turning the Place into Blackpool
“What is it now, mother?” Prosperous Pedros demanded curtly. His patience was in short supply as he’d just been on a wild goose chase to the hospital to collect the donkey and drive it back to Astakos in the pick-up. With no sign of mail order Masha or the donkey he’d been forced to traipse through the hospital corridors to that old fool Vasilis’ bedside to find out where they were. Trying to get sense out of the dribbling amnesiac proved impossible.
Stavroula informed him Kyria Moustakos had taken the donkey outside when it created a disturbance, but neither the ancient old woman nor the donkey had been seen since. Fighting his natural instinct to flee, Pedros felt duty bound to see if any harm had befallen the old crone. Searching the local area he soon discovered Kyria Moustakos slumped over a glass of ouzo with no recollection of ever encountering the donkey. Gallantly throwing her over his shoulder he dumped her back on her hospital bed where she sprawled in a sozzled state, drunkenly tormenting Vasilis by telling him they were married.
Another fruitless search of the hospital grounds failed to disclose the donkey’s whereabouts. Pedros finally headed back to Astakos, looking forward to a plate of vegetarian chicken in the taverna. Now his mother was making chauffeuring demands, prolonging the pain of his insatiable hunger.
“Just pretend you dont’s know me when we get to the taverna,” he told Fotini. “I’m in no mood for any of yous outrageous antics.”
“Po, po, Pedro, everyone knows I is yous mother.”
“Po, po, Pedro, yous think we wants yous dull company? We is goin’ out to celebrate our new business venture, not to fraternise with fishermen,” Nitsa scoffed.
‘Mono Ellinka Trofima’ was bustling when they arrived. Bald Yannis and Soula had accepted mail order Masha’s invitation to join them, extended for selfish reasons as Masha felt safer in the company of Bald Yannis and his chainsaw whilst dastardly Dastan was still in the village. Toothless Tasos and Thea, accompanied by a phone engrossed neon-pink Sofia, were making the last of their precious few moments together in case Tasos was deprived of his freedom. Mel and Evangelia were huddled together playing footsie under the table, and the usual fishermen were boasting about their latest catches.
Fotini and Nitsa, causing quite a stir in their ridiculous outfits, completely ruined the romantic mood between Mel and Evangelia by inflicting themselves on them without so much as a by your leave. Mel rubbed his hands in excitement when the two old crones told him about their new business venture, and was soon dragged onboard, promising to take care of the marketing for ‘Granny’s Traditional Greek Cure All’ and persuading Evangelia to sell it in the beauty salon once production started.
Prosperous Pedros marched over to Masha, demanding to know why she’d not been at the agreed rendezvous spot with the donkey.
“Oh Pedro, it was so upsetting ‘aving my ‘usband come out of his coma and not recognise me, that I forgot all about the donkey. ‘Ang on, do yous mean yous didn’t bring the donkey ‘ome in yous pick-up like you promised?” she asked worriedly.
“The donkey was nowhere to be found Masha. I searched everywhere.”
“Great bowls of borscht, my ‘usband will kill me for losing ‘is precious donkey, if he ever remembers who I am,” Masha wailed, dabbing her eyes with the edge of the paper tablecloth. “What am I to do?”
Prosperous Pedros, mortified that he had made Masha cry by speaking so sternly, instantly promised to drive up the next afternoon to fetch the donkey home, if Masha could find it.
“Ooh Pedro, yous is so kind,” Masha sighed, batting h
er false eyelashes in a seductive gesture that went straight over Pedros’ head.
On the other side of the taverna Thea asked Sofia, “Where did yous get to earlier?”
“What?” the sulky teen snapped.
“Yous Nona asked where you popped out to earlier,” Toothless Tasos snapped back, annoyed the girl wasn’t speaking more respectfully to Thea.
“Did yous pop out to see Iraklis?” Thea asked.
“Oh no, he has to babysit some brat tonight. Can you imagine being stuck with a screaming baby?”
“That will be his boss’s baby daughter, Andromeda. Iraklis is very fond of the cute little darling,” Thea explained. “So if yous didn’t sneak out to see Iraklis where did yous get to?”
“I had private business to discuss with the Pappas,” Sofia smiled enigmatically, happy her visit had worked out as she’d hoped.
“I ‘ope she hasn’t gone and got religion,” Thea whispered to Tasos. “The last thing I need is a sulky teenage bible basher on my ‘ands.”
Their whispering was interrupted by Yiota coming over to take their order. Speaking loudly enough for everyone in the taverna to hear Yiota asked “What can I get yous this evening? The public health inspector was in earlier and he said never in all his days of inspecting kitchens ad’ he come across one so clean. We are officially the most hygienic taverna in the area. Now what do you fancy to eat?”
“Do you have any briam?” Sofia asked. “It’s my favourite.”
“Yous just told me yous hate briam when I said I had some at home,” Thea exclaimed confusedly.
“Well I do hate it if you expect me to heat it up. I love it when it comes ready hot,” Sofia reasoned.
A sombre silence suddenly descended when Dastan the Kazakh sauntered in as though he owned the place. The village men bristled with anger at the sight of the smartly suited foreigner dripping in gold, remembering how he had plotted to turn the rubbish dump into a gold mine by means of greasy bribes. Dastan surveyed the room with his dead mackerel eyes narrowing beneath his hairy monobrow, before strolling casually over to Masha who was bravely attempting to mask her fear.
Greek Capers Page 16
