Quentin and Deirdre were much impressed with the simple peasant fare and had to admit the raw garlic was a bit of a hit and the chips were the best they’d ever tasted. “Apart from the bread, I grew everything yous is eating. Yous will ‘ave to come back for Easter, she does a delicious roast goat an’ perhaps yous could bring Fotini with yous,” the old goat herder invited, asking “Is she still a looker?”
Fortunately Quentin and Deirdre minded their manners to not speak with their mouths full so evaded the question by just nodding blankly. “Oh well a lot of years ‘ave gone by,” the goat herder said wistfully, misinterpreting their reluctant nods as the Greek way of saying no.
Quentin didn’t need to feign interest in some of the interesting tales about life in the olden days Pedros regaled them with, but Deirdre was less enamoured by the experience as she fought a constant battle to remove his gnarled groping hand from her knee. Her second visit to the toilet resulted in a fresh batch of bleeding mosquito bites which Pedros insisted on treating with a bottle of vinegar. By the time Deirdre needed the bathroom a third time she was reduced to scoping out the nearest olive tree.
The sun set over the sea long before Adonis the mechanic finally showed up and towed their banger back down the mountain. “Can you imagine Fotini’s face when we tell her we spent the afternoon in the company of her old admirer?” Quentin laughed.
“Oh, does that mean you plan on speaking to her again?” Deirdre asked in relief, hating Quentin’s ongoing feud with the neighbours. They had just passed the goat standing in Prosperous Pedros’ boat when Quentin said, “Isn’t that Masha waving frantically? I wonder what the matter is,” just as the silicone bride leapt in front of Adonis’ truck.
After a frantic conversation with Adonis involving lots of gesticulations, Masha climbed into the back seat of the broken down old banger, exclaiming, “Thank goodness Adonis stopped. This is an emergency; Adonis has agreed to tow us to the hospital.”
“Are you having the baby already?” Quentin panicked.
“Of course not, it’s not due for six months. Vasilis is dying. I should have gone with ‘im in the taxi, but Fat Christos and Bald Yannis took charge. Then the doctor phoned and said I needed to be there, but I couldn’t get a ride anywhere. I hope you don’t mind the detour.”
“You can rely on us in an emergency,” Quentin assured her, having been given no choice in the matter.
“Maybe I should ‘ave climbed in the tow truck with Adonis,” Masha said as her olfactory senses were assaulted by the pungent stench of raw garlic, vinegar and old goat herder reeking from the Americans. Winding the window down she stuck her head out, complaining “this is the first time I’ve ‘ad any morning sickness.”
As the car was towed into the hospital car park Masha rushed out after telling Quentin and Deirdre, “If yous is comin’ inside to see Vasilis yous might want to stop at the pharmacy first for some soap and toothpaste.”
The doctor was hovering in anticipation as Masha burst into Vasilis’ hospital room with her silicone bosom still straining against her ‘Bun in the Oven’ tee-shirt, crying “Is he dead then?”
Rushing to her husband’s bedside Masha proclaimed “what ‘ave yous done to ‘im, he didn’t have a bleeding ‘ead when he left Soula’s?”
“That would be Nitsa’s driving,” Fat Christos explained. “The doctor says he will live, but he’s still a bit faint.”
“What’s wrong with ‘im doctor?” Masha demanded.
“Well it’s a very delicate matter,” the doctor began, slipping an arm round Masha’s waist to steer her out of the room and nearly asphyxiating her with his newly applied aftershave. “Did I mention I’m a huge fan? Could I have your autograph?”
“There’s nothing delicate about it,” boomed Bald Yannis, “yous said the old fool overdosed on Viagra.”
“Don’t be daft, he gave up Viagra when I got pregnant, the chemist recommended he swap to horny goat weed if he was feeling a bit down in the bedroom department,” Masha scoffed, visibly paling when the smitten old doctor waved the empty pill bottle under her nose. “Why ‘ave yous been taking Viagra Vasili, ‘ave yous got another woman?” Masha angrily accused.
“I swear I ‘aven’t touched any Viagra Masha, the only pills I swallowed were some painkillers for a bit of a headache I ‘ad.”
“The evidence says otherwise,” the doctor pronounced, nodding his head towards Vasilis’ rampant manhood.
“I ‘ave to admit I ‘ad a bit of trouble seeing the label on account of my blinding headache,” Vasilis confessed. “Perhaps I grabbed the wrong bottle.”
“Yous stupid old fool, I told yous you needed reading glasses but yous was too vain to wear ‘em,” Masha shouted.
“You mustn’t excite yourself my dear, not in your condition,” the smitten old doctor advised with a lecherous look, handing her the dripping bunch of reception flowers. “If you ever need a personal physician I’ll be more than happy to be on call.”
“Does that offer stand for all the pregnant women in the village or just the famous ones?” Bald Yannis demanded to the doctor’s embarrassment. “I’ve ‘ad enough of this, can we leave now? Do we ‘ave to drag Vasilis back to the taxi or are you keepin’ ‘im in overnight?”
“The old man should stay in case he develops palpitations,” the smitten old doctor said, jumping to the erroneous presumption Masha would stay at her husband’s bedside.
“I hope yous don’t expect me to stop and look after ‘im, I ‘ave to get ‘ome to feed the donkey,” Masha shouted, using the donkey as an excuse because she loathed hospitals.
“Well someone really should stay by his bedside, you know it is the custom,” the doctor said, hoping to shame Masha into spending the night, during which time she would no doubt fall for his superior charms.
“It wouldn’t look right if we left him ‘ere all alone with no one to run after ‘im,” Fat Christos said, hastily adding “but don’t look at me, I ‘ave to get back to Tassia an’ the baby. Andy won’t sleep till I’ve made all the faces an’ done the dance from ‘Mariza the Stubborn Donkey.’ Tassia can’t waggle ‘er ears just right.”
“Well dont’s look at me,” Bald Yannis said. “Agapimeni wont’s settle unless I tuck ‘er into bed.”
“Well dont’s look at me,” Nitsa joined in “I ‘ave to drive Fat Christos back to ‘is baby and Bald Yannis back to ‘is goat.”
“But someone ought to stay,” Fat Christos persisted, “It ain’t right to leave ‘im ‘ere without no one. It’s just not done.”
“Is this the right room?” Quentin and Deirdre asked, tentatively entering. They were completely taken by surprise at the rapturous welcome they received as the others pushed them into the chairs surrounding Vasilis’ bed.
“It is so good of yous to volunteer. I always say K-Went-In and Did-Rees is so kind,” Masha gushed, backing out of the door in hot pursuit of Nitsa, Bald Yannis and Fat Christos.
“Volunteer for what?” the hapless Americans asked, perplexed to discover the room was now empty apart from Vasilis and an apparently living corpse in the adjoining bed.
“I think yous ‘ave been volunteered for the Greek custom of spending the night by the hospital bedside of yous loved ones,” Fotis explained, returning from the bathroom. “Now yous are ‘ere I dont’s suppose you’d mind an extra one. Can yous keep an eye on mother? I’ll be back in the morning.” With that Fotis legged it from the hospital room, screeching “Nitsa wait up, yous knows I love you.”
“What just happened?” Deirdre asked, flummoxed by the strange turn of events. “Do they really expect us to spend the whole night in this hospital room?”
“I rather think they do,” Quentin groaned, peering out of the window and seeing his old banger being towed out of the car park closely followed by Nitsa’s taxi and Fotis’ car. They were startled from their reverie by Kyria Moustakos croaking, “’Ere pass me the bedpan.”
The American pair turned in horror towards the spectacle of a sp
eaking skeleton and declared “we’ve been well and truly lumbered.” Deirdre, treated to an unwanted eyeful of Vasilis’ unfortunate condition proclaimed “it’s positively indecent.”
Chapter 32
The Pious Malaproper Arrives
Koula was lurking furtively by the harbour as Nitsa’s taxi sped away to the hospital with its comatose cargo. Reluctant to tear herself away from the window of the taverna where she’d been ogling Prosperous Pedros, she reminded herself she had a mission to extricate him from the ‘goat on a boat’ dilemma she had eavesdropped upon. Creeping past the line of fishing boats gently bobbing in the harbour she spotted Pedros’ boat with the tethered goat standing upright in the moonlight, and unsteadily lowered herself into it. Tenderly petting the goat Koula whispered, “Now you can either hop onto shore or we’ll have to swim for it.”
Untying the floating goat she tossed a handful of carrots onto dry land to tempt it from the boat. The seasick goat was happy to gambol free and Koula reminded herself to return later to sweep up the droppings. As she attempted to mirror the goat’s leap onto dry land the boat lurched and Koula fell into the sea with a resounding splash. The goat waited patiently, hopeful she had more carrots in her pocket, as she hauled herself from the water.
Koula was leading the goat back to the harbour-side house when she spotted the Pappas approaching, his signature black robes flapping behind him. Keeping her head down she muttered “Kalispera,” hoping he wasn’t the type of priest who would want to question her dripping appearance on the pretext of converting her to his God-bothering ways. The Pappas had other things on his mind. He was on his way to the bus stop to meet Iraklis’ mother and the sight of a dripping wet woman walking a goat by moonlight barely registered with him.
Kyria Sisyphean climbed down from the bus, complaining she had been forced to endure the company of heathens throughout the long journey from Aprositos. “Now tell me Pappas, what was so urgent I had to rush to Astakos? Has Iraklis suffered an accident requiring a donation of one of my organs? I know how clumsy he can be.”
“No, nothing like that. The ungrateful boy has turned his back on the church, jacking it all in for a poxy job at the supermarket. I hope you can persuade him of the error of his ways. Personally I blame the corrupting influence of Mrs Kolokotronis.”
“Who’s she then?” Kyria Sisyphean asked suspiciously.
“The woman he’s living with,” the Pappas replied venomously, omitting to mention Mrs Kolokotronis was a respectable granny.
“My Iraklis is shacking up with some trollop? Take me there at once Pappas; words will have to be posted. This is most intolerant.”
Getting the gist of the woman’s malapropisms the Pappas hoisted her suitcase onto his shoulder, saying “Allow me to lead the way.”
“What’s all this banging in aid of? You’ll wake the baby,” Mrs Kolokotronis hissed angrily, opening the door to the Pappas and his companion. Andromeda started wailing at the top of her lungs, prompting Mrs Kolokotronis to cry out “Irakli, give Andy that cuddly syphilis love, it will calm her down.”
“Babies and syphilis, you have been busy corrupting my son,” Kyria Sisyphean sneered accusingly, rudely pushing her way into the house. “Irakli, show yourself at once, you have some expletives to do.”
“I think you mean explaining mother,” Iraklis corrected, daring to stand up his mother. “Did you even open the dictionary I bought for your Name Day?”
“How dare you speak to me like that after all I endured bringing you up single handed after your father ran off with a flummox.”
“Does she mean floozy?” Mrs Kolokotronis asked the Pappas.
“She appears to have a rather loose grasp of language,” he replied. “But nevertheless she is here on a mission to persuade Iraklis he has erred and has a duty to return to the church.”
“It looks like it is too late Pappas. If Iraklis has been living in sin with this woman then the church won’t want him back. Being a filthy proglifate isn’t pious and churchly,” Kyria Sisyphean said, making the sign of the cross over her bosom as Iraklis started openly weeping.
“Is yous accusing me of being profligate with yous son, you deluded woman? Cant’s you see I am old enough to be his granny,” Mrs Kolokotronis shouted, wiping up Iraklis’ tears with the edge of her pinny. “There, there,” she comforted him “I knows yous said yous mother was an ‘ard woman, but she appears to be devoid of any ‘uman kindness. How can our innocent friendship be so misconstrued?”
Pointing a finger at the Pappas, Mrs Kolokotronis continued, “It was yous puttin’ filthy ideas in ‘er ‘ead yous wicked man. Yous is never ‘appy unless yous is meddling in other peoples affairs.”
“So it’s true you are having an affair,” Kyria Sisyphean yelled, determined to see sin everywhere.
“It is not true, and keep your voice down,” Mrs Kolokotronis commanded, “Do you think the baby needs to ‘ear all yous carrying on?”
“Irakli, I demand to know just how long you have been keeping this baby of yours a secret from me. Your behaviour is an utter dislocation.”
“Can you explain how Iraklis helping me babysit my granddaughter is disgraceful? You have a mind like a sewer,” Mrs Kolokotronis pointed out, interpreting the other woman’s meaning.
“Po po, you won’t find a more pious woman than me in the whole of Hellas. I’ve never had a sinful thought in my life.”
“But you presume everyone else is steeped in sin mother, and now you think it of me? A good Christian woman wouldn’t see the worst in everyone. I’ve always done your bidding, but it was intolerable living with this fraud of a Pappas who only wanted a live-in dogsbody. Mrs Kolokotronis has shown me nothing but genuine warmth in her loving home and I honour her like a grandmother,” Iraklis declared.
“And I’d thank you to leave now, yous ‘ave upset the lad enough” Mrs Kolokotronis added, pushing her unwelcome visitors towards the door. Andromeda chose that moment to hurl her cuddly syphilis at the departing pair, achieving a bull’s eye on the back of Iraklis’ mother’s head. About to accuse the baby of sinful behaviour, Kyria Sisyphean bit her tongue, pondering if perhaps the Pappas had deliberately misled her and if she had over reacted by jumping to the wrong conclusion.
As the door slammed behind them Mrs Kolokotronis swept Iraklis into a grandmotherly embrace, saying “Yous is a good loyal boy Irakli, never once revealing the extent of how ghastly that woman is. Yous ‘ave a ‘ome here as long as you want it. Now come through to the kitchen an’ I’ll fry up some loukamades with honey.”
“They have a point about returning to the church. You feed me up so heartily the only clothes that still fit me are the loose clerical dresses I used to wear,” Iraklis joked.
Chapter 33
Goatly Goings On
“The coast is clear,” Koula whispered to Quentin’s stolen goat, watching the Pappas head off to the bus stop. She was careful to ensure no one saw her sneaking round the back of the harbour-side house where she gave the goat a leg up through the open kitchen window.
“Now don’t go bleating, we don’t want any goatly goings on to alert anyone we are here,” Koula warned the goat as she emptied the soggy pockets of Deirdre’s cast-off coat prior to turning it into a comfortable bed for her goatly guest.
“These photos of Pedros will need drying out by the oven,” she lamented, separating the dampest ones from the rest which she sellotaped all around the mirror Thea had rescued from the landfill site. “Ooh that’s handy,” she continued to herself, discovering Deirdre had left a lipstick in the coat pocket. “It’s a bit pink for my taste,” she chattered, drawing a rose coloured heart on the mirror and filling it with the word ‘Pedros’.
“Now you behave,” Koula instructed the goat, feeding it more carrots and frantically dusting the dressing table before placing Pedros’ neatly folded purloined pullover in the centre of a circle of lighted candles. “I have to get back and sweep up your droppings from Pedros’ boat. You know, seeing the Pap
pas gave me an idea, tomorrow I will stop by the church and book it for my wedding. It will be a lovely surprise for my sweet Pedros. I’ll just give him a quick call before I leave.”
Koula smiled manically as the object of her adoration answered his mobile phone, but instead of replying to his tetchy query of “who is this?” she satisfied herself with a bout of heavy breathing.
“Who was that then?” Tall Thomas asked as Prosperous Pedros hurled his mobile phone across ‘Mono Ellinika Trofima.’
“There was no one there. I have been plagued all day with these pesky calls from a heavy breather. I’m guessing it is a rival fisherman trying to wind me up,” Pedros said.
“Is that a new pullover, Pedro?” Yiota enquired, knowing how much Prosperous Pedros loathed going shopping.
“No, it’s an old holey one that ‘as been darned, but for the life of me I don’t remember doing it and mother swears she ‘ad no ‘and in it. It’s quiet in ‘ere tonight Yiota, where is everybody?”
“Some of ‘em are round ‘aving dinner at Bald Yannis’ house,” Yiota explained to rolled eyes. Bald Yannis was not known for entertaining and the idea amused them. “K-Went-In phoned and asked me to save ‘em some lamb chops as they’d be late gettin’ down on account of their car breaking down up in Ankinara, but I can’t think what’s holdin’ ‘em up. Adonis’ tow truck went up ages ago to get ‘em.”
“’Appen they ran into Pedros, that old rogue of a goat herder. There’s no gettin’ away once he starts chuntering on,” Takis suggested. “Now, the strangest thing ‘appened today. Yous will all ‘ave ‘eard of Bald Yannis’ scam plan to turn Astakos into a refuge for them daft enough to think the world will end soon, but not in Astakos.”
“Aye, there was even a segment on the news today about how some people are desperate to get ‘ere, they’ll be flying in from all sorts of places,” Prosperous Pedros acknowledged. “Adonis ‘as got hotel bookings from as far afield as Estonia and England; China and Kazakhstan.”
Goatly Goings On Page 13
