“Someone ‘as been cleaning Pedros’ place, but he was thinking it was Aunty Nitsa as Fotini denied it. Now I think about it Aunty Nitsa ‘ates doing housework and laundry,” Tall Thomas said. “I think I’d better go and warn Pedros. This woman could be a dangerous pyromaniac and is apparently obsessed with him. Are you comin’ Socrate?”
“No, I think there’s another avenue needs pursuing,” Socrates said, keeping his own counsel. “You go along and warn Pedros.”
Chapter 39
Kyria Sisyphean Suffers A Nasty Shock
Kyria Sisyphean spent a restless night on the Pappas’ sofa, trying not to breathe in the distinctive smell of old goat enveloping it. Waking early, she was forced to attack his bathroom with a bottle of bleach before she could even consider performing her personal ablutions. Her plan for the day was to meet the Pappas at the church as arranged, and then have another chat with Iraklis. If his relationship with Mrs Kolokotronis was indeed as innocent as the pair professed, it was not too late to persuade him to return to his celibate churchly calling.
She was hardly out the door when the heavens opened, threatening to drench her. She scurried back into the kitchen hoping the thunderstorm would soon pass, spending her time productively knitting toilet roll holders in the image of the Virgin Mary and listening to pre-recorded Bible verses on an ancient cassette player. She was pleasantly surprised when Iraklis arrived, appearing somewhat nervous.
“I must apologise for the harsh way I spoke to you mother. It was not my intention to disrespect you by speaking so brusquely, but I was hurt to the core you could think I would act in an immoral way,” Iraklis said.
“Well I didn’t bring you up to be immorally. I was flabbergasted when the Pappas told me the shocking news you were living with a woman. Remember Corinthians says ‘it is good for a man not to touch a woman.’ If you are still celibate you can return to the church.”
“Mother, I don’t want to. I am truly happy working at the supermarket and Fat Christos is going to send me on a management course. It was terrible living with the Pappas. I don’t think you’d really approve of him if you knew about some of his ungodly goings on.”
“Well I do have to say he lives like a filthy pig, having seemingly forgotten cleanliness is next to godliness. I don’t think his kitchen was familial with bleach and there were some disgusting stains on his grubby bed sheets.”
“Mrs Kolokotronis keeps an exemplary clean kitchen and she always starches the bedding,” Iraklis boasted. “She asked me to invite you to lunch so you can see for yourself how well she looks after me.”
“Well if your mind is made up I suppose there’s nothing more to be said, you are a man now and are a respirator for your own mistakes. I may as well return home on the next bus, I just hope it’s not packed to the gills with heathens,” Kyria Sisyphean said. “I promised to meet the Pappas at the church; you may carry my suitcase Irakli.”
Watching her son hoist her suitcase on his shoulder she realised she would not see him again unless he came home for a visit. She had no intention of venturing out of her village again as the outside world was riddled with apostates. Mellowing slightly she told Iraklis, “I can stop by for a spot of lunch when I’ve drummed into the Pappas the importance of cleanliness.”
The thunderstorm had passed by the time mother and son set off towards the church. Iraklis kept up a running commentary on the things he loved about Astakos, carefully omitting all mention of mail order Masha. “There’s nothing quite like being out on the tricycle, now I’ve got the hang of it. The scenery along the coastal road is breath taking and the olive groves are abundant with wild flowers and poppies. The people are so kind. Gorgeous Yiorgos has promised to teach me how to fish and Mrs Kolokotronis says my knitting has come along no nicely she’ll let me have a go at knitted goats clothes.”
Passing a woman feverishly striding along in an unstylish wedding dress, the pair politely wished her a good morning, but the woman’s lack of response prompted Kyria Sisyphean to comment, “The place is full of ill-mannered heathens. I have to say Irakli I am more comfortable in our little hamlet than in these big city places, but I suppose you have to spread your wings. Even if you’ve given up on the church you can still do a few conversions in your spare time.”
“Certainly mother,” Iraklis replied with a smile, pleased she was finally acknowledging it was time for him to choose his own path in life.
Unable to trust the Pappas not to bad mouth him, Iraklis decided to accompany his mother into the church. “He doesn’t appear to be here mother,” Iraklis said, failing at first to see the Pappas in the gloomy building. A burst of sunlight coursing through the stained glass windows suddenly illuminated the interior of the church, provoking a blood curdling scream from Kyria Sisyphean at the sight of the Pappas, still handcuffed to the altar. His body was sprawled on top of the semi-inflated blow up sex doll, with his head cushioned against its vinyl bosom.
“Shield your eyes Irakli, the Pappas is formulating with a prostitute. The shame of it. How could a man of God dessicate the sanctity of the church in this wicked way,” Kyria Sisyphean cried, blind to the blood pooled on the vinyl breasts.
“Mother he isn’t fornicating, he appears to be dead. Someone has attacked him with a nasty blow to the head,” Iraklis shouted, rushing to the Pappas and taking deep breaths to avoid fainting at the sight of so much blood.
“Mother you must run to the kafenion and get help. Tell them it is an emergency,” Iraklis yelled, steeling himself to attempt to give the Pappas the kiss of life.
“Irakli, you know I can’t go into one of those wicked places, it isn’t seemly.”
“Just do it mother. You must bring help and call an ambulance,” Iraklis commanded assertively.
The next few minutes were the longest of Iraklis’ short life as he vigorously pumped the Pappas’ chest whilst blowing into his mouth and praying help would arrive. “What evil person could do this to another human being?” he questioned.
“Is the malaka dead then?” Bald Yannis shouted, rushing into the church closely followed by Moronic Mitsos and Takis.
“He’s just barely alive,” Iraklis said. “He’s lost a lot of blood. We need to remove these handcuffs so we can move him.”
“Leave it to me,” Bald Yannis told him, revving up the chainsaw.
“Can you tell me who attacked you,” Moronic Mitsos asked, reverting back into his former role as chief of police.
“Don’t be daft, he’s in no state to be answering questions, he’s out cold,” Takis said.
“But I need to ask him if he has any known enemies,” the moron argued.
“It would be quicker to compile a list of anyone who could actually stand him,” Bald Yannis said, smug in the knowledge that even more people loathed the Pappas than him. The chainsaw cut through the furry handcuffs and Bald Yannis held them aloft, saying ‘kinky.’
“I’ll take those for evidence,” Mitsos said, grabbing the handcuffs just as the ambulance arrived.
“An’ I’ll take this,” Bald Yannis muttered, furtively secreting the half-inflated blow up sex doll beneath his bullet proof vest when everyone else’s attention was focused on getting the Pappas into the ambulance.
Chapter 40
Furry Handcuffs Point The Finger Of Suspicion
Slick Socrates was kicking himself for allowing Deirdre’s misplaced sympathy for his deranged stalker to influence him. The woman was obviously certifiable, yet he had simply allowed her to walk free after declaring she no longer had any designs on him, accepting her word she would return to the high mountain village of Osta.
“I should have called the police on the crazy stalker,” he admitted to Stavroula.
“Well yous wasn’t to know she would still ‘ang around once she’d given up on yous. We ‘ad no more heavy breathing phone calls after you confronted her in Did-Ree’s house,” Stavroula sighed.
“I should have spotted her pyromaniac tendencies when she left all those cand
les burning around those photographs she’d snapped of me.”
“Aye, yous did drop the ball there,” Stavroula agreed, still fuming over Socrates’ stalker decapitating her in all the pictures.
“Now she’s transferred her deluded fantasies onto Prosperous Pedros and has taken to kidnapping goats. I must inform Soula what her crazy sister has been up to,” Socrates said with a heavy heart.
Socrates had been reluctant to bring shame on Soula by publicly outing her crazy sister as an obsessive squatting stalker because he was quite fond of the plain lame woman who had married Bald Yannis. He felt she carried enough of a burden by being the daughter of a tyrannical father now serving time for defrauding the Greek state of his unmarried sister’s pension by hiding her corpse in the freezer.
Soula was so level headed and always had a kind word for everyone when serving in the hardware shop, and Socrates had never seen anyone tend goats so fondly. When he’d developed a nasty rash after finally shaving off his sideburns Soula had rushed round with an herbal remedy proving far more effective than anything Vangelis the chemist could offer. Socrates now regretted not telling Soula her sister had been furtively squatting in the village and braced himself to break the shocking news to her.
“Yous should have told Soula before, she had a right to know,” Stavroula said. “I can understand yous was worried ‘ow Bald Yannis might react if she brought more shame on ‘im, but he acted decently enough over her father, accepting Soula was not responsible for having crazies in ‘er family. I mean look at me, I’m related to that old fool Vasilis, but no one ‘olds me accountable for ‘is actions.”
“I’ll go and tell Soula now,” Socrates said, kissing Stavroula tenderly.
Soula greeted Socrates with an enormous smile when he arrived at the hardware shop. She was grateful the lawyer had successfully defended her father against the charge of murder even though he was still imprisoned for fraud. The colour drained from her face as she listened to Socrates’ account of how her sister Koula had been furtively squatting in the village and obsessively stalking random men with heavy breathing phone calls and shrines, kidnapping goats and almost burning Thea’s house down.
“I hate to be the one to tell you Soula, but your sister Koula has seriously lost the plot.”
“But she was always so normal. Of course she wanted to be married, what woman doesn’t, but she wasn’t desperate,” Soula cried. “I should have realised how upset she was when Yannis chose me. Koula was expecting to be matched first as the eldest. And then there was the ghastly business of my aunt’s corpse being found in the deep freezer; did you know it was Koula who made the grisly discovery? She should have let me know how unhappy she was in Osta and she could have come for a visit with me and Yannis, but to hide away from me like this. My poor sister needs help.”
Socrates was consoling Soula with a clean handkerchief when Bald Yannis burst into the hardware shop wondering where he could hide the blow up sex doll. He was scheming up ways he could ridicule the villagers by leaving it in strategically compromising positions. He’d quite like to wipe the smug smile off Thea’s face by sneaking into the house she shared with Toothess Tasos and tucking it into their bed, or perhaps he could float it off the side of Gorgeous Yiorgos’ fishing boat and have him reel it in as the catch of the day.
“Yous will never guess what’s ‘appened now,” Bald Yannis teased. “Someone ‘as only gone and smashed the Pappas’ ‘ead in and left ‘im handcuffed to the church altar. He’s just been carted off to ‘ospital in an ambulance.”
“Were they furry handcuffs by any chance?” Socrates asked, correctly suspecting Koula must have pocketed the kinky restraints when he’d uncuffed her in the ‘Lemoni Spiti.’ Stavroula, in seductive mode, had been searching the bedroom for them only last night and had finally settled for tying him to the bed with a pair of his freshly ironed braces. Bald Yannis confirmed the handcuffs were indeed of the kinky variety.
“It must have been Koula who attacked the Pappas then,” Socrates said to Soula’s horror.
“But she’s never been violent, oh this is far too much to take in,” Soula cried, as Socrates enlightened Bald Yannis as to what his wife’s sister had been up to.
“Bashing the Pappas is a bit more serious than breaking in people’s ‘ouses to clean em,” Yannis stated.
“She needs help,” Soula wailed.
When he’d found the Pappas barely alive Bald Yannis had wished whoever was responsible had made a proper job of it and finished him off, but now he knew his wife’s sister was responsible he fervently hoped the Pappas would pull through as Soula would be devastated if her sister was branded a cold blooded murderess. He was almost tempted not to turn Koula in, but then remembered she was also responsible for nearly incinerating Quentin’s goat and his resolve hardened.
“She needs locking up, she’s dangerous,” Socrates said as Soula continued to sob.
“But they can get ‘er the help she needs,” Bald Yannis assured her. “Now Soula, I want yous to lock up the shop and go over and have a nice cup of tsai with Stavroula. We ‘ave to let the others know she is on the loose and dangerous. Socrates and I will go out and look for Koula. It might be better for her if we can persuade her to turn herself in before the police catch up with her for attempted murder.”
“Please be careful,” Soula pleaded. “Koula can’t be in her right mind.”
“We will be,” Socrates assured her, reminding Bald Yannis the obsessive stalker may still be armed with whatever weapon she had used on the Pappas.
Chapter 41
Imagined Affairs
Koula strode purposefully from the church, determined to find mail order Masha and warn her to keep away from her man. She paid no attention to the dark clouds foretelling rain and ignored the strange looks she attracted in her homemade wedding dress crafted from Pedros’ white bed sheet, embellished with embroidered fish. When torrential rain soaked her wedding dress she stopped to wring water from the skirt, cursing when she noticed a splash of the Pappas’ blood adorning the hemline, muttering “I will just have to embroider some more fish along the border to conceal it.”
As the rain continued to soak her, the exhausted woman became more feverish. Arriving at Masha’s house Koula sighed with relief, “I must sort this Russian trollop out and then get some rest. I have to look my best for my wedding to sweet Pedros tomorrow.”
Mail order Masha was in a foul temper. It was her day off from doing the weather, but instead of being able to enjoy the time topping up her fake tan and having her hair extensions extended, she was stuck at home running round after that old fool Vasilis who was still feeling a bit under the weather after his near brush with death. Stirring the ever present pan of borscht, she sighed with relief to finally hear Vasilis snoring. If her husband was sleeping he couldn’t make any more bothersome demands on her attention.
“Drat, who can that be,” Masha complained, disturbed by frantic banging on the kitchen door. Opening the door Masha was taken aback to be confronted by a drenched woman with a manic glint in her eye, wearing a frumpy wedding dress. Koula pushed her way into the kitchen, still clutching the blood soaked candlestick she had used to batter the Pappas.
“Keep away from my husband, he is mine. Our love will outlast your sordid affair, but I must have your promise you will leave the village and never tempt my husband again,” Koula demanded.
“Are you mad? I don’t even know who yous ‘usband is so ‘ow can I be having an affair with him,” Masha shouted, hoping this deranged harpy wasn’t married to the smitten young reporter who had sworn he was single.
“Don’t try and deny it, I saw yous with him with my own eyes. Yous was in his pick-up together,” Koula shrieked.
“No, I still don’t ‘ave a clue what yous is on about,” Masha argued, recalling the smitten young reporter drove a nifty sports car. “I think you must be mistaking me for someone else.”
“I tell you I saw you together, why deny it?” Koula said.<
br />
“Is yous ‘usband a fan of mine? I’m a famous weather girl so perhaps he saw me on television and yous got a bit jealous,” Masha suggested, growing impatient with this lunatic stranger’s feverish accusations.
Masha’s denial infuriated Koula who had never even seen a television as the depressing farmhouse in the high mountain village of Osta was devoid of such luxuries. Koula was already overwrought with fever and jealousy when Masha pushed her over the edge by taunting, “If yous ‘ave a ‘usband why ‘ave yous turned up at my door in a wedding dress? Did he jilt yous at the altar? He probably took one look at that hideous dress and did a runner. It’s not exactly stylish. It looks like it’s been cobbled together from an old sheet.”
As this final insult left Masha’s lips it suddenly occurred to her this was a taunt too far, provoking the other woman to froth at the mouth and demonically stab the air with the bloodied candlestick. Masha retreated, the hairs on the back of her neck bristling in fear, trying to distance herself from the clearly unbalanced woman who was screeching, “How can you insult my beautiful wedding dress or dare to say my darling Pedros would leave me at the altar. We will be married tomorrow and I will make sure you aren’t there to stop it.”
Koula lurched forward, threatening her imagined rival with the heavy gold candlestick raised above her head. The realisation hit Masha that this demented intruder, who seemingly drew demonic strength from her inner mania, intended to harm her. Tentatively stepping backwards she attempted to appease her, pleading, “No, please no, I didn’t mean it, yous wedding dress is beautiful.”
Masha’s back came up hard against the kitchen stove and she realised she was trapped. As Koula raised her arm to smash the heavy candlestick into her rival’s temple Masha let out a blood curdling scream.
Chapter 42
Goatly Goings On Page 16
