Olive Virgins

by Katerina Nikolas

  “Kalimera Kyria Nitsa, I ‘ave brought yous an Elliniko cafe,” Fotis chirped, twitching his moustache seductively. “If I’d known yous was sleeping out ‘ere in the taxi I woulds ‘ave offered yous my bed for the night.”

  “Ooo, yous is fresh, I likes a man what is not backwards about coming forwards,” Nitsa simpered, giving him a risqué wink.

  “So yous wouldnt’s be averse to me coming courting yous with olive oil then?” Fotis suggested, emboldened by Nitsa’s wink.

  “As long as yous dont’s expect me to cook yous a malaka rooster,” Nitsa replied. “I ‘ate cooking. My talents lie in other directions.”

  “Then allows me to call and take yous out for a meal in a taverna,” Fotis gallantly offered.

  “I’m free tonight,” Nitsa eagerly suggested, hoping Evangelia could squeeze her in at the beauty parlour. “I ‘ave to drives back now as I promised Fotini I’d give ‘er an ‘and puttin’ a curse on a stupid superstitious peasant woman.”

  Impressed by her sassy attitude Fotis exclaimed “What a woman,” as Nitsa drove away.

  The prospect of a date with a willing man excited Nitsa. Much as she liked to think of herself as a femme fatale it was years since she actually had a suitor, though she had spent many hours pursuing horrified men.

  Driving back Nitsa forced herself to concentrate on the road as the storm had washed several boulders down from the mountain. The boulders and mud slicks were the only visible evidence of the previous night’s atrocious weather, now replaced with brilliant sunshine.

  Slick Socrates flagged down the old Mercedes taxi as Nitsa drove into Astakos. He wanted her to drive mail order Masha and the television producer up to town. “But I promised to ‘elp Fotini put a curse on Katerina and then I ‘ave to go to the beauty parlour befores my date with twinkly Fotis.”

  “The producer has been stranded here overnight and Masha has to get up there to do her weather report,” Slick Socrates cajoled, promising to make it worth Nitsa’s while by offering an extortionate fare. “The limousine is at the bottom of the harbour and you could get a regular fare as Masha’s taxi driven chauffeur.”

  Mail order Masha had been so incensed by the incompetence of the smitten young struck-off doctor falling asleep on the job she had summarily sacked him with no thought to the watery trauma he had suffered.

  “I suppose if I put my foot down I could be back ‘ere in plenty of time to cooks up Katerina’s curse with Fotini in the beauty parlour whiles I ‘ave my ‘air done,” Nitsa relented, as Slick Socrates hurriedly bundled her passengers into the backseat before she could change her mind.

  “Please hurry,” the producer pleaded “I need to check on mother before I go to the television studio. She locked herself in a cupboard and has been phoning all night in a dreadful panic as the power was off.”

  “I’m going as fast as I can,” Nitsa replied, accelerating to a heady twenty kilometres an hour. Wanting to boast about her upcoming date Nitsa tried to impress Masha by saying “I’m expectin’ a gentleman caller later and he is younger than yous ‘usband.”

  “But is he as rich?” Masha sneered.

  Distracted by her mobile phone vibrating inside her bloomers Nitsa swerved dangerously across the road, narrowly avoiding knocking Petros the postman off his borrowed donkey. “I’ve been lookin’ everywhere for this phone,” Nitsa cried, contorting her body to reach it while giving the producer an unwanted flash of her bloomers.

  “Yassou Fotini,” Nitsa screeched down the phone. “I ‘aven’t forgotten about cursing Katerina but I ‘ave to drive paying passengers up to Paraliakos first. Meet me in the beauty parlour later. Did the parrot get ‘ome okay?”

  Skidding to a halt Nitsa announced, “I just ‘ave to stop and pick some wild stifno.” Fotini had reminded her they needed some of the black nightshade growing wild on the mountainside, as a vital ingredient for their spell.

  “We are in a hurry and don’t have time to waste while you go picking weeds for your dinner,” the producer complained.

  “I ‘ave other plans for the stifno,” Nitsa insisted haughtily, adding “and a fine gentleman is taking me out for dinner I’ll ‘ave yous know.”

  “There’s no point in complaining,” Masha assured the producer as Nitsa scurried about by the roadside. “The old crone does whatever she pleases.”

  “Well her driving is erratic, she reeks of brandy and she has no sense of urgency,” the producer moaned. “I really think you were too hasty Masha in sacking the smitten young doctor.”

  Nitsa threw a clump of stifno into the back of the cab, interrupting the producer as it landed in his open mouth. He spent the rest of the journey pulling sprigs of green stuff out of his teeth and clutching Masha’s thigh with a clammy hand, using the excuse he was sure they were bound to crash.

  Chapter 25: A Stapled Stub

  “We is goin’ to ‘ave to tighten our belts even more,” Toothless Tasos announced to Thea, returning home from a wet night spent clutching the rope. “The boat ‘as a leak after bein’ bashed in the storm, so there’ll be no more fishin’ until it’s mended.”

  Thea wasn’t really paying attention. She was distracted by the cat almost giving itself concussion as it hurled itself at the kitchen window in a futile attempt to flee Tasos. “The cat is acting in a most peculiar manner,” she sighed, having no clue it was traumatised by the sight of her fiancé following his accidental attempts to murder it.

  “Appen yous should let the cat out of the ‘ouse. With our precarious finances it oughts to learn to hunt its own food,” Toothless Tasos suggested.

  “But yous knows it is an ‘ouse cat with no killer instinct. ‘Appen it would get run over if I let it outdoors,” Thea pointed out. Toothless Tasos smiled at the prospect, thinking the pampered creature would not require feeding and wouldn’t be able to reveal the secrets of its close encounter with the washing machine if it met a squashed fate.

  “If yous cant’s go fishin’ appen yous could do a bit of knitting for Mrs Kolokotronis,” Thea suggested.

  “Dont’s be so ridiculous woman, ‘ow cans I knit with these calloused ‘ands an’ my back to front finger?” Tasos scoffed, opening his palms to reveal a row of suppurating blisters and his ineptly sewn back on glowing green finger. “All my time will be taken up repairin’ the boat to make it seaworthy again.”

  With that Toothless Tasos slammed out of the house and headed across the road to the hardware shop to purchase essential boat repair supplies.

  “I ‘eard the dreadful news about yous boat, I ‘opes yous will soon ‘ave it repaired,” Soula said, instantly expressing more sympathy to Toothless Tasos’ sad plight than Thea had demonstrated.

  “I needs some wood cutting to fill up the ‘ole,” Tasos requested.

  “I’m sorry,” Soula apologised “but my ‘usband will know the right wood for the job an’ he seems to ‘ave been delayed. Takes the weight off whiles yous wait.”

  Toothless Tasos was glad of the chance to relax after his difficult night. Taking a seat on top of an empty olive oil tin he chatted with Soula as she deftly fashioned raincoats out of lobster adorned shower curtains. She had spent the whole night sewing to distract her thoughts from her father’s arrest, but had been relieved when Bald Yannis had telephoned to assure her no actual murder had been committed.

  “Ere he is now,” Soula announced.

  Bald Yannis burst into the hardware shop in a terrible temper, asking his wife “did yous know that old fool Vasilis is makin’ a fortune selling ‘is donkey droppings as organic fertiliser? I just caught ‘im following the postman round with a shovel. Soula yous best get out to the goats with a bucket and collect all their droppings. I can sell it to them gormless Americans as superior manure.”

  Bald Yannis’ outburst cheered up Toothless Tasos who declared “first you ‘ad the tourist tat wars wit
h Fat Christos and now yous is going to war with that old fool Vasilis for a few cents over muck.”

  Grabbing a bucket Soula was quick to defend her husband, saying “bills dont’s pay ‘emselves.” She was feeling guilty Bald Yannis risked being stuck with the costs of Slick Socrates representing her father and was happy to scoop up malodorous goats droppings if it helped him out.

  “Yous got a good woman there,” Toothless Tasos mused as Soula left. His attempt to buy the correct wood to mend his boat was interrupted by the arrival of Fotini and the parrot elbowing him out of the way and demanding, “’ere Bald Yanni, I needs something to use as a spell jar.”

  “’Ow many times do I ‘ave to tell yous that blasted parrot is banned, get it out of ‘ere now,” Bald Yannis bellowed. The parrot was silent for once, its mouth chock full of screws it was greedily devouring from the shop display. Bald Yannis lurched at it with his broom, attempting to brush it out of the hardware shop. As the parrot was clamped to Fotini’s head the bristles became entangled in her head scarf and Yannis’ broom knocked her over. She landed in an ungainly heap on top of Toothless Tasos.

  Tasos raised his hands to steady Fotini, resulting in a tirade of abuse as she screamed “keep yous ‘ands to youself yous malaka pervert and yous eyes off my bloomers.”

  “Keep yous ‘ands to youself yous malaka pervert,” the parrot mimicked, swallowing the screws before biting Toothless Tasos’ green fingertip clean off.

  “Oh not again,” Tasos screamed, desperately forcing the parrot’s beak open in a futile effort to retrieve the severed digit which had never really recovered from its close encounter with the fan. He was out of luck as the parrot swiftly swallowed, finding the digit more appetising than Bald Yannis’ stock of screws and nails.

  “Dont’s get blood all over the shop yous malaka,” Bald Yannis instructed, scooping up screws smeared in slimy saliva from the parrot’s mouth.

  Fotini shot Toothless Tasos a withering glare, warning him “if yous finger makes the parrot sick yous can pay its vets bill.” Tasos blanched at the thought of yet another vet’s bill and hardly yelped at all when Bald Yannis produced an industrial stapler and stapled the ragged ends of his finger together. He quickly resigned himself to the resultant stub, realising it could be days before the parrot passed his finger tip.

  “It’s a neater job than the smitten young doctor did last time. Now if yous spend enough on the wood I wont’s charge yous for the staple,” Bald Yannis pronounced, pleased with his inspired handiwork. Suddenly realising Fotini was still in the shop he shouted “’ow many times does I ‘ave to tell yous to get that malaka parrot out of ‘ere.”

  Fotini had no intention of leaving the hardware shop without a spell jar but the parrot had other ideas. Catching sight of the probationary Pappas passing by it launched itself into the air, sweeping down to steal his new clerical hat and promptly dropping it in the sea.

  Chapter 26: Crumbs In The Wax

  Pappas Iraklis was almost knocked off his feet by the old woman rudely pushing him aside. Grabbing the thieving parrot by the scruff of its neck Fotini darted across the road into Stavroula’s taverna without so much as a word of apology. Unaccustomed to such brusque treatment the young Pappas was greatly relieved when Prosperous Pedros calmly fished his hat out of the water. “Thank you for such a thoughtful act, it is hard to believe an old woman could be so ill mannered.”

  “Yous obviously dont’s know my mother,” Prosperous Pedros responded.

  Blushing bright red beneath his abundant acne the probationary Pappas muttered, “Oh I’m so sorry, I had no idea she was your mother; I seem to have put my foot in it.” Fixing his wet hat back in place he scurried off hastily on his latest dogsbody errand for his mentor.

  The Pappas was unexpectedly delighted with his new apprentice who was gullible enough to take over all the housework in addition to cleaning the church. The pews were gleaming with polish and the font was newly scrubbed. However, as the young man’s attempts at cooking were no better than his own dire efforts the Pappas decided to forgo ‘The Idiot’s Guide To Cooking’ for lunch and had dispatched him to the bakery for spinach pies. Pappas Iraklis had planned to stop for a sneaky coffee but was now in no mood for a further confrontation with the nasty old woman and her aggressive hat stealing parrot.

  Fotini was unusually animated as she cooked up ideas with Stavroula for putting a curse on Katerina. They decided Stavoula would invite her sister-in-law for afternoon coffee, and then Fotini and Nitsa would arrive and work their black magic. “I ‘opes it works,” Stavroula said, “I cant’s be ‘aving the miserable Katerina ‘anging round an’ maligning my goodly reputation.”

  “If she’s as superstitious as yous says she will be stupid enough to fall for our machinations an’ then yous will be rid of ‘er. Now I needs a spell jar, what ‘ave yous got? That malaka Bald Yannis threw me out of ‘is shop before I could find anything.”

  “’Will this old vinegar bottle do?” Stavroula asked.

  “It’s just the thing,” Fotini declared, spitting into the musty glass bottle. “I’ll be back with Nitsa when she’s done tarting ‘erself up in the beauty parlour.”

  As Fotini took her leave the parrot swept down once again, snatching the bag of spinach pies from the hand of Pappas Iraklis who was far too intimidated to protest the theft. Pushing her way into the beauty parlour Fotini announced to Nitsa “I’ve got us a free lunch from the church.”

  “Be careful yous don’t get pie crumbs in yous moustache wax,” Evangelia instructed as Nitsa started slobbering over the spinach pie. Eager to share the details of her upcoming tryst Nitsa announced with a mouthful of pie, “Fotis the fisherman is a real dish. I think he could be the one.”

  “Dont’s go being too forward on yous first date,” Fotini advised “yous need to play ‘ard to get.”

  “Not much point of that at our advanced age,” Nitsa argued.

  “Fotini’s right, you don’t want to be too loose too soon,” Hattie agreed, emerging from behind the curtain to reveal her new blue rinse. “I think we should come with you to make sure he behaves like a gentleman.”

  “I dont’s want ‘im to behave,” Nitsa protested to no avail. Her two companions agreed they would act as discreet chaperones at a nearby table, whether she liked it or not, even though the very concept of them ever managing to be discreet was patently ludicrous.

  “Did yous get the stifno?” Fotini questioned Nitsa, eager to get on with the business of cooking up a spell.

  “I did. Did yous get the beetles?” Nitsa replied.

  “They is ‘ere in my ‘andbag somewhere,” Fotini said, opening her bag and peering inside. “I knows I put ‘em in,” she added, tipping the bag upside to find the elusive insects.

  “You can’t let beetles loose in my beauty parlour,” Evangelia remonstrated, looking down in horror at the shiny black creatures scuttling round on the floor.

  “Pick ‘em up an’ drown ‘em in this vinegar,” Fotini shouted, holding out her musty spell jar. “Later we can chuck in the stifno then crush it all up together with a pestle and mortar.”

  “Ere yous can add my moustache ‘air to it,” Nitsa volunteered, scraping the waxed clump full of spinach pie crumbs into the Fotini’s jar.”

  “What will you do with it?” Hattie asked. She was intrigued by the thought the ridiculous curse could possibly be effective.

  “Yous can come over to Stavroula’s taverna to see us in action,” Fotini invited.

  “It’s certainly exciting, we’ll be like the three old witches in Macbeth,” Hattie exclaimed.

  “Po po, it’s just stuff an’ nonsense,” Nitsa insisted “but Katerina is stupid enough to believe it. Now Evangelia, dont’s forget I wants them false eyelashes sticking on an’ these long black ‘airs plucking out of my chin when yous ‘ave finished getting rid of my nostril ‘air.”r />
  Chapter 27: Cackles And Curses

  “You told us it never rained in Greece,” Quentin shouted to Achilles the borrowed builder who was perched up a ladder in Stavroula’s taverna, hammering away at the tourist tat annex.

  “’Ave yous not ‘eard of climate change?” Achilles defended. “I am not responsible for Greek weather. Yous should ‘ave watched Masha’s forecast an’ bought an umbrella.”

  “An umbrella would not have stopped it from raining in the house. That occurred due to your shoddy workmanship,” Deirdre pointed out. “Now, when do you intend to repair the roof properly?”

  “Well I dont’s knows if Stavroula can spare me,” Achilles procrastinated. “She’ll skin me alive if she’s nowhere to flog ‘er tourist tat. ‘Appen I can pop round tonight an’ nail up a shower curtain as a waterproof cover. Masha’s latest forecast is dry an’ sunny.”

  Stavroula came rushing out of the kitchen, smiling obsequiously at the Americans and insisting they sample generous portions of her homemade fig cake on the house. Quentin and Deirdre failed to suspect she had an ulterior motive until Stavroula pulled up a chair and demanded to know what they ate for Christmas dinner back in Idaho.

  “Quentin insists on cooking Christmas dinner,” Deirdre winced, “it is the one day of the year when he has free rein in the kitchen.”

  To Stavroula’s delight Quentin boasted “I’ve acquired quite a name for my traditional stuffed turkey, mashed potatoes and cranberry jelly.” She hoped he would share his recipes in order to re-create this exotic festive foreign fare on her cooking show audition. As Quentin jumped up to steady Achilles’ ladder Deirdre confided,