Friday, January 31, 2014

RIDING TO SCHOOL ON A CAMEL

*****

Cypriot Camel Driver Circa 1950's
A few days after the Stalin funeral demonstration, Lucky showed up at Yorgo’s house for his usual ride to school only to learn that Yorgo was sick and unable to work that day.

The whole family was in the kitchen, so Athena had to use pantomime to let him know what was going on. In between pouring coffee and offering him some breakfast cake, Athena made motions – fingers hoisting to her lips – and Lucky understood that Yorgo’s illness was self-inflicted, an ouzo hangover. Athena crooked a finger across her lips to make a moustache. Then drew tears below her eyes. Lucky nodded, getting it. Yorgo had gotten drunk to mourn Stalin.

Lucky said goodbye and headed back to the main road, thinking to catch a bus. Just past the twin olive trees that shaded Yorgo’s villa, Athena caught up to him. He started to speak, but she quickly embraced him, lips full on his, her body pressed against him so he could feel every curve and hollow. Lately, every moment they’d had a chance to be alone, they’d become more and more passionate in their embraces. Lucky savored the moment, thinking that this is how he would like to spend his life – embracing Athena.

Then they heard Yah-Yah call Athena’s name. She broke away, tears streaming down her face. "Goodbye, Lucky," she said in English, then ran back to the house.

Lucky stood there, heart racing, tingling from core to skin. He wanted to run and catch her. Kiss her and embrace her – and ask her what she’d meant by "goodbye." In Greek, goodbyes were usually invitations to future meetings. Like "Stokahlo" - the ultimate farewell and prayer for return. But in English goodbye was just goodbye. Gone for a deal of time, perhaps forever, depending on how it was said. And the way Athena had spoken – very deliberately now that Lucky thought on it – it certainly sounded final to him.

Had Yorgo found out, or guessed, how intimate they’d become since Lucky’s return from the hospital? They hadn’t actually… well, done it. Although they’d come pretty close. Both had been a little frightened. Not because they feared the act, but because if they were found out they wouldn’t be able to see each other again. So, they’d purposely tried to cool things down. But if Lucky’s suspicions were on the mark, it had been to no avail. Yorgo was on to them and there was no telling what he would do or say. Oh, come on, Lucky thought. Yorgo couldn’t know. Actually, there wasn’t anything for him to know. If confronted, Lucky and Athena could deny everything with only a twinge or two of conscience. No, his paranoia made no sense at all.

Even so, as Lucky walked up to the main road he couldn’t help but worry. When he came upon the highway he was greeted by the usual Wednesday market crowd. He figured he’d have no trouble catching a bus. But then he suddenly found himself surrounded – and fascinated by – the foot caravan he normally whizzed past on Yorgo’s powerful motorbike. Cheerful people were plodding alongside wagons of every size and variety, filled with an abundance of produce and live animals for sale. Wednesday was the main market day when, traditionally, children were kept home from school so they could their assist their parents. This became quite clear when, as Lucky walked alongside the road, he was suddenly surrounded by children of all ages playing games on the move.

Hopscotch was a favorite. Girls armed with thick pieces of chalk ran ahead of their friends to draw squares for other girls to jump through, their high voices crying out a refrain that to Lucky sounded like this: "Yearo, yearo, olee… Stamese, oh, maanolee… Hithi-a, bothe-a, stee-ska-mee… oh-le, maanolee, sto-ska-mene." Since it was chanted to the tune of "Ring Around The Rosy," he had the general idea what the song was about.

A favorite of the boys was a highly-mobile game of marbles. Target marbles were tossed ahead, shooters crouching down and taking aim, trying to hit the target. If they all missed – which was normal, because they were running along to keep up with the cavalcade – the target boy grabbed his prize marble and tossed it ahead again. With other kids shouting in Greek that he’d thrown it too far, or too short, or not in the agreed upon direction.

Lucky joined the caravan - keeping watch for a bus, or one of the rare taxis that plied this route - while he enjoyed the games. After a time, he began to tire. It was a hot morning and the road was rough under his thin-soled school shoes. He noticed that on his side of the highway there were occasional groups of camels and their drivers, waiting for hire. People carrying too heavy a load for their wagons, or their bikes, would stop and dicker with the drivers and soon coins would trade hands and the goods would be loaded aboard a camel and off they’d go to Nicosia.

At that moment Lucky had an idea that made him grin from ear to ear. It was idea of a lifetime. When he came upon the next group of drivers, he chose an old Turk with a white camel that looked pretty clean. It also had a fairly new saddle – an object made of wood, with cross-braces for the hump and covered in leather with big brass nails to hold the material to the wood.

He casually approached the man, who was crouched over a little fire where he was roasting eggs rolled in clay. Lucky wrinkled his nose – the small fire had the acrid stench of dried camel dung. The man glanced up at the boy with rheumy eyes, then quickly looked away, yawning with some ostentation. As Lucky studied the camel and the saddle, the Turk pointedly ignored him, breaking the clay away from one of the eggs, then peeling the shell. When Lucky turned to address him, the man was fishing out salt wrapped in a bit of newspaper. The Turk sprinkled salt on his egg and took a bite, looking up at Lucky as he munched, thoroughly enjoying his snack with total unconcern that a foreign youth was standing over him.

Lucky pointed at the camel, "Pohsa kamila?" he asked. Meaning - how much is the camel? The only Turkish he knew were a few obscenities, but most Turkish Cypriots were multi-lingual.

The Turk shrugged and asked, "Poo?" Asking, where to? What was the destination?

Lucky said he wanted to go to Nicosia, via the Famagusta Gate. The man carefully ate his egg, nibbling the white first – going all around the yellow – then finally tossing salt on the yolk and popping into it into his mouth. Finally, he held out four fingers – indicating four shillings – which was a little more than a dollar American, a significant amount of money in that time and place.

Lucky, who had been well-schooled in the art of bargaining by Andreas and Athena, reacted in mock horror. He pulled a long face, literally stroking his chin. Four shillings? Outrageous! Why, he was only a teenaged boy - very light, no trouble at all for such a large camel. Not only that, he was only going to Nicosia, which wasn’t so far. Furthermore, the taxi didn’t cost that much, even with a tip.

The Turk sighed and shook his head. Fact one, Nicosia is where everybody wanted to go on market day. Fact two, if he took Lucky for a lesser amount, he would surely miss an important consignment that was probably coming down the road this very minute.

It was Lucky’s turn to sigh and shake his head. He got to his feet, saying that the Turk was probably right. Why accept a guaranteed commission – of one shilling – when many more shillings were certainly ambling down the road to leap into his purse.

He started to walk away and the Turk called out in alarm: "Pehreemeneh!" Wait.

And Lucky turned to hear the Turk lower his price to three shillings. Obviously, the man had lost hope for a decent fare for the day. Lucky immediately squatted down next to the man. He dug into his book bag and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. To his private amusement, they were Camels. He showed the Turk the pack and was pleased to see the sudden gleam of interest.

He shook out a cigarette and handed it over. The Turk poked a twig into the camel dung fire and lit up, inhaling a large lungful of smoke, then dreamily blowing out a thick cloud of fragrant American tobacco. Lucky quickly made a deal. If the man fetched him to school every day for a week, he’d pay him a shilling a day, plus two American cigarettes. Certain brands had to be promised: either Lucky Strikes or Camels - the Turk would take nothing less.

Very well, then. A satisfied bargain had been struck and the Turk rose to his feet and swatted the camel sharply on its rump, shouting, "Na seekhononomay! Na seekhononomay!" The camel must have been formerly owned by a Greek, because that’s the language the driver was shouting in when he ordered the beast to, "Get up! Get up!"

But instead of obeying, the camel made loud complaints, groaning and spitting and baring its teeth.

Then, to Lucky’s alarm, the Turk laid into the animal furiously, striking the creature with his thick staff, kicking and shouting "Na seekhononomay!" until finally the camel stumbled to its feet, groaning loudly in protest as it did so. It was not only an unhappy animal, but a big one to boot – the largest creature Lucky had ever faced outside of a zoo.

Sure, he’d ridden horses, even fallen off a few. And certainly he’d been intimidated by the Brahma bulls in Clearwater, Florida. If you got within a few yards of the fence, they’d charge it, ripping at the wire with their enormous horns and tearing up the ground with their hooves. He’d even seen one leap a wide drainage ditch and attack a truck, nearly turning it over before some ranch hands got it under control. But this camel was even bigger – and in Lucky’s view, just as angry as that Brahma bull.

What was spooky was that while the camel didn’t charge, it was plainly warning the Turk that it had enough of his treatment. The camel pawed the ground with huge feet and made groaning noises in its throat while the animal’s big head snaked this way and that on a long, thick neck, huge yellow teeth exposed and snarling.

The Turk had no fear. He struck the camel across the nose, shouting curses in several languages – Lucky recognized Spanish and Armenian obscenities among them. This only seemed to infuriate the animal more. And at that moment, it seemed to Lucky that the camel took on the supreme form of its kind – representing all of cameldom in its fury.

The animal farted a long and gaseous blast, filling the atmosphere with an overpowering smell of bowel methane which made the campfire set off long sparks. Lucky remembered Harry telling him that in T.E. Lawrence’s original notes he’d joked about sticking fuses up the rectums of a herd of camels to take El Alamein – which was the decisive battle of the WWII African campaign.

But the Turk was not to be intimidated. Shouting, he once again smote the animal across the nose. And that’s when the camel completely lost its temper. Bellowing with rage, it reared up on its high legs. Lucky gasped - it was easily, two stories high. Any second he expected it to come crashing down on the Turk, killing him.

"Run," Lucky shouted, so excited, he said it in English.

But instead of running, or even dodging, the little Turk took a good, steady hold of the dangling reins and vaulted upward, kicking the camel in the testicles just as hard as he could.

Then he calmly stepped aside as the camel bawled in pain. Eyes crossed, huge lips puckered, it came quickly down on the ground, front legs pulled so far back they were almost touching the rear legs.

Without further complaint, the camel proceeded to obey the Turk’s every command. He swatted its flanks and it dropped to it knees, whimpering with pain. The Turk motioned for Lucky to get on. The boy shook his head. No way. Get on, the Turk demanded. Almost afraid that he’d suffer the same fate as the camel, Lucky reluctantly climbed onto the saddle.

Then the big animal was getting to its feet and Lucky swayed back and forth, clinging to the pommel. More barked commands and they started forward, the crowd parting to let them through and in a moment they were plodding toward the distant city.

After he calmed down, Lucky started enjoying the ride. Perched high above the market crowd, the rolling fields stretched out on every side, he felt like Lawrence and he imagined himself in white robes and leather boots, with a sword strapped at his side and a rifle slung over his back like an Arab warrior. The saddle was quite comfortable and the motion of the camel was a little like a sailing ship, swaying gently back and forth, the camel’s broad feet soaking up any feeling of contact with the earth.

And it came to Lucky that this was an adventure he’d be able to tell his children about someday. Other fathers boasted of the hardships of going to school – walking miles in the snow, or the summer heat. But he, Lucky Cole, would be able to say that he had once ridden to school on a camel.
  
NEXT: MAGIC ON BLACK MARKET STREET
*****
LUCKY IN CYPRUS: IT'S A BOOK!



Here's where to get the paperback & Kindle editions worldwide: 


Here's what readers say about Lucky In Cyprus:
  • "Bravo, Allan! When I finished Lucky In Cyprus I wept." - Julie Mitchell, Hot Springs, Texas
  • "Lucky In Cyprus brought back many memories... A wonderful book. So many shadows blown away!" - Freddy & Maureen Smart, Episkopi,Cyprus. 
  • "... (Reading) Lucky In Cyprus has been a humbling, haunting, sobering and enlightening experience..." - J.A. Locke, Bookloons.com
*****
THE SPYMASTER'S DAUGHTER:
A new novel by Allan and his daughter, Susan


After laboring as a Doctors Without Borders physician in the teaming refugee camps and minefields of South Asia, Dr. Ann Donovan thought she'd seen Hell as close up as you can get. And as a fifth generation CIA brat, she thought she knew all there was to know about corruption and betrayal. But then her father - a legendary spymaster - shows up, with a ten-year-old boy in tow. A brother she never knew existed. Then in a few violent hours, her whole world is shattered, her father killed and she and her kid brother are one the run with hell hounds on their heels. They finally corner her in a clinic in Hawaii and then all the lies and treachery are revealed on one terrible, bloody storm ravaged night.



BASED ON THE CLASSIC STEN SERIES by Allan Cole & Chris Bunch: Fresh from their mission to pacify the Wolf Worlds, Sten and his Mantis Team encounter a mysterious ship that has been lost among the stars for thousands of years. At first, everyone aboard appears to be long dead. Then a strange Being beckons, pleading for help. More disturbing: the presence of AM2, a strategically vital fuel tightly controlled by their boss - The Eternal Emperor. They are ordered to retrieve the remaining AM2 "at all costs." But once Sten and his heavy worlder sidekick, Alex Kilgour, board the ship they must dare an out of control defense system that attacks without warning as they move through dark warrens filled with unimaginable horrors. When they reach their goal they find that in the midst of all that death are the "seeds" of a lost civilization. 
*****



Here's where you can buy it worldwide in both paperback and Kindle editions:

U.S. .............................................France
United Kingdom ...........................Spain
Canada ........................................ Italy
Germany ..................................... Japan
Brazil .......................................... India

TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!

Venice Boardwalk Circa 1969
In the depths of the Sixties and The Days Of Rage, a young newsman, accompanied by his pregnant wife and orphaned teenage brother, creates a Paradise of sorts in a sprawling Venice Beach community of apartments, populated by students, artists, budding scientists and engineers lifeguards, poets, bikers with  a few junkies thrown in for good measure. The inhabitants come to call the place “Pepperland,” after the Beatles movie, “Yellow Submarine.” Threatening this paradise is  "The Blue Meanie,"  a crazy giant of a man so frightening that he eventually even scares himself. 
***** 
STEN #1: NOW IN SPANISH!


Diaspar Magazine - the best SF magazine in South America - is publishing the first novel in the Sten series in four  episodes. Here are the links: 

REMEMBER - IT'S FREE!


Friday, January 24, 2014

THE DAY STALIN DIED

*****
Turning A Devil Into A Saint
*****
One lunch hour in early March, Lucky was on his way to see Mr. Socrates, when he heard a strange sound coming from the direction of the main street. He thought it was thunder at first and he looked up to see if rain threatened. But only a cheery sun and bright blue sky greeted him.

It couldn’t be thunder, because the sound was continuous – it was a gigantic roar, with shrieks mixed in like a huge machine that badly needed oiling.

There was a whirr and all over the street birds shot up into the sky, as if threatened. They circled overhead, beaks open as they cried out, but he couldn’t hear them over the roaring sound. A shadow fell over him, and Lucky dodged to the side just in time as a panicked camel raced by, pursued by a Turk in baggy black pants.

The roaring became louder and he wondered if it might be an airplane coming in too low, perhaps in trouble and about to crash. Then people were running past him, heading down the hill for the main street. Lucky followed.

At the corner, he saw that the sidewalks on both sides of the main thoroughfare were lined with people of all kinds, including shop keepers who stood guard in their doorways. The street itself was oddly empty – not one wagon or bicycle or ox cart could be seen.

Lucky noticed that everyone was looking toward the Famagusta Gate. He saw other boys shinnying up light stanchions – getting up higher so they could see better. Lucky spotted a likely perch for himself and ran straight toward a store front. He let momentum carry him up the wall, then he jumped, caught the overhanging sign and swung himself up.

Another boy tried the same thing, faltered, and Lucky stuck out a hand, helping him. Without a word both boys turned to look at the mouth of the Famagusta Gate, now plainly visible. The noise seemed to be coming from the dark, cave-like entrance.

Packs of dogs were crouched on either side – none were brave enough to stand in the center - barking at whatever approached. Now Lucky could make a rhythmic beat, underlying the roaring noise. It was a Boom! Boom! Boom! that shook him to the bones. Then the dogs turned tail and raced away. A second later a band of gypsies poured out of the tunnel, scattering in every direction.

The sound grew louder, and now Lucky thought he could make out people shouting and screaming. He considered jumping down and running back to the safety of Jim’s shop, but then he saw something swirling at the gate entrance, like a gigantic swarm of bees, and then suddenly people started pouring out onto the street.

There were hundreds upon hundreds of them - all shouting and wailing so wildly that Lucky’s blood ran cold. He was afraid to move from his perch, in case he might draw attention.

The crowd paused for moment, as if the gate were having trouble disgorging them, then more people broke out – unfurling a huge banner carried on long posts as high as telephone poles. Lucky gaped at what he saw on the banner. It was a gigantic picture of a man with distinctive features and a curling mustache.

It was Stalin.

The banner was draped in black and now suddenly Lucky realized that all the people – men and women and children alike – were wearing black of some kind. Some were draped head to toe in black, others wore black armbands, or shirts or scarves.

More people exited the gate – it was like a river of black cloaked figures. All crying and wailing. He saw men drag their nails down their faces, leaving bloody streaks. He saw women rip their hair from their heads by the roots, blood streaming down from the wounds. Bare chested men, dripping red from self-inflicted wounds, marched with the crowd pounding on huge drums – boom! boom! boom! And the women cried a shrill and ancient cry: "Ululululu." A stray and quite bizarre thought leaked from Lucky’s mind – so this is what Poe meant when he wrote of ululation.

Priests with long beards and high hats marched on the edges of the crowd, swinging incense pots, and chanting a mournful dirge.

"Oh, no," the boy next to him moaned in Greek. "Stalin is dead. Oh, no. Oh, no!" And he burst into tears. Lucky had to steady him so he didn’t fall.

It was then that he realized that this was a funeral march. That in far off Russia, Stalin had died and the thousands of wailing people he saw marching down the street were stricken with grief because they saw Stalin as a hero as great as any in history. Even the priests – and Communists were godless, weren’t they? – were mourning the death of the man that had ruled the Soviet Union with an iron fist for more than thirty years.

It took two hours for the funeral procession to pass and Lucky stayed perched on the post the whole time watching, transfixed.

Then he heard someone shout his name and he looked down and saw Jim’s worried face.

"I’ve been looking everywhere for you, Lucky," he said.

"I’m sorry," the boy said, swinging down from the stanchion. "I should have come back and told you where I was."

"It was a good thing for you to witness," Jim admitted, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You should always remember how easy it is for people to turn a devil into a saint."

NEXT: RIDING A CAMEL TO SCHOOL

*****

LUCKY IN CYPRUS: IT'S A BOOK!



Here's where to get the paperback & Kindle editions worldwide: 


Here's what readers say about Lucky In Cyprus:
  • "Bravo, Allan! When I finished Lucky In Cyprus I wept." - Julie Mitchell, Hot Springs, Texas
  • "Lucky In Cyprus brought back many memories... A wonderful book. So many shadows blown away!" - Freddy & Maureen Smart, Episkopi,Cyprus. 
  • "... (Reading) Lucky In Cyprus has been a humbling, haunting, sobering and enlightening experience..." - J.A. Locke, Bookloons.com
*****
THE SPYMASTER'S DAUGHTER:
A new novel by Allan and his daughter, Susan


After laboring as a Doctors Without Borders physician in the teaming refugee camps and minefields of South Asia, Dr. Ann Donovan thought she'd seen Hell as close up as you can get. And as a fifth generation CIA brat, she thought she knew all there was to know about corruption and betrayal. But then her father - a legendary spymaster - shows up, with a ten-year-old boy in tow. A brother she never knew existed. Then in a few violent hours, her whole world is shattered, her father killed and she and her kid brother are one the run with hell hounds on their heels. They finally corner her in a clinic in Hawaii and then all the lies and treachery are revealed on one terrible, bloody storm ravaged night.



BASED ON THE CLASSIC STEN SERIES by Allan Cole & Chris Bunch: Fresh from their mission to pacify the Wolf Worlds, Sten and his Mantis Team encounter a mysterious ship that has been lost among the stars for thousands of years. At first, everyone aboard appears to be long dead. Then a strange Being beckons, pleading for help. More disturbing: the presence of AM2, a strategically vital fuel tightly controlled by their boss - The Eternal Emperor. They are ordered to retrieve the remaining AM2 "at all costs." But once Sten and his heavy worlder sidekick, Alex Kilgour, board the ship they must dare an out of control defense system that attacks without warning as they move through dark warrens filled with unimaginable horrors. When they reach their goal they find that in the midst of all that death are the "seeds" of a lost civilization. 
*****



Here's where you can buy it worldwide in both paperback and Kindle editions:

U.S. .............................................France
United Kingdom ...........................Spain
Canada ........................................ Italy
Germany ..................................... Japan
Brazil .......................................... India

TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!

Venice Boardwalk Circa 1969
In the depths of the Sixties and The Days Of Rage, a young newsman, accompanied by his pregnant wife and orphaned teenage brother, creates a Paradise of sorts in a sprawling Venice Beach community of apartments, populated by students, artists, budding scientists and engineers lifeguards, poets, bikers with  a few junkies thrown in for good measure. The inhabitants come to call the place “Pepperland,” after the Beatles movie, “Yellow Submarine.” Threatening this paradise is  "The Blue Meanie,"  a crazy giant of a man so frightening that he eventually even scares himself. 
***** 
STEN #1: NOW IN SPANISH!


Diaspar Magazine - the best SF magazine in South America - is publishing the first novel in the Sten series in four  episodes. Here are the links: 

REMEMBER - IT'S FREE!

Thursday, January 16, 2014

LUCKY IN FIVE LANGUAGES

*****
*****
Tyche - Goddess Of Luck
*****
***
Jim’s teaching methods were unlike any Lucky had encountered. A lesson in geography, for example, might begin with memorizing the capitols of Europe. But by week’s end they were at a map store – owned by a retired Cypriot mining engineer – where Jim unrolled relief maps of Europe, that showed the mountains and valleys, rivers and plains. He pointed out ancient routes and explained how traders and invaders exploited those natural features to create and destroy empires.

Math, the subject Lucky found most boring, became pertinent and therefore not so boring when Jim started inviting Lucky to sit in on his business meetings. Afterwards, he’d have the boy compute the transactions – so much for the truck tires, which were purchased on time at such and such interest and would be paid at so much a month over a certain period of time; the same for the young newlyweds who had bought identical bikes; or the man who owned a little fleet of three cabs and required tires more often than most.

Combining that exercise with grammar and spelling, he’d dictate letters to the franchise holders to Lucky, and after correcting them, he taught the boy how to use the typewriter so he could type them up and address the envelopes. In turn, he related those lessons to English language workbooks where he relentlessly drilled the boy on spelling and especially the rules of English. After a time, Lucky was literally diagramming sentences in his dreams.

While Jim was teaching Lucky how to type, he took the boy on a tour of a multi-lingual Cypriot newspaper. In the vast, hot basement shop, Lucky got to see a linotype for the first time and met a man – a middle-aged Armenian -named Mr. Kaijer who not only set type in five languages, but wrote a daily column in four: Greek, English, Turkish and Armenian. The fifth language was a limited circulation French language edition and Mr. Kaijer said he didn’t write for it, because "I have no feeling for the French."

Mr. Kaijer showed Lucky how the linotype operated – it was a massive machine with hundreds of belts and gears and lifting arms. And while you typed on the keyboard, composing one line of type that would fit a newspaper column, molten lead was pumped into a matrix so that when the operator worked a foot pedal, a piece of warm metal fell into a slot with the letters etched in mirror image - upside down and backward.

"I’m surprised you don’t know about the linotype, my young friend," the Armenian said. His English was flawless and quite proper. "It was invented by an American – a German refugee. One Ottmar Mergenthaler. By all accounts he was a madman." He indicated all the whirring gears and parts. "As you can see, only a man who has lost his senses could conceive of such a complicated thing."

Lucky asked, "How can you do so many languages at once? The letters are all different, aren’t they?"

Mr. Kaijer swept his hands across the keys, the linotype chuffed, and letter matrixes fell into place. Lucky noticed that the keyboard had several extra rows, with letters that were both Roman and Cyrillic.

"Well, it’s not so difficult, really," Mr. Kaijer said. "Greek and Roman letters are similar in many cases, so you don’t have to add so many more keys to accomplish both Roman and Cyrillic. So that is two languages. Plus a few more keys and you have Armenian – because its letters are patterned after the Greek." He shrugged. "I could probably compose Russian articles on this, but my Russian skills are limited."

"What about Turkish," Lucky said. "That’s like Arabic, isn’t it? That how it sounds, anyway. So how do you compose type in that?"

The Armenian laughed. "Don’t let a Turk hear you say such a thing, Mr. Lucky. They consider themselves superior to Arabs." Then he grew more serious, once again he swept his hand across the keys. "My mother was a Kurd, my father was Armenian – both victims of the Turks. So you will forgive me if I don’t appear too warm about my duties setting type for the Turks. The column I write for the Turkish edition is not popular, to say the least."

Lucky looked up at Jim, wondering what the man was talking about. But Jim just gave him a look – the one that meant keep silent, so Lucky said nothing. He tried to look sympathetic, although he had no idea why he should express this emotion.

"But you don’t want to hear about politics, my friend," the Armenian said. "You are a young scholar and you must have your answers. The answer to your question is, the Turkish written language is nothing like the Arabic written language. Some years ago, a man named Mustafa Ataturk seized control of Turkey."

He nodded at Jim. "My good friend and your teacher, Demitrios Demetrakis, will surely tell you about the happenings at that time. Cypriots, as well as Kurds and Armenians suffered greatly.

"But you asked about letters, not suffering. So I will tell you that Mr. Atatürk was a master of deception. He wanted to be loved by Europe, but his country was Moslem. So he instituted many reforms – all aimed at making Turkey appear more European than Arabic. And this included, most importantly, changing the method of writing. He decreed that all Turkish writing should adopt Roman letters, expressing the vowels and constants. And his power was such, that this is what was done in every schoolhouse in that barbaric country."

Lucky was astounded. He couldn’t imagine how something like that could be tolerated. If some strongman ordered everyone in America, Canada, England, Australia and New Zealand to suddenly adopt a different alphabet – why, it would be chaos. Hell, it would be revolution.

Jim caught the drift of his thinking and explained, "The Turks kept their people ignorant. Few could either read or write. So it was easier than you would think to change their writing habits."

Mr. Kaijer laughed and said, "Isn’t that the way of the Turks?" Then he grinned at Lucky, saying, "Let’s see how many ways we can write your name. It shouldn’t be too hard, for there must be a word for Lucky in every language on the face of the earth, including the Bushmen who click their tongues, instead of making vowels."

And with that, his hands flew across the linotype board. The machine whirred and clunked. It stuck at one point, and Mr. Kaijer gave it a kick and it became unstuck. Finally, five lines of type fell into the receiving pan. The Armenian bound them up with a piece of tape, inked them with a small, black-ink imbedded roller and pressed the block on a strip of paper. He rolled the block of type into the paper and handed it to Lucky.

"A gift from an old Armenian scholar to a young American scholar," he said.

Lucky smiled, feeling awkward, and unrolled the gift. He looked first at the type – which looked indecipherable, because they were not only in several foreign languages, but upside down and backward as well. He studied the printed paper and this is how it read:

Lucky - English

Chanceux - French

Talihli – Turkish

Huyngnlpjnlh - Armenian

ΤΎΧΗ – Greek

Wow, Lucky thought. Wow. But all he could say to Mr. Kaijer was "Thank you." He held the gift high, clutching it as if it were the greatest treasure.

"Teepotah," replied Mr. Kaijer. "It is nothing. Just remember me, Mr. Lucky, when you write about your days in Cyprus. Remember the old Armenian printer, who told you about the madman who created this crazy machine."

As they exited the newspaper, Lucky felt a little dazed. "Did you tell him I wanted to be a writer?" he asked Jim.

Jim pursed his lips, as if thinking over previous conversations with Mr. Kaijer. Then he shook his head. "No, I don’t believe I did," he said. "Of course, it wouldn’t have been hard for him to guess. After all, your questions were those of a writer."

Lucky flushed with pleasure, but he said nothing – fearing he might jinx Jim’s compliment.

NEXT: THE DAY STALIN DIED


LUCKY IN CYPRUS: IT'S A BOOK!



Here's where to get the paperback & Kindle editions worldwide: 


Here's what readers say about Lucky In Cyprus:
  • "Bravo, Allan! When I finished Lucky In Cyprus I wept." - Julie Mitchell, Hot Springs, Texas
  • "Lucky In Cyprus brought back many memories... A wonderful book. So many shadows blown away!" - Freddy & Maureen Smart, Episkopi,Cyprus. 
  • "... (Reading) Lucky In Cyprus has been a humbling, haunting, sobering and enlightening experience..." - J.A. Locke, Bookloons.com
THE SPYMASTER'S DAUGHTER:
A new novel by Allan and his daughter, Susan


After laboring as a Doctors Without Borders physician in the teaming refugee camps and minefields of South Asia, Dr. Ann Donovan thought she'd seen Hell as close up as you can get. And as a fifth generation CIA brat, she thought she knew all there was to know about corruption and betrayal. But then her father - a legendary spymaster - shows up, with a ten-year-old boy in tow. A brother she never knew existed. Then in a few violent hours, her whole world is shattered, her father killed and she and her kid brother are one the run with hell hounds on their heels. They finally corner her in a clinic in Hawaii and then all the lies and treachery are revealed on one terrible, bloody storm ravaged night.



BASED ON THE CLASSIC STEN SERIES by Allan Cole & Chris Bunch: Fresh from their mission to pacify the Wolf Worlds, Sten and his Mantis Team encounter a mysterious ship that has been lost among the stars for thousands of years. At first, everyone aboard appears to be long dead. Then a strange Being beckons, pleading for help. More disturbing: the presence of AM2, a strategically vital fuel tightly controlled by their boss - The Eternal Emperor. They are ordered to retrieve the remaining AM2 "at all costs." But once Sten and his heavy worlder sidekick, Alex Kilgour, board the ship they must dare an out of control defense system that attacks without warning as they move through dark warrens filled with unimaginable horrors. When they reach their goal they find that in the midst of all that death are the "seeds" of a lost civilization. 
*****



Here's where you can buy it worldwide in both paperback and Kindle editions:

U.S. .............................................France
United Kingdom ...........................Spain
Canada ........................................ Italy
Germany ..................................... Japan
Brazil .......................................... India

TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!

Venice Boardwalk Circa 1969
In the depths of the Sixties and The Days Of Rage, a young newsman, accompanied by his pregnant wife and orphaned teenage brother, creates a Paradise of sorts in a sprawling Venice Beach community of apartments, populated by students, artists, budding scientists and engineers lifeguards, poets, bikers with  a few junkies thrown in for good measure. The inhabitants come to call the place “Pepperland,” after the Beatles movie, “Yellow Submarine.” Threatening this paradise is  "The Blue Meanie,"  a crazy giant of a man so frightening that he eventually even scares himself. 
***** 
STEN #1: NOW IN SPANISH!


Diaspar Magazine - the best SF magazine in South America - is publishing the first novel in the Sten series in four  episodes. Here are the links: 

REMEMBER - IT'S FREE!