*****
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| 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.
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.
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!
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.
*****
Here's where you can buy it worldwide in both paperback and Kindle editions:
United Kingdom ...........................Spain
Also: NOOK BOOK. Plus ALL E-BOOK FLAVORS.
TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!
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!
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