Friday, March 21, 2014

Easter: George's Ghost And New Love

Easter At A Cypriot Beach
When Lucky encountered David Sisco at the Embassy Easter party, his first thought was that the only thing that had improved about the boy, was his sneer. It practically dripped from his skinny Italian face when he used it on Lucky and said, "Hey, Cole, heard you went got yourself beat up at school."

Lucky noticed the sneer was emphasized by a slight darkening of Sisco’s upper lip. Obviously the kid was trying to nurture some sort of a moustache. Lucky peered at it ostentatiously, saying, "Did you know you had a centipede on your lip?"

Sisco snatched at his face in alarm, making even his cronies laugh. When he understood that the joke was on him, he turned dark with anger, balling up his fists.

Lucky smiled and winked. "Maybe you want to give me some boxing lessons, David," he said, "so I can protect myself better next time five guys jump me."

Sisco quickly unclenched his fists and took a step back, looking around in case he needed help. When he saw his father and mother in line with the other adults at the outdoor buffet table, he relaxed and the sneer returned. "Very funny, Cole," he said. "Watch me laugh, ha, ha. You should go on the Milton Berle show."

Deciding that the last thing he wanted to do was get in a fight with the son of his father’s boss, Lucky edged away. Up until now he’d been feeling pretty good about the party - his father had been called into work and wouldn’t be there.

But with his parents so close, Sisco was emboldened. "Cole’s so dumb," he told his friends, "that his mommy had to get him a Cypriot blockhead for a tutor. Otherwise he couldn’t keep up."

Now David’s cronies were laughing at Lucky. He didn’t mind that so much, but Sisco had crossed the line when he insulted Jim. Even so, he was determined to get away from this budding social disaster. He forced a grin, and shrugged, saying, "Well, I’ll see you guys later."

Once again he tried to turn away. But this time one of David’s friends reached out and gripped Lucky’s elbow. It was Ken Roberts, whose father was captain of the Marine embassy guard. "I hear you brag about bein’ a pretty good boxer," Ken said. Roberts was two years older than Lucky, half-a-head taller with bull-like shoulders. He had a military crew cut like his father’s, with pale blue eyes under a heavy forehead.

Lucky gently removed the hand and replied, "Nothing to brag about. I took a few lessons, is all."

Roberts smiled, revealing a mouthful of crooked teeth. "That’s good enough for me," he said, rolling those big shoulders. "I haven’t had a good fight in a long time. Why don’t we go out back and try it on?"

Lucky didn’t want to dodge the fight and be branded a coward. On the other hand, there were already a few people who thought he was a juvenile delinquent. "Why sneak around like a couple of snot-nosed kids?" Lucky said. "Let’s hit the embassy gym and check out some gloves. Get the Marine there to referee a few rounds. That way you could teach me a few pointers and maybe I could show you some stuff you don’t know."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucky saw David slipping around behind him and he realized they were going to do the old trick where one boy kneels behind the other, while his buddy gives the guy a big shove. Then Roberts would probably "accidentally" trip and fall knee-first into Lucky’s stomach. They didn’t want to just fight, they wanted to leave him humiliated and gasping for breath on the lawn.

Stalling so Sisco could maneuver, Roberts pretended to consider. "Don’t know if the gym’s open."

The trick was so old that Neanderthal boys probably played it on one another. So was the counter, no doubt. It had been taught to Lucky by a sharecropper’s kid in Clearwater, Florida.

Like Roberts, he pretended to consider. "Well, why don’t we go see?" he said.

In his mind’s eye the entire incident flashed before him a bare instant before he went into action. Right now Sisco was getting into position. Roberts was about to step forward and shove Lucky with both hands. But before he could act, Lucky planned to step back, grinding his heel into Sisco’s hand. When Sisco squealed in pain, Lucky would react in mock surprise and fall back, grabbing Roberts by the belt. Then they’d both crash into Sisco and with their combined weight might even crack a couple of Sisco’s ribs.

But a split second before any of this occurred, a scolding female voice rang out: "David Sisco, what are you doing crawling on the ground?"

They all turned to see who it was, then froze. The scolding female they were presented with was Donna Kelly, a fourteen-year-old Irish colleen, with a dark tumble of hair, snapping black eyes and a complexion of pure cream. She was also the daughter of the American embassy’s political officer – Gen. Randolph Kelly - a one star Army general on loan to the state department. He was also CIA in a big way. Lucky knew from the gossip that he’d been an OSS bravo who’d parachuted behind enemy lines during WWII. Was captured, tortured, and had revealed nothing before he escaped. In other words, in the world Lucky lived in Gen. Kelly was just this side of God and the equal, if not the tacit superior, of David Sisco Senior.

David Sisco The Younger looked up at Donna from his ungainly position on the lawn and giggled like a fool. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling a couple of times, before he reached the erect position. Ken Roberts turned beet red and took several quick steps away from Lucky, wiping his hands across his crew cut as if he were looking for sun glasses. Lucky, who had no reason to feel any guilt at all, recognized immediately that Donna was throwing him a life preserver.

He stepped around the clumsy figure of Sisco, still half-kneeling on the lawn. "Donna!" he said, with real pleasure. "I was just going to get some Easter cake and something to drink." He gestured at David and the others. "But I was delayed by a little kid stuff. I didn’t want to play, but felt obligated." He indicated the food-ladened tables. "Tried any of the goodies yet?" he asked.

"No, I haven’t," Donna said, taking Lucky’s proffered arm. "I hear the Easter cake is lovely." The two of them strode away, leaving Sisco Junior and his minions sulking like naughty tots.

Gen. Kelly had just assumed his post – he was recently transferred from Turkey. Lucky and Donna had met during orientation for CIA dependents in D.C. nearly two years before. They’d become reacquainted recently at an embassy reception for her father. Like Lucky, Donna was an avid reader and insatiably curious about the world.

"Thanks for rescuing me," Lucky said, as they moved along the buffet table, getting some frosted cake and cold glasses of orange squash. "In another minute I’d have been rolling all over the ground like a stupid little kid."

Donna laughed. "I knew David liked to drag people down to his level," she said. "But that was ridiculous. The last time I saw a stunt like that was in the third grade."

They found a quiet place under a tree and Lucky spread his jacket on the lawn for Donna. She was quite fetching in a white party dress and a broad sunhat, with a black band. She had a matching black ribbon around her throat that set off her creamy complexion.

"I almost didn’t come because of Sisco," Lucky confessed. "He’s pretty adept at spoiling my good time."

"Never mind David Sisco," Donna said scornfully, waving a hand that seemed to dismiss Sisco from the face of the earth. Then she leaned closer, her dark eyes aglow. "I heard about your tutor. I was so excited for you. He’s Greek, isn’t he?"

Lucky nodded. "I’ve never learned so much in such a short time. He’s tough, don’t get me wrong. Very strict. But he makes everything so interesting I can’t wait until school starts every day."

Donna sighed, a little envious. "I’m at this girl’s school," she said. "There’s only fourteen of us, but we spend more time walking around with books on our heads, than we do reading them."

Lucky frowned. "Books are on your head? Whatever for?"

Donna laughed. "They’re teaching us how to walk like ladies," she said. "You balance the book and practice walking very straight, with your shoulders back." She finished her cake and put the plate to the side. "Speaking of books," she said, "I’m in the middle of the most marvelous novel. John Steinbeck’s ‘East Of Eden.’"

Lucky nodded. He’d heard of it – the book had only recently came out. "It’s kind of a Cain and Abel thing, isn’t it?" he said.

"Exactly," Donna said, "It’s starts in the Civil War and goes to World War One, following two brothers."

"I’d never read Steinbeck before I went to the hospital," Lucky said. "They had ‘Cannery Row’ there and ‘The Pearl.’ Steinbeck’s my new favorite. It used to be Hemingway."

Donna wrinkled her nose. "I’m not allowed to read him," she said. "Too – you know… ooh, la, la."

"Sure, I know what you mean," Lucky said, trying to appear worldly. "But he’s a pretty important writer. I heard that he might get the Nobel Prize for literature one of these days. Then what will your parents say?"

Donna smiled and shook her head in bemusement. "If he were made a saint, he’d still be banned in my house," she said. "Once my father makes up his mind about something – and the same goes with my mother – that becomes Kelly Law. It’s like Newton, but more definitive."

Lucky said, "One of the British officers gave me a copy of ‘The Old Man And The Sea.' It’s not so, you know – ooh, la, la. But it’s really good. And it’s small…" he indicated how small with barely parted fingers… "small enough to hide. Maybe I could lend it to you. If you got caught, you could blame me. Say you were just being polite by accepting it. But you never even thought of reading it."

"You are subversive, Lucky," Donna said. "Sneaking perfectly proper girls books by authors they aren’t allowed to read."

"I’m – I’m sorry," Lucky said, embarrassed. Then he saw that she was laughing – it was a joke. And he became emboldened. "Well, I could come here to give it to you… Sneaking it in, like you said. Or…" He was thinking quickly now… "I heard there was a circus pretty soon. A gypsy circus the weekend after next. I could get some tickets and maybe we could… well, go together. And I could give you the book there. At the circus."

The whole time he had talked, he hadn’t looked Donna in the face, fearing she would refuse him with a scornful frown after the first words out of his mouth. But when he came to the end, he looked up hopefully, and saw a girl with "yes," practically written all over her face.

Just so he wouldn’t misunderstand her acceptance, Donna leaned forward, the faint scent of violets coming with her and she gave Lucky a quick, but very warm kiss on the mouth. Her face slid forward, rubbing against his cheek, and she whispered in his ear: "Yes."

Someone called Donna’s name and she sat bolt upright, brushing her dress as if ridding it of cake crumbs. She turned casually and raised a hand to wave at her mother who was across the lawn, saying goodbye to Mr. and Mrs. Sisco and son.

"Donna," her mother called. "Come say goodbye to our guests."

"Yes mother," Donna replied. Then to Lucky she whispered, "And good riddance."

She dashed across the lawn, hoisting her party dress to reveal long, gazelle-like legs. Lucky watched her run, enjoying the look of her legs and the sway of her hips. He saw David staring at her too and he laughed to himself, thinking, You don’t have a chance you s.o.b.

He settled back on the warm grass, head pillowed on folded hands, feeling good about himself. A momentary pang came when Athena’s lovely face rose up. But that wasn’t his fault, was it? Sure, he still loved her and everything, but her father had forbidden Lucky to see her again. Even so, Andreas said, by and by, there could be a way around Yorgo. On the other hand, here was Donna Kelly, a perfectly nice American girl who read books and liked to discuss them. They would go to the circus, he would slip her the book, and then they’d discuss the merits of Steinbeck and Hemingway, and maybe even Faulkner.

What was the harm in that?

* * *
Lucky spent a sleepless night waiting for Easter to dawn and it wasn’t all because of depressed thoughts of George. His father had returned home close to midnight and had proceeded to get drunk. Lucky huddled in his room, listening as his father’s voice grew louder, while his mother’s disappeared into whispers.

Any minute, he figured his father would get him up and a night of misery would begin. Thankfully, the moment never came and after awhile the house grew silent and he guessed that his father had passed out. He slept a little after that, but then he had terrible dreams about George’s last moments – the doctors and nurses struggling to save his life and then gasping his last breath. The dream kept repeating itself, until finally, Lucky forced himself awake. He was trembling and covered with a cold sweat. He was parched, but was afraid that if went into the kitchen for water that his father would wake up.

He got out his book about ants and after a time lost himself in their marvelous underground cities. Then the roosters crowed and Lucky hurried to wash and dress for church. Sometimes his father would sit silently in some corner, drinking and smoking cigarettes, waiting for someone to get up. But if that were so, Lucky would be already dressed for church and could use that as an excuse to escape. Thankfully, his father was nowhere to be seen, so Lucky left a note for his mother, quietly called for a taxi and rushed out of the house.

He wandered around Nicosia, watching the city awaken on a Sunday morning. The Greek Orthodox church didn’t celebrate Easter on the same day as the Catholics, but even so, the air was filled with the music and scores of tolling bells, once again reminding Lucky of Poe’s poem. After meeting Donna, it also reminded him of Hemingway’s "For Whom The Bell Tolls," which was about the Spanish Civil War – the Communists against the Fascists, with the Communists as the heroes. Jim had given him a copy of "A Treasury Of English Verse," and one the first poem’s they had discussed was John Donne’s "For Whom The Bell Tolls" - the poem that inspired Hemingway's poem. The point of the poem and the book, Jim said, was that every man’s suffering, every man’s loss, had an impact on each of us, even though we might not recognize it at the time.

Lucky thought maybe that was his father’s trouble. All the things people were suffering all over the world came through the pipeline of the CIA. Maybe all those things, those terrible things, piled up on him until he couldn’t he couldn’t bear it and so he lashed out at his family. The boy grimaced. He was giving his father way too much credit, he thought. He was making his father sound far too noble. Besides – he’d been terrorizing Lucky and his mother well before he joined the CIA.

But George - now there was an example that fit the poem. When George had died it certainly had been felt by Lucky in a major way. He wished mightily that he had said something comforting to George on the day of his death, instead of stupid stuff about an egg. However, even if he could have taken that back - what do you say to a guy who is going to die? Don’t worry, everything will be okay?

Hardly.

Or, maybe you should say that. Maybe everything would then be okay. Lucky was with Omar Khayyam, who doubted very much that there was heaven or hell and so therefore no afterlife. But at least once you were dead it wouldn’t hurt anymore – and George had definitely been in pain. Lucky shivered as he remembered the poor man’s pitiful moans.

Okay, enough was enough. No more feeling sorry for yourself.

Lucky ate breakfast at a taverna and caught a rickety bus ride home. A mile short of the village, the bus broke down and Lucky got off. He hung around to see if he could help the driver, but the man had a plentitude of men and boys to tell him what to do and besides, Lucky was wearing a suit that he didn’t dare get dirty. He marched along the road, enjoying the fresh air washing across the fields, empty of labor on a Sunday, except for the ever-present goat herders and their charges. A car horn sounded behind him. Lucky was already on the side of the road, but he automatically moved further away and kept walking.

The horn beeped again and he heard a wild guitar strum – a run of Spanish chords. At the same moment someone shouted, "Lucky!"

He turned, recognizing the guitar and the voice and his heart jumped for joy as Harry pulled up in a long officer’s car. The top was thrown back to reveal his three best friends at the hospital; Harry, at the wheel, Brian with his guitar and Kenneth with his widest grin. Accompanying them were four remarkably pretty Cypriot girls – all decked out in bright sun dresses and wide-brimmed hats and as the car came to a halt the girls’ wonderful perfume washed over him like a gentle meadow breeze.

Harry said, "We’ve come to get you, old boy, and carry you off to the beach."

Brian said, "We escaped the hospital on your account, so don’t disappoint us."

Kenneth added, "Altogether now, girls," waving his hands like a maestro of a grand orchestra.

And all the girls shouted in melodious unison: "Happy George’s Day, Mr. Lucky."

Lucky didn’t know what to say. He stuttered, "But… but…"

Harry broke in. "But me no buts. Already spoke to your mum. It’s quite alright and officially approved." He tossed Lucky a duffel bag. "She even sent along some beach togs. Now, into the car before your girlfriend starts thinking that you find her homely."

He waved at the odd girl out – a round and giggly little thing, just a little older than Donna. She was very pretty in her thin, flowered dress, bare plump arms, and shapely stocking-sheathed legs.

She offered Lucky her hand. "How do you do, Mr. Lucky?" she said in heavily accented English.

Lucky blushed from head to toe. "Fine thank you," he said, but it was more of a croak than a real voice.

"Ever the gentleman, our Lucky," Brian joked and Kenneth opened the rear door and Lucky hopped in. Immediately, Lucky’s girl threw her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. Brian strummed his guitar dramatically, setting up Harry’s announcement.

Pulling his own girl closer to him, Harry said, "From now until tomorrow’s dawn, Easter is George’s Day, sacrilegious though that may seem. And every Easter the four of us – me and you and Brian and Kenneth – will think of George and celebrate his memory. Sort of a lad’s rites of Spring, you know. A rebirth. And where better than the land of Aphrodite to celebrate rebirth?"

He grabbed a champagne bottle from his laughing companion’s hand and hoisted it high. "Gentlemen, George has risen!"

The other guys all shouted "George has risen!" And Harry took a big swig of champagne and it was passed around the car, to Brian and Kenneth and their dates, then to Lucky’s date, who smiled so prettily when she handed him the champagne that he lost his heart.

Lucky lofted the bottle. "George has risen!" he cried, and drank deeply.

* * *

With the car radio blaring BBC dance music, they drove to Larnaca, then a little south to a cove where Brian had taken a year’s lease on a seaside cottage.

Harry, Brian and Kenneth had all been released from the hospital a few weeks before and were living in officer’s quarters at the main base – waiting for orders. Their next assignments could come at any day, which made the year’s lease on what was essentially a weekender’s cottage a definite extravagance even at inexpensive Cypriot prices. By now Lucky knew that Brian’s family was well off – maybe even rich - and so the cottage was a bit of a surprise. Small and unassuming, it had been previously leased by an artist who was more interested in the light than ambience. So its main feature was that the whole front of the house consisted of floor to ceiling shutters – all painted various colors – that opened onto the beach. Screens kept the insects out, but not the breeze so although it was a warm day, the fresh salty air whipped through the cottage, making everything and everybody sparkle with life and enthusiasm.

There was a well in back with water so cold it made your teeth ache. Brian said he’d had it tested and that it was pure.

"Not that I worry – my policy is to cut all water with gin," Brian said. He was putting very little water into glasses full of gin as he spoke. "Touch of malaria, you know."

Kenneth hooted: "When the ward sister caught you with the cognac you said that was for your ‘touch of malaria.’ So, which is it Brian – gin or cognac that cures malaria?"

Brian said, with much solemnity, "There are those who say that gin is the goddess of curative powers. Detractors, which are legion, claim that cognac is the way to good health." Brian indicated his bar, which was well stocked with both and said, "If the Army has taught me anything, it is that one has to be prepared for all contingencies. So, gentlemen, be you believers in gin or men of the cognac faith, your salvation is assured."

Harry trooped in, carrying the car radio. The girls followed him, pulling wires into the room. An expert on communications in war-torn lands, Harry had already planned out the evening’s musical entertainment.

"All I have to say about your plans, Brian," he said, "is that we need to fetch the colas and lemon squash from the car. Lucky’s had enough malaria prevention." Lucky groaned in protest. Harry said, "I gave my implicit promise to your mother that we would return you in reasonable condition." He looked at Lucky’s girl, whose name was Mesina, and grinned. "But I didn’t say that you wouldn’t return with a little seasoning, did I?"

Brian laughed, plugged in some wires, twirled the dials and wild Greek music started to play.

One of the women clapped and stomped her feet, posing like a dancer on a stage. "Oopa!" Mesina cried. "Oopa!" shouted another. "Oopa!" Lucky cried.

They all began to dance. Awkwardly at first, but better as the music soared on and the girls turned, their skirts swirling above their knees. Soon everything became very cheery, very merry. Food appeared - delivered by some local village men. The party continued. Lucky drank colas and lemon squash, but sometimes Mesina slipped a little gin into his glass and his heart grew warmer, his soul lighter until he thought he was going to soar away into the starry night.

They went swimming – never mind the beach togs, they all went naked. "It’s called skinny dipping in the States," Lucky told Harry, trying to sound adult as he stood barely hip deep in the phosphorescent water.

Brian hooted and splashed, sending a scatter of water droplets that looked like a glowing pirate’s treasure of gems – all green and blue and red and yellow – cascading against him and running down his body in glorious streams of Technicolor.

Mesina paddled to him, ducked her head under water, then rose up and spit a long stream of fabulous color. Lucky laughed at such a sight and the girl closed in on him, pressing her body against his – all her curves flowing over him. They kissed and then kissed some more until it became necessary to retreat to a place on the beach – just behind a rock. Mesina had a blanket there and jug of lemon squash punch, with just a touch of gin. They made love for what seemed like forever. It wasn’t Lucky’s first time. He'd fumbled about with an older girl a few times, but now that experience seemed so - well, juvenile. And this was... Glorious!

Even so, although Mesina wasn’t much more than sixteen, she was a full grown woman in her world and full of tenderness and understanding. She whispered delirious things to Lucky about being so happy that she was with such a sweet boy and instead of being insulted at being called a boy, Lucky took it as she meant it - a compliment.

A little later, he fell asleep, the girl beside him, the warm Mediterranean breeze blowing over him.

Once again he dreamed of George, but the images were softer now, not so frantic. And this time just before George died he whispered: "Happy Easter, my Lucky old sun."

NEXT: LUCKY IN CYPRUS WILL RESUME APRIL 18 WITH
JIM AND THE TOWER OF OTHELLO

*****


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. 
*****



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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, March 14, 2014

Gundaree & Gundara And The Kiwi Invasion

*****
UK Soldiers In Cyprus - circa 1950's
Monday was the first day of Easter vacation and was marked by the twin invasions of Pallouriotissa by the New Zealand Army and Mr. and Mrs. Walters, soon to be known as Gundaree and Gundara, and their three-year-old son Eric.

The army was first. A little before dawn Lucky was awakened by the rumbling of engines. Bright lights blared through the shutters and he heard men barking orders in English. Curiosity soon overcame sleepiness and he crawled out of bed and threw open the doors. As he walked onto the veranda, he saw large shadows lumbering along the main road. Headlights swept across the scene, illuminating troop trucks, with canvas tops and sides, moving into the field across the street. As soon as they pulled up, men poured out of the trucks.

Then he heard the distinctive rattle and clank of armored vehicles and a moment later several tanks loomed out of the night, looking like prehistoric creatures with their turrets and cannons. Their commanders stood in the hatchways, goggles slung back over their helmets so when they bent down to bellow orders to the men on the ground, they looked like they had huge insect eyes.

Lucky heard Charlie crying in his nursery and the voice of his mother and the hoots of Brosina as they hurried to the bawling child. How Brosina, who was stone deaf, knew when Charlie was crying always mystified Lucky. Through sign language she indicated that she could feel the vibrations of a baby’s cries in the springs of her mattress and since she always ran to his brother the moment he started squalling he had no reason to doubt her.

Soon his mother came into the room, cradling Charlie and rocking him back and forth. He was calmly sucking on a bottle and seemed to be content. "What’s all the racket, Luck?" his mother asked. "It sounds like the Barnum and Bailey Circus out there."

"Just the army, mom," he said. "Setting up camp across the street."

His mother nodded, saying, "Your father mentioned there were maneuvers going on all over the island. In case there was trouble over Stalin."

Lucky grimaced. The Russian dictator’s death had sparked world-wide riots that were still continuing. From what he could gather from the BBC, anyone and everyone with a lost cause had channeled their grief into renewed passion for their demands. Although things were relatively quiet in Cyprus, the British were worried that Enosis would once again rear its rebellious head.

After breakfast, Lucky wandered out to watch the soldiers set up camp. Already, tents were pitched, camp fires lit and army cooks were dishing up breakfast to hungry men lined up before stainless steel steam tables. Lucky noticed that most of the men returned to their tents to crouch over little individual fires where they had pots of tea on the boil.

He peered up at the two flags flying over the camp – hoisted on portable staffs. There was the familiar Union Jack of the British, but next to it was a much different banner. In its left corner, it displayed the union jack against a sea blue background. To the right were four stars laid out like a cross. Lucky frowned – he knew he should know what the emblem meant, but at the moment it escaped him.

He crossed the street to investigate further. The soldiers looked up at him, with friendly grins and said things like, "Takin’ the tiki tour, mate?" Or, "Up with the sparrow farts, are ye?" Also, "How’s it goin’, bugalugs." And, "Take a shufti at the Brit kid, mate."

The last, was a soldier pointing out Lucky to his friend.

Lucky bridled at this. "I’m not British," he said, "I’m American."

This got everyone’s interest. Young soldiers were suddenly twice as friendly as before. "Sorry about that, bugalugs," said the offending party. "And you’re welcome to some tea."

The soldier indicated the pot resting next to the fire. His friend made a space for Lucky and the boy squatted between them. Other men came over, presumably to see what an American looked and sounded like.

"Where’s your crib, Yank?" his new friend asked, as he poured Lucky some tea, then offered him a tin of condensed milk.

Lucky indicated the impressive sandstone villa across the street. "Over there."

The men all gave him odd looks and Lucky realized his house made him fit the European stereotype of "the rich American." Searching for common ground, he said, "All the oranges and lemons and grapes are ripe, if you guys want some."

There were appreciative murmurs all around. Then his new friend – Charlie, was his name, just like Lucky’s brother – said, "What we want is some decent food, mate. And maybe somethin’ to drink, like. Ain’t there any pie carts about?"

Lucky frowned. "Pie carts?" he asked. "There’s no bakery, here. The village is too small."

"No, no, mate," Charlie said. "A pie cart’s just Kiwi for a food sellin’ truck." He showed Lucky the gray glop in his plate. "All we get is powdered eggs and greasy bangers, you know."

Lucky knew just what to do. "I can get some guys down here," he said.

Someone else spoke up. "Ask him if there’s any boozers can deliver." The man looked over his shoulder for officers or Non Coms. "But on the quiet like."

Lucky laughed. "That’s easy," he said. "I’ll get somebody up from the taverna to take your order." Then he turned serious. "If they ask for some money first, you can trust them, okay? Nobody will cheat you in Pallouriotissa."

He rose, eager to get things organized, but then he hesitated. "You don’t talk like the Brits I know," he said. Then he indicated the unfamiliar banner fluttering next to the Union Jack. "And that flag… what does that stand for?"

Charlie laughed. "We’re kiwis, mate," he said. "From the lands down under."

Light dawned for Lucky. "New Zealanders?" he marveled.

"Yep. And we ain’t any more British than you are, Yank," he said. "Sorry we insulted you like we did."

Lucky shrugged. "Oh, I know some really nice guys who are British," he said. Then he laughed. "And they’re even officers, too."

This drew a chorus of groans and whistles and good-natured laughter. And as Lucky scrambled away to hunt up food and drink for Charlie and the others, he thought that this was a pretty nice way to start his vacation.

Within the hour, the village boys were swarming the camp, offering fresh eggs and meat and bread, as well as produce. Soon the New Zealanders were having a good "fry up" going. Cooking the food over their campfires in pans full of sizzling oil. Even the officers got into the game, buying up choice bits at premium prices.

A little later, Andreas drove a goat cart into the camp. It was the delivery cart from the local taverna. At Lucky’s suggestion, they’d hired Andreas to sell their wares: cases of beer and bottles of wine and fiery liquor. Once again, even the officers got into the game – charmed by Andreas’ fine and cultured English. By late afternoon the whole camp was in grand spirits, to say the least, and the young soldiers were playing a game of soccer with the village boys – doing their best to let the locals score points whenever they got too far ahead.

Near day’s end, Charlie came to Lucky and said, "You’ve done grand by us, Yank. Anytime you get to New Zealand, you just lookup your old mate Charlie and I’ll show you a grand time as well."

Lucky thanked him and started away. Charlie’s tent mate stopped him. "Can you do some magic with some girls, too, Yank?" he asked.

He saw Charlie’s face darken at the insult. But it had been too good a day for Lucky to take offense. "You’ll have to go to the city for that, Mr. Kiwi Man," he said, thinking of the red light district near Jim’s house. "All the girls in this village are good girls and engaged to be married."

The man started to make a retort but Charlie clapped him on the back so hard he knocked the man’s breath out of him. "Come on, Tom," he said. "Let’s get to the beer before it’s gone the way of your poor manners."

Rather than be insulted, Lucky thought the whole thing was pretty funny. Charlie’s tent mate was merely trying to act much older than he was – which was maybe seventeen, a few years more than Lucky. So the beer had not only gone to his head, but to ego as well. He just wanted to act like the other guys, the older guys. Not realizing that they had all been souls of propriety with the locals. The poor kid – and Lucky thought of the soldier as a kid – would wake up in the morning mortified at his behavior.

As Lucky crossed the road, he heard a tinny horn squeak from behind him - Beep! Beep!

He was so surprised that instead of getting out of the way he stood stock still. Beneath the Beep! Beep! he heard what might have been engine sounds. Kind of a clatter and a lot of squealing of fan belts. The horn sounded again: Beep! Beep!

Lucky thought, if this was a car horn, the car just had to be mouse-size. Like one of the little people’s cars they had in the British Boys Own Beano comics. He turned to look at the source of the Beeps and to his amazement he saw a vehicle not much bigger than the Beano cars. It was a brand new 1952 Peugeot. And it was a pitiful thing. The word nerdy had not yet been invented, but if it had, it could have been well applied to that dinky Peugeot. True, in the past, the Peugeot had been a racing wonder, with many Gran Prix victories to the factory’s credit. Unfortunately, the newly designed after-the-war Peugeot could barely get out of its own way. The car’s only reliable component was that tinny little horn that went Beep! Beep! Beep!

A pinch-faced little man poked his head out the window. He stuttered in despicable Greek, "Uh, uh, poosha… uh… poosha…" He stopped in mid-Greek torture and pulled his head back inside and Lucky saw an equally pinched-faced woman sitting next to him – a phrase book in hand. She said something to the man and the guy nodded and stuck his head back out the window. "Oh, yes," he said, "uh… poosha mahk…ria… uh… Palurio… uh."

Lucky took pity on him. Obviously, the couple had mistaken him for a Cypriot kid. He said, "If you’re looking for Pallouriotissa, mister, you’re already there."

The man looked surprised. He grimaced in what Lucky supposed was an attempt to smile. "You must be the Cole boy," he said, the accent flat and very American.

Lucky nodded. "Everybody calls me Lucky," he said.

The woman rolled down her window and put her head out. She was about his mom’s age, he guessed. "We’re the Walters’," she said. "Ruth and Jack Walters." In the back seat a small child squealed with laughter. "And that’s Eric," she said, turning to stuff a pacifier in the kid’s mouth, shutting off the laugh. "He’s three," she said, a little defensively.

Lucky guessed because three was kind of old for a kid to be sucking on a pacifier. But that was none of his business.

Then Mr. Walters said, "We’re your new neighbors."

That surprised Lucky. There was a villa nearly as large as his place right next door and separated by a low wall with a white wrought iron railing. But it had always been vacant. The house belonged to Yorgo and it was Lucky’s understanding that it was meant for Athena when she got old enough to marry. It was part of her dowry. What was surprised him was that somehow he hadn’t heard about Yorgo renting the place out – he usually knew everything that went on in the village.

Before he could think of what to say, his mother came out of the gate. "Ruth, Jack, there you are," she said. "We’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Pallouriotissa." Then to Lucky she said, "Show them where to park, hon, while I get the keys to their house."

Feeling a little resentful for being left out of such an important event, Lucky did as he was told – trying hard not to act sullen. After all, it wasn’t the couple’s fault. He sighed, realizing it wasn’t his mother’s fault either. She’d been absent so much lately that they really hadn’t had much time together.

A second surprise greeted Lucky when the couple climbed out of the Peugeot. They weren’t exactly dwarves, but even at thirteen Lucky was taller than Mr. Walters, which made Lucky tower over Mrs. Walters. Even more amazing was the sight of Eric as he clambered out of the car. He was a rolly polly child with fat cherub’s cheeks and he was remarkably large for his age – especially considering the size of his mother and father.

He was also the cheeriest little kid Lucky had ever met. Eric seemed to find everything hilarious. A snail crawling slowly across the pavement caused him to break into peals of laughter. And when little Charlie – who was about the same age – offered to share the biscuit he’d been munching – Eric became positively convulsed with mirth as his mother scrambled to intercept the soggy gift.

"Is Eric always this happy?" Helen asked, smiling at the beaming child.

"Oh, yes," Ruth Walters said, giving a weary shake of her head. "Always."

Her husband nodded in sour agreement. "He’s easily amused," he said. "The doctor assures us he’ll grow out of it."

Lucky’s eyebrows shot up. "But why would- " he began, but his mother’s sharp look cut off his question. Which was why any doctor would be alarmed at a happy child. The Walters were too self-absorbed to notice anything.

Ruth began a long story about the poor service and "barbaric meals" they’d endured during their long stay at the hotel. And when Lucky realized they were talking about the same place he’d stayed at he was so angry it was all he could do to keep from speaking out.

John picked up where Ruth left off when she once again plugged the pacifier into Eric’s mouth to cut off the kid’s laughter. In a whiny, nasal voice, John described his frustrating search for a "civilized car" in this land of "very used car dealers." Lucky would have loved to tell him exactly what he thought of their 1952 Peugeot, but noticed that his mother’s eyes were dangerously bright, her mouth frozen in a half-smile. She was obviously just as irritated by these people as he was.

Just then – thank God – Thea entered with a basket of food and other comforts for their new neighbors. Gratefully, Helen rose, took the basket and handed it to Ruth.

"A few things to make your first night comfortable," she said.

Ruth thanked her in a whiny voice, adding, "We’ll always be in your debt for finding us a decent home."

"Don’t mention it," Lucky’s mother said and from the tone in her voice he knew she really meant it. She turned to Lucky. "Could you ask Thea to show the Walters their place and help them get settled."

Lucky complied in a burst of Greek that startled the Walters. John’s eyebrows rose and Ruth put a hand to her mouth. But they said nothing. Instead, John gingerly lifted up his son and followed Thea out of the house.

Later, Lucky’s mother told him with grim amusement that Ruth had asked Helen if she wasn’t "worried about poor Lucky going native."

"Why’d you do it, mom?" Lucky demanded. "Why’d you tell them about Pallouriotissa?"

His mother sighed. "I felt sorry for little Eric," she said. "We met them at a get-acquainted party and Eric just made me laugh, that’s all. You know, God forgive me, but I can’t stand his mother and father. And that made me feel guilty. So I helped them find a place to live."

"But it’s right next door!" Lucky groaned.

"I know, I know," his mother said. "But look on the bright side. I almost asked Ruth to be your teacher instead of Jim."

Lucky goggled. "What are you talking about?" he demanded – horrified at the prospect.

"Well, both Ruth and John were originally teachers in Arlington. But, with all the recruiting going on, John ended up at The Pickle Factory…" This was a very private euphemism for the CIA. Lucky knew the Agency was under pressure to grow fast, but… John Walters! That was ridiculous. "So… well," his mother continued, "Ruth complained that she had quit her teaching job to come to Cyprus. And for a little while I thought it would be better to have her teach you than for you to go back to the British school."

Lucky was disgusted. "Never," he said. "She’s horrible. Worse than a nun sucking lemons."

"It’s not nice to speak about people that way," his mother said. "I’m sure Ruth has many good points." But Lucky knew from the look on her face that if pressed, she wouldn’t have been able to name one. Then she laughed and said, "There’s always Eric. He’s reason enough."

Lucky couldn’t disagree. Later, when Eric earned the moniker of Kerosene Eric, all his doubts would return.

On Saturday, April 4, there was an Easter party at the American embassy. A luncheon was scheduled, with an egg hunt for the little kids on the embassy lawn. This was followed by games and a movie for the older kids and a cocktail party and dancing for the parents. Those with very young children were encouraged to bring their maids and a nursery was set up in the embassy.

Lucky’s mother and the other wives had been busy all week readying the annual spring fashion show, with the American women modeling creations from Paris – via Beirut – with proceeds earmarked for a local orphanage. Expatriates were the same the world over: any excuse for a party with their own nationality was welcome to the extreme, and the Americans were no different.

Lucky, however, was not looking forward to the event. This was just the kind of thing that might set his father off on a binge. The family had enjoyed a reprieve of sorts since Lucky’s illness. But the pressures had been building for a long time and he knew his dad was just looking for an excuse for a break out. He prayed mightily that some Middle-East shaking event would interfere with his father’s presence at the party. Another major fly in the ointment was David Sisco, who had declared himself Lucky’s enemy when they were at the British school together. Larry and Tom reported that the station chief’s son had been poisoning the other kids’ minds against him and Lucky was in no mood for that kind of a confrontation.

"I can’t go, mom," he said late Thursday afternoon when she laid out the clothes she thought he ought to wear to the weekend party. "I’ve got an essay due for Jim first thing Monday."

When his mother pointed out that he’d had an entire week of idleness to produce the essay, Lucky shrugged and said, "I forgot about the Easter party. Thought I’d write it this weekend."

"You can write it tonight," his mother said. "And if you’re not done, you have all day tomorrow as well."

Lucky was horrified. "I can’t tonight," he said. "I’m taking Athena to the movies."

His mother sighed. "I’m sorry… getting ready for the party and all… I forgot to tell you…"

Lucky was suddenly very alarmed. "Tell me what?"

"Yorgo called while you were playing soccer with the soldiers."

Lucky heart sunk. "Okay…?" He tried not to look worried, but he dreaded what was coming. Had Yorgo found out that he’d unbuttoned Athena’s blouse? With her help, no less?!? Had Yorgo told Lucky’s mother? He didn’t think so- her manner was too mild.

His mother said, "They’re having a big family gathering tomorrow and Athena has to help her mother get ready tonight."

"Did he invite me?" Lucky asked, keeping his voice neutral.

"No, he didn’t," Helen said. Then, catching a small bit of Lucky’s concern, she hastened to say, "But I told him about the embassy party. Otherwise, I’m sure he would have."

Sure, Lucky thought dourly. Now he was sure that Yorgo must have guessed some of what had been going on. We’ll be forbidden to see each other, he thought. He started to ask his mother if Yorgo had said anything else, then decided it was best not to arouse her suspicions.

He shrugged, pretending unconcern, saying it probably wasn’t that good of a movie anyway. But as soon as he could, he looked up Andreas to see what was up.

"Oh, Lucky, Yorgo’s pretty mad at you I think," Andreas said. "But, don’t worry. He’ll be okay after awhile."

Lucky sighed. "What’ll I say to him when he takes me to school Monday?"

Andreas wagged a finger. "If I were you, I would find another way to school for a small time. Yorgo will calm down faster that way."

This was getting worse. Andreas took pity on him. "It’s not so bad," he said. "Everyone will forgive you pretty soon. You’re just a man and a man can’t always help himself. Besides, Athena’s yah-yah likes you a lot. So, maybe you can sneak a visit sometimes when Yorgo isn’t there. But not for awhile, okay?"

Lucky nodded. It wasn’t okay, but he no choice in the matter.


NEXT: GEORGE'S GHOST AND NEW LOVE
*****
LUCKY IN CYPRUS: IT'S A BOOK!



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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. 
*****



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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: 

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