*****
*****
They packed frantically. Lucky called his school friends and said his father was being reassigned to Beirut – which was the hasty cover that had been concocted. Donna knew better and they had a brief, but passionate farewell at her house, vowing to stay in touch.
“We’ll see each
other in D.C.,” she said.
“Sure we will,”
Lucky said. And, miracle of all miracles, they did.
Lucky telephoned
Athena, but Yorgo had forbidden any contact whatsoever, so no one would call her
to the phone. Andreas and his other Cypriot friends were unreachable – they had
no phones. He felt bad about leaving without a word, but there was nothing he
could do about it.
He called Jim,
however, and told him the concocted tale. An hour later Jim showed up. He saw
the hurried packing and what he must have thought of it, Lucky couldn’t guess.
Jim took Helen aside and spoke softly to her. She nodded, agreeing with what
whatever he was proposing.
Jim returned to
Lucky. “Let’s go for a farewell drive,” he said. “Your mother’s given her
permission.”
Lucky gladly
accepted the invitation.
They headed out
of town in the old black Plymouth. Lucky said little, too stunned by the swift
moving events following right on the heels of the Metaxa Square attack. Jim
filled in the silence, chatting about books, art and philosophy as if these
subjects were the most important things in the world, rather than Lucky’s
impending flight from Cyprus.
They drove into
the mountains, past a castle set on the edge of a great, sheer cliff that
dropped away into the Mediterranean. The front of the castle faced a steep
slope covered with shale. A small cart track ran up from the main road to the
gates.
“In the old
days,” Jim said, pointing out the castle, “when the enemy approached the king’s
men would catapult boulders onto the shale. And this would create a landslide
that would kill, or maim, the invaders.”
Lucky pictured
the scene – the marching men, confident of victory. The boulders crashing down
and the avalanche of rocks crushing them. He wished he could live in that
castle and be its king. Then when the CIA cops came and told them he had to
leave Cyprus, he would bury them in tumbling rocks.
As if reading
his thoughts, Jim said, “In the coming days make a place like this in your
mind, Lucky, and you will be safe.”
Lucky didn’t
answer, but he soaked it up like a sponge plucked from the reefs at Limmasol.
Jim turned off
onto a bumpy path and drove up and up until he came to grove of tall pine. He
stopped there and they got out. Lucky followed Jim through the grove of pine
and along a narrow path until they came to a cliff with a breath-taking view of
the blue, blue Mediterranean.
Lucky saw
fishing boats, colorful sails ablaze with the afternoon sun, as the boats plied
the waters. He could make out the eyes painted on their bows so they could peer
magically through fog and storm.
“There was once
a temple to Aphrodite here,” Jim said, indicating shards of marble littering
the ground and stone stumps where columns might have been. Jim smiled, teeth
flashing in the sun. “Of course, this should be no surprise to you, because
I’ve shown you that temples to the goddess were everywhere.”
Thinking of the
fat old mother goddess in the Troodos Mountqains, Lucky laughed, which made Jim’s grin
broaden.
“But, you know,
this was no ordinary temple,” he said, “and it was no ordinary statue of
Aphrodite. Because this place, my dear, dear Lucky, is known as Stokahlo Hill,
or the Goodbye Hill.”
“There’s a
song,” Lucky said, remembering the man he’d met on the plane to Cyprus. The
man’s name was Paul, Lucky remembered, his eyes suddenly tearing “A song called
Stokahlo.” The meeting on the plane seemed long ago.
Jim beamed.
“Yes, yes, and this is the place where that song was born,” he said. “That
inspired it.”
He turned to
Lucky. “You know, whenever a dear friend or family member must leave our
island, if we want to make certain that they will return to us someday, we
bring them to this place. This place blessed by Aphrodite long ago.
“And here, we
can say our Stokahlos, knowing that the goddess’ holy winds will carry them
back to Cyprus once again.”
Now the tears
were spilling down Lucky’s cheeks. He wanted to stop crying, but he couldn’t.
Jim placed his
hands on Lucky’s shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. “So, Stokahlo, my
friend,” he said. “And come back to Cyprus as soon as you can.”
“Stokahlo,”
Lucky said, as manfully as he could. He hugged Jim and despite all his efforts,
he couldn’t stem the flood of tears.
And neither
could Jim.
*****
He never saw Jim
again for the Goddess Aphrodite was not so kind.
Six months after
Lucky returned to the States, his father came home one night and told Lucky he
needed to speak to him.
He sat the boy
down at the kitchen table and Lucky was startled to see tears welling up in his
father’s eyes.
“I have bad
news,” he said, getting right to the point. “It’s about Jim.”
Lucky couldn’t
speak. He could only nod - go on.
“Jim was killed
by terrorists,” his father said.
Lucky’s heart
stopped. “How… How…” He couldn’t get it out. And he really didn’t want to know
the details.
“Jim was having
lunch with the mayor and some other businessmen,” Lucky’s father said. “They
threw a bomb under the table. It was quick and everybody said he didn’t
suffer.”
Lucky couldn’t
move. He just stared at his father and suddenly he was swept back to that hill
again, the hill that overlooked the glittering sea and pale blue skies and the
fishing boats – sails stretched wide – speeding across the waters.
Jim was standing
over him, hands on his shoulders. And Lucky was turning his head to see Jim’s
face and that fabulous, crooked smile and the tears were streaming down his
teacher’s cheeks and Jim was saying, “Stokahlo, Lucky. Stokahlo.”
“I’ll be back,
Jim,” Lucky had said. “I promise.”
*****
AFTERWARD
His name was Jim. Jim
Demetrakis. And he was father, brother and teacher to me. I think he would have
been a great man, a rare voice of moderation and gentle wisdom in a region
where hate and violence are endemic.
But
a frightened man with a bomb robbed his country, his people, of Jim’s
influence. Just as Jim was robbed of the long and rich life he deserved. An
orphan, he dreamed of the day when he would have a family of his own with a
loving wife and children he could spoil. And books - he dreamed of having so
many books in so many languages that it would take him a lifetime to read them
all. As for his public life, Jim might not have coaxed the lion to lay down
with the lamb, but he might have taught a few Greeks and Turks to at least
tolerate one another.
As
for me – as for Lucky – more than a half
a century later I can still hear all those voices – those clamoring voices –
vying for my attention. Church and school, flag and country and the CIA. All
turning truth inside out and standing reality on its head to suit their
purposes.
But
Jim’s voice always rings through the clamor. Casting his shadow – his shade - between what is true and what is false. He taught me to always test a thing, like
a stallkeeper bites a coin of large value to make certain that it’s real.
But
he also taught me to accept what might be a fabrication - if only in my heart,
but not my mind - to get at the truth beyond. It didn’t matter whether Mr.
Socrates, the wheelwright, really was related to the ancient philosopher. What
mattered was that through all those years, all those generations, the story was
delivered whole and as full of nuggets of ideas as Jason’s legendary golden
fleece.
Jim was delighted when I found
the battered copy of the Rubaiyat at the marketplace and we spent many an hour
reading the poems aloud to one and all.
This
was his favorite:
“There was the Door to which I found no Key;
There was the Veil through which I could not see;
Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee.
There was -- and then no more of Thee and Me.”
Jim slipped beyond that veil long ago. I suspect I shall soon follow.
And
that is why I’ve written this tale. This story of Lucky, A Teacher, An
Earthquake, Some Terrorists, And The CIA.
So
at least there will be a little talk of Jim and Me.
Before
there is no more of me.
THE END
*****
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
*****
NEW: THE AUDIOBOOK VERSION OF
THE HATE PARALLAX
THE HATE PARALLAX: What if the Cold War never ended -- but continued for a thousand years? Best-selling authors Allan Cole (an American) and Nick Perumov (a Russian) spin a mesmerizing "what if?" tale set a thousand years in the future, as an American and a Russian super-soldier -- together with a beautiful American detective working for the United Worlds Police -- must combine forces to defeat a secret cabal ... and prevent a galactic disaster! This is the first - and only - collaboration between American and Russian novelists. Narrated by John Hough. Click the title links below for the trade paperback and kindle editions. (Also available at iTunes.)
*****
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:
United Kingdom ...........................Spain
Also: NOOK BOOK. Plus ALL E-BOOK FLAVORS.
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.
