***
The move to
Pallouriotissa went without a hitch. After all, they had only their luggage
and Helen’s two magical trunks to transport. Their household goods were still
on a ship somewhere and wouldn’t arrive for some months. Lucky was eager to see
Athena again, but was so stricken with shyness that he couldn’t muster the
nerve to ask Yorgo about her. Nor did the landlord mention his daughter again
the few times he stopped by the house.
The boy spent the first few days acclimatizing himself
to his immediate surroundings. During that time he didn’t venture beyond the
walls of the villa. Instead, he explored the big main house and the fragrant
orchards and gardens. Outside, he quickly adopted a favorite place to think and
view the world beyond the villa’s walls.
There was a back gate with two large stone pillars
that rose eight feet or more. The pillars were just wide enough for a young man
to sit comfortably upon and contemplate the meaning of things. Across the
gravel road was a broad field of hard-packed earth. Beyond the field were
rolling hills where goats grazed on sun-baked grasses. From that point on there
were no other features to interrupt Lucky’s view. And it was a fabulous view -
jumping from those rolling hills to a striking range of distant mountain peaks,
all cool green and inviting in the summer’s intense heat.
There were five peaks in all, grouped close together.
Athena told him later the villagers had two traditional names that dated back
to antiquity: one for summer, the other for winter. In the summer dry season
the peaks were called the "Five Fingers," because that’s what they
most resembled - an up thrust hand beseeching the heavens. Athena shyly
confessed that the people of Pallouriotissa were actually referring to the five
fingers of Zeus, the ancient Greek king of the gods who had fathered Aphrodite.
"She was born in Cyprus," Athena said of
the goddess. Blushing, she went on to say, "Someday I would like to show
you the place by the sea in Paphos where she came out of the head of Zeus. He
was in much pain, you know." She tapped her head to indicate where the
pain was located.
"You mean Zeus had a headache?" Lucky said.
He laughed at the idea of a God suffering from so human an ailment.
Athena didn’t think it was funny. "Oh, it was a
great suffering, you know," she said. "He could hardly bear it. And
then – pop! Out jumped Aphrodite, his daughter, and the pain was gone."
She said in the winter when snow covered the peaks
the range was called "The Bride And Her Four Maids." This was because
the snow made them seem like a wedding procession all dressed in white with
flowing veils that trailed all the way into the plains. The bride, Athena said,
was the tallest of the peaks and in the old days people believed she was Persephone,
herself. And the other peaks trailing behind in a snowy line were Persephone’s
court of four heavenly princesses - getting the bride ready for her marriage to
Hades, the god of the underworld.
"But we no longer believe such things,"
Athena said. "They are only stories."
"Myths," Lucky said.
Athena nodded. "Yes. Of course," she said.
"Myths. Only myths." Then she laughed. "Maybe we believe just a
little bit," she said, holding up two fingers with a small gap between
them to show just how small the belief was.
Lucky’s second favorite lookout point was the garage
roof, which was so covered with grape vines that it provided a leafy bower
suitable for spying. A boy who loved the colors and fragrance of dawn, Lucky
liked nothing better than to slip out of the house in the pearly hours and
watch the sun rise from that east-facing vantage point.
From the garage roof he saw people setting out to the
fields. The goat and sheep herders were already up and tending their flocks in
the field, whistling at the pretty girls heading for school. Lucky kept hoping
he’d spot Athena among the girls, but he never did.
If it was a market day, villagers would load their
goods on ox and donkey carts, tucking sacks of produce in among the hand-woven
cages of live birds - usually chickens or sparrows. The chickens were raised in
the back yards, while the sparrows were caught by spreading lime on the
branches of trees. When the birds landed, they were stuck there until a boy
climbed up with a sack to pull them off and stuff them inside. Lucky thought it
was cruel, but then someone explained to him that the sparrows were stealing
the farmers’ crops, so they shouldn’t mind giving up a few of their number to
feed the farmers’ families. When the wagons set off, boys and bare-legged girls
trailed behind the caravan, driving geese and ducks with long switches. There
were usually a few camels on the road, complaining bitterly to their masters
about the huge burdens swaying on their backs. No sooner had the caravan left
then the women and older girls would stream out, carrying pails, kerosene tins
and large clay jars to gather water at the central village fountain. Later
they’d return home with those same pails and jars balanced on their heads -
hips swaying in the manner of an ancient feminine procession that beguiled
Lucky like distant music.
From Lucky’s perch, the village appeared like an
illustration from one of his history books, with only a rare old car or
battered truck to remind him that this was indeed the Twentieth Century. He was
living in a place where two worlds existed side-by-side – one still part of
antiquity, the other struggling to enter the modern age.
And that world was heavy with the strong scent of
animals. It was one of the first thing Lucky noticed, after drinking in the
exotic perfume of the land. In many ways Cyprus was as much a world of animals
as it was people. Animals, accompanied by hard-working humans, did all the
labor that machines accomplished in the modern world. Everywhere you looked you
saw scores of animals, sometimes outnumbering humans. Animals carrying and
hauling things; animals grinding grain or turning power wheels; animals
providing milk, cheese, butter, eggs, clothing, bedding; animals bound for
market where they would be turned into food, oil or lard, sinew, or leather
goods.
One weekend morning while he was perched on the gate
post, gazing across the field hoping for some sight of Athena, he saw a dozen
or more boys trot out onto the vacant lot. They seemed to have some serious
purpose as they began marking the ground off with rocks and other debris -
pacing the distance between each marking place, obviously setting up some sort
of playing field. Lucky perked up immediately. It was a football field, he
realized, as he saw them set up goal lines on either side of lot.
Then he saw another boy strolling down the road
toward the vacant lot. He was a little taller and more formally dressed than
the others. They wore any raggedy old thing and many were barefooted. This boy
had on polished shoes, heavy trousers and a cable-knit sweater worn over a
white shirt with stiff collars. The boy was tossing a large round ball into the
air. A soccer ball!
Now, Lucky understood what was going on. Although
he’d never played soccer - and knew nothing of the rules – he’d seen the game
in British movies.
The tall boy spotted Lucky sitting on the gate post
and strolled over to him.
He smiled up at Lucky, quite friendly. "Are you
the American lad?" he asked in quite decent English.
Lucky grinned back. "Yes, I am," he said.
"We just moved in a few days ago."
"My name is Andreas," the boy said. He was
a handsome youth of about thirteen, but quite pale, as if he were sickly.
Lucky hopped off the wall and held out his hand.
"I’m Lucky," he said.
Andreas puzzled at him, but he took his hand and
shook just the same. "Are you saying you’re lucky to meet me?" he
asked. "Is that an American expression?"
Lucky laughed. "No, no," he said.
"That’s my name - Lucky." He shrugged. "It’s a nickname. My real
name is Allan Cole, like my father. But everybody calls me by the nickname,
Lucky."
Andreas grinned. "‘Nickname,’" he repeated.
"That’s a good word. I must inform my English teacher."
"Does everybody take English lessons in
Cyprus?" Lucky asked.
"Yes, of course," Andreas said. "But they
don’t always learn it so well in ordinary schools. I go to a special school.
Most of students there have rich fathers. I don’t. But I have a good brain and
so they let me attend. If I study hard, they will send me to Athens someday.
And I will become a doctor."
"I want to be a writer," Lucky said.
"I’m going to write books."
"Will you write a book about Cyprus,
Lucky?" Andreas asked.
Lucky wasn’t sure. "I
don’t know," he said. "Maybe someday."
"You don’t want to be a diplomat like your
father?" Andreas inquired.
"How did you know that about my father?"
Lucky asked, a little surprised – and just a bit concerned.
Another elaborate shrug. "Everyone in
Pallouriotissa knows," Andreas said. "There are no secrets in a
Cypriot village. Besides, I was told this by Athena Glafkos, the daughter of
the man who owns your house. She goes to the same school as I do. Of course,
her father is a rich builder of houses, so he can pay."
Lucky was stunned. "You know Athena?" he
asked.
Andreas grinned. "Of course! And I also know she
likes you. She didn’t tell me this herself, but all of the girls in the school
know."
"Do you know where she lives?" Lucky asked.
"Yes, of course," Andreas said, laughing.
"The girls say Athena has wondered why the American boy hasn’t come to see
her. If you like, I’ll take you there myself someday."
Heart thumping, Lucky said he’d like that very much.
Andreas indicated the ball. "Would like to play
with us?" he asked.
"Sure, I would," Lucky said. Then he
hesitated. "Except… I’ve never played soccer before."
"We don’t call it soccer, Lucky," Andreas
said. "We call it football. And I’d be glad to teach you how play
myself." He pointed to the other boys, who were staring at Lucky with open
curiosity, talking quietly among themselves. "Come," Andreas said.
"I’ll introduce you to my friends. They’ll like you." He patted Lucky
on the shoulder. "Everybody likes Americans in Pallouriotissa, you know.
If you were English, it would different."
He spit on the ground. "Damned English!"
Lucky also spit. "Damned English," he
agreed.
Andreas howled laughter. "Oh, Lucky!" he
shouted. "You are magnificent!"
Then he clapped Lucky on the back and led him over to
meet the other boys. At first they were shy, but soon Andreas had them all
laughing as he told them in Greek what Lucky had done. Demonstrating by
spitting on the ground and saying, "Damned English!" Soon all the
boys were giggling and following suit. Spitting on the ground and crying,
"Damned English, damned English, damned English!"
When there was a lull, Lucky made bold to ask
Andreas, "Aren’t there any English people you like? I mean, what about
Winston Churchill?"
"No, no, no," Andreas said. "If you
were a Cypriot you would not like that man. He’s a colonialist and a
capitalist!"
The last made Lucky feel a little ill at ease.
"We have only two great foreign men that we love
and call our heroes," Andreas said. "The first is Abraham Lincoln.
Your American president who set the slaves free."
Lucky nodded, feeling a little better. The man on the
plane had said the same thing. "Who’s the second?" he asked.
"Why, Joseph Stalin, of course," Andreas
said. "He also set his people free. And he’s promised to set the people of
Cyprus free as well."
Lucky was shocked, but did his best to hide his
feelings. "Uh, but Stalin’s a communist," he said.
Andreas threw up his hands in a dramatic gesture.
"But, of course he is," Andreas said. Then he waved his right hand,
taking in all the boys and the village beyond. "We’re all a little bit red
in Pallouriotissa," he said. "Just like the rest of Cyprus."
At first this frightened Lucky. A part of him
wondered if Andrea and his mates were going to sprout horns and barbed tails.
But as far as he could tell, other than the language, they were just like the
kids he knew back in the States. And when he got a chance to think on it later,
the language difference also wasn’t that strange. He’d lived in the South,
where it had taken him a long time to understand a simple sentence. The same
was true with his family in South Philadelphia, whose bizarre pronunciation of
the English language sometimes confounded him. Still, Andreas had said they
were all "a little bit red." And admirers of Stalin - after Hitler,
the most evil man in the world. The sworn enemy of the United States.
But Lucky soon put that out of his mind as he got his
first soccer lesson. Andreas tossed the ball to the other boys and they
demonstrated the rules, while Andreas translated. Only the head and feet could
touch the ball, he said. Never the hands, unless you were the goalie, and so
on. Soon Lucky was playing, clumsily at first. Making everybody - including
himself - laugh when he made a mistake, such as instinctively snatching a ball
from the air with his hands. Finally, they let him play goalie and he had a
great old time of it, soaking up the rules and the language as the day went by.
Andreas never actually played the game. Instead, he
was the referee and everybody listened with great respect as he settled the
many boyish disputes. But Lucky noticed that he looked just a bit sad as he
stood on the sidelines, observing. Once a wild ball struck him on the head with
great force and the whole field froze. Then the boys rushed to his side to see
if he was okay. Pale features turning pink in embarrassment, Andreas assured
them that he was. But just the same, as the game progressed, some of the kids
kept glancing over at him with worried looks.
Lucky wondered what Andreas’ trouble was. One thing
for certain, it was not an amusing mystery like the banana with the feather in
it. The Stalin/Communist thing also gnawed at him. His counselor, Mr. Blaines,
had warned him that when he was overseas he had to assume he was surrounded by
enemies of the United States Of America. Might this include Andreas and his
soccer chums? All professing admiration for Joseph Stalin?
The whole thing was so strange that he was almost
afraid to ask his parents what was going on. The CIA police might come to their
house and take his father away to question him, because of his son’s dubious
loyalties to God and Country. Back in the States, people were being put in
prison for being "a little bit red." Until this moment, Lucky had
thought their imprisonment was well deserved. On the other hand, should all the
kids he played soccer with be put away as enemies of America? And what about
Andreas? Or Athena? Was she too, a "little bit red?" It was all very
disturbing and confusing.
In the end, Lucky resorted to the tactics that Mr.
Blaines had drummed into him - he kept his lips tightly zipped. Figuring time
would eventually reveal all.
Two weeks later he found himself in a British boys’
school. And the radicalization of Lucky Cole began in earnest.
NEXT: SHORT
PANTS AND OTHER INDIGNITIES
*****
NEW STEN SHORT STORY!!!!
STEN AND THE STAR WANDERERS
NEW STEN SHORT STORY!!!!
STEN AND THE STAR WANDERERS
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.
*****
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
*****
MY HOLLYWOOD MISADVENTURES
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
 |
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. Here's where to buy the book.
*****
*****
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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