*****
 |
| A Village Street In Old Cyprus |
***
Things didn’t
improve for Lucky at chapel – a service they had each day before the start
of classes. The whole thing started innocently enough - the Headmaster, Dr.
Blackpool, led them in prayer. Afterward, routine announcements were made by
various teachers. Then, just before they were dismissed to begin the
educational portion of their school day, the boys all rose to sing the British
National Anthem: "God Save The Queen."
The problem was, King George VI had died recently and
had been succeeded by his daughter, Queen Elizabeth II. Making things even more
confusing was that she wasn’t actually queen yet - the official coronation was
many months away. Adding to this confusion was that after a lifetime of singing
"God Save The King," plus a summer layover, the boys at the academy
were unsure what words they should use. And so more than a few were getting it
wrong. Some sang "God save the king," then corrected themselves
mid-word, changing "king" it to "queen." Others sang
"queen," but when they heard the others sing the opposite, they thought they’d made a mistake and changed it to "king." Then
hurriedly changed it back to "queen" again.
There was a great deal of mirth. Lucky, who didn’t
know the words to the song in the first place, had been trying to mouth it
along with the others, but in the chaos this became impossible. He was stricken
with a sudden case of the uncontrollable giggles. Larry and Tom broke out into
giggles as well. Even David was affected, his stiff pose shattering as he bent
over, holding his belly, laughing and laughing.
Well, it was one thing for the British boys to laugh.
It was another for the four Yanks to display humor over such a serious matter.
The Head Master shouted for silence and got it. At the same time, the teacher
who had rescued Lucky from Simms slammed down the aisle and shook his finger at
the suddenly chastened American boys.
"I see you and your friends have an unfortunate
sense of humor, Mr. Cole," the teacher said. He slapped his pointer
against the palm of his hand. "Let’s test that humor, shall we?" he
said. "Perhaps you’ll find a bit of birch against your bottoms laughable
as well."
With that, he led them out of the chapel through a
side door, which opened into the main administration building. Quaking, the
four boys followed him into an office. The teacher shut the door behind them.
There was a sign on the desk which read: S.A. Quinton-Thomas. The teacher’s
name, Lucky supposed.
"There’s nothing like getting directly to the bottom
of rudeness on the first day of classes," Quinton-Thomas observed,
eyes glittering, a thin smile spreading across his face.
The boys said nothing - only shivered at the look in
his eyes.
Quinton-Thomas chortled. "I just made a humorous
statement," he said. "In my use of the word ‘bottom’." Again he
slapped the pointer against his palm. "But for some reason you Yanks don’t
find me as funny as you did when you ridiculed our Royal Family."
Tears leaked from Larry Johnson’s eyes. "The
other boys were laughing too, sir," he blubbered.
"What a sniveling little coward, you are,"
Quinton-Thomas said. "Well, since you are already engaged in weeping, you
can go first and I’ll give you something to weep for."
He crashed the pointer across the desk, to underscore
his intent. Lucky was horrified. The slash had been so vicious he was certain
that Mr. Quinton-Thomas meant serious harm. His heart raced as the situation
sank in. After Larry, this would be his fate. At that moment he determined that
he wouldn’t allow himself to be touched. He looked wildly about, spotted a
heavy paperweight on the desk and decided he’d use that for a weapon as a last
resort.
Quinton-Thomas grabbed Larry by the collar. The boy
manfully stifled a cry, but his brother, Tommy, shrieked in terror – a
high-pitched scream that made Lucky’s blood run cold. Never mind the paper
weight - he turned toward the door, ready to bolt from the room. Lucky wasn’t
sure where he was going - except as far away from this awful school as he
could. Larry moaned and Lucky whirled to see the boy’s face turn blue and he
sank to the floor, gasping and wheezing and pounding his heels against the
wooden tiles.
Tommy shrilled alarm and fell to his knees,
blubbering over his brother. "Get up, Larry," he cried. "Get up
before he gets you."
Quinton-Thomas scowled at the scene "What’s
this!" he thundered. "A Yankee coward? I didn’t touch the boy. Well,
if he’s going to cry without reason, I’ll give him something to cry for."
He raised the pointer to strike and Tommy hurled
himself across his brother’s body. Larry was coughing and wheezing and his face
was getting redder and redder. But Quinton-Thomas wasn’t having any of this
schoolboy nonsense. He leaned over to jerk Tommy away from his brother by the
collar.
Lucky intervened. He grabbed at Quinton-Thomas’
sleeve. "He’s sick, sir!" he shouted. "He has asthma!"
The teacher turned on Lucky, lifting his pointer and
for a moment the boy thought he was going to be struck in the face. Then he saw
teacher’s eyes go wide as Lucky’s warning sunk in. Quinton-Thomas rushed to the
intercom and shouted for the nurse to come right away. A moment later a short,
grandmotherly-looking woman in a nurse’s uniform burst through the door. She
had a little packet in her hand. Lucky could see Larry’s name written on it.
When she saw Larry writhing on the floor she gave the
Quinton-Thomas a searching look. The look became a withering glare when she saw
the pointer still clasped in his hand. With some difficultly, the old nurse
lowered herself to her knees, then got an inhaler out of the packet. She
administered the medicine to Larry, who drew on the inhaler as if he were
drowning.
A few minutes later the crisis was over. After
delivering another withering look at Quinton-Thomas, she led Larry and Tommy
from her office. Saying, "There, there, dears. We’ll just go have a little
rest in my office. And maybe a little something nice and sweet to eat and some
hot tea to wash it down."
The moment the nurse exited the office,
Quinton-Thomas ordered Lucky and David to remove themselves from his
sight." Neither boy knew where they were supposed to go, but they left in
a hurry just the same. They wandered around the hallway for a few minutes,
until they found the main office. Lucky explained to a nice young woman there
that their student guide had been called away in an emergency and they didn’t
know where their classes were located. After awhile an escort arrived to take them
to their respective classrooms.
The rest of the day was a blur of filling in papers
and meeting teachers whose faces and names didn’t register. Tomorrow, Lucky
thought. I’ll write everything down. The day took forever to end, but then the
bell dismissing school rang and Lucky raced out of the building, across the
lawn, and through the gates to the taxi that was waiting to take him home.
The cabbie was a man Lucky hadn’t met before so there
was a welcome silence that he didn’t attempt to break on the way to
Pallouriotissa. He thought long and hard about what he was going to tell his
patents about the Thomas Arnold Academy For Boys. It was an awful place, but
how unbearable was it really? His parents tended to be fickle. Sometimes they’d
support him, sometimes he’d only get himself in more trouble by complaining.
There were also other considerations involving his parents. Considerations he’d
just as soon not dwell on right now.
When he arrived home, his father was just pulling
away in another taxi. Lucky waved to him and he was sure his father saw him.
But the manner in which he turned coldly away gave Lucky pause. He went into
the house dreading what he would find. His mother was in the kitchen drying
dishes. One of the maids – Brosina – stood by her, looking very concerned.
Lucky greeted his mother and she turned – cautiously, trying not to look at him
straight on. But he saw that eyes were red from crying and she had a bruise on
one cheek.
She smiled at him bravely, as if nothing had
happened. "How was your first day at school?" she asked with forced
cheer.
"Fine," Lucky said.
His stomach turned. The terror had started again.
Larry and Tommy didn’t return to school the following
day. Lucky learned later that their mother - a former teacher - had withdrawn
her sons from the academy and intended to home school them herself, using
educational materials provided by the U.S. government. By week’s end David’s
parents had withdrawn him as well and Lucky became the only American at the
academy. This wasn’t all bad - tuition was expensive and the loss of three
American students, whose parents were literally paying top dollar because they
weren’t citizens of the U.K., proved to be a financial blow to the
administration, putting everyone on notice.
Quinton-Thomas and the other teachers were told to
adopt a hands off policy and went out of their way to avoid a confrontation
with Lucky and the few other foreign students. For awhile, Simms and his
cronies left him alone as well. During this period, school became almost a pleasant
experience.
Unlike American schools, they had different teachers
for each subject. Except instead of the students going from class to class, it
was the teachers who moved about. With several different personalities on offer
each day, it made things more interesting. Most of the classes were dead
simple. They were far behind Lucky’s classes at the Catholic school in the
states. But that was not so unusual – in the 1950’s, American Catholic schools
were generally well ahead of public schools.
The main thing about the academy that troubled Lucky
was that he didn’t seem to be able to make friends with any of the other boys.
This was quite outside his experience. In America, even when he lived in the
South and was distrusted because he was a "Yankee," eventually most
of the boys relented and struck up friendships. Of course, as he went from
school to school, he’d always been forced to have a fist-fight with at least
one boy. That was the way of the world of kids and he’d been well-equipped by
his grandfather to bring those fights to a quick and satisfying conclusion.
Frequently, the boy Lucky had a fight with would become one of his first
friends, paving the way for other friendships.
Lucky’s short battle with Simms should have served
that purpose. Instead, it seemed to make the other boys shy away. Why this was
so, he couldn’t say. On the other hand, for a time no one else challenged him -
which was certainly okay by Lucky. Fighting was not something he enjoyed. It
also made him feel less than adult: he’d much rather have solved things with
his wit, rather than his fists.
His situation became clearer one day, when, while
waiting for a cab to take him home, he saw a classmate - Derek - pacing near
the entrance. Derek seemed distraught - almost in tears. Lucky asked him what
was wrong.
Derek shrugged. "Nothin’," he said.
"Need a ride?" Lucky guessed. "I’ve
got a cab coming."
Derek gave his leaky nose a swipe. Another shrug.
"I wouldn’t mind, mate," he admitted. Then he patted his pockets.
"Don’t have price on me right now," he continued, "but I can pay
you back tomorrow."
Lucky laughed. "You don’t have to," he
said. He dumped his school bag on the ground, unfastened the leather flap and
took out an open pack of Lucky Strikes. He withdrew two cigarettes and offered
them to Derek. "Just give these to the cab driver," he said,
"and he’ll take you wherever you want to go. I get them from my father who
gets them at the embassy PX for practically free."
Hugely impressed, Derek took the two cigarettes from
Lucky. "Your mum and dad let you smoke?" he asked.
Grinning, Lucky shook his head. "They’d kill me
if I did," he said. "But after I explained that I could buy just
about anything with American cigarettes - and much cheaper, too - they let me
have some whenever I ask. My dad smokes Kools. But the Cypriots like Lucky
Strikes and Camels best. They’re practically like money. Maybe even better than
money. "
"Where’d you find out about that?" Derek
asked. "I’ve lived here for three years and I didn’t know."
"The kids in the village told me," Lucky
said.
Derek’s eyes widened. "You have Cypriot
mates?" he asked.
"Sure," Lucky said. "We play football
every day after school. They’re teaching me Greek and I teach them
English."
"But they’re… they’re… you, know… WOGS,"
Derek protested.
Lucky frowned. "What’s a WOG?" he asked.
"Worthy Oriental Gentlemen," Derek replied.
"You know, like niggers."
Lucky was shocked. He was embarrassed for Derek and
also for himself. He thought he’d left filthy words like that behind in the
States. Not knowing how to reply, he changed the subject. "Where are you
going?" he asked. "I thought you lived here at the school."
Derek was a boarder. About eighty percent of the boys
attending the academy were boarders. Their parents were well off people who
sent their kids away and rarely saw them, except during the holidays. Sometimes
they didn’t even see them then.
"My mum’s just come in from Rome," Derek
said. "She’s staying in Nicosia. She was supposed to send a car to pick me
up, but… it didn’t come."
He sniffled, on the verge of tears again. Lucky hoped
like hell that he wasn’t going to start crying. He was saved by the arrival of
his taxi. They got in, paid the driver in cigarettes and were off. After a bit,
Lucky asked Derek where he wanted to go. Derek named the hotel where his
"mum" was staying and Lucky gave the driver instructions in clumsy
Greek. Derek looked surprised, but said nothing.
The driver was Lucky’s friend Nikos, who smiled and
nodded and answered back in Greek. Then he gently corrected Lucky’s
pronunciation of certain words. Finally, he lit one of the Lucky Strikes and
turned up the music on the Cypriot radio station. He thumped on the dash board
in time to the music, pausing now and then to savor the flavor of the rich
American tobacco.
"Are you going to spend the whole weekend with
your mother?" Lucky asked Derek. "Bet you’ll be happy to see
her."
It was Friday. There was a half-day of school on
Saturday, so Lucky assumed Derek’s mother had called the head master to get her
son Saturday off for the visit.
"Sure, I’m happy," Derek said, but his
voice was a suddenly very tight. "Haven’t seen her since Boxing Day, have
I?"
"Wow!" Lucky said.
Immediately he was sorry he made any reaction at all
because he saw Derek’s face get all screwed up and the boy quickly turned away
to look out the window. Although he hadn’t been in Cyprus long enough to learn
all the British holidays, Lucky knew that Boxing Day fell somewhere around
Christmas - which was several months away. This meant that Derek hadn’t seen
his mother for nearly a year. He decided it was best not to ask Derek about his
father.
After a bit, Derek turned back, emotions under
control. He also seemed to be struggling to get up the nerve to tell Lucky
something. Lucky waited. Figuring the words would come if he didn’t interfere
with whatever was roiling around in Derek’s mind.
Finally, the boy said, "I’m not going to be at
the school much longer."
"Good for you," Lucky said - meaning it.
"See, I’m Catholic."
"So am I," Lucky said.
Derek’s eyebrows rose. "You didn’t tell anybody,
did you?"
Instead of being surprised at the question, Lucky
frowned, considering. Then he said, "It was in my school
application."
Derek nodded, as if this was a vital piece of a
puzzle just delivered to him. "Everybody knows, then," he said.
"That’s why they hate you so much. You’re not only a Yank, but Catholic as
well. The only thing that’s saved you so far, is that your name is ‘Cole.’
Otherwise they’d think you were Irish as well."
"I am Irish," Lucky said, strong feelings
of Emerald Isle patriotism rising up. "My mother’s all Irish. My
father’s half Irish."
Derek drew in his breath. "Don’t tell anybody
else that," he said fervently. "They’ll get you for sure! Simms and
his mates call the Irish ‘white niggers.’"
Lucky winced – there was that word again. As for the
rest, he wasn’t that surprised. As an Irish Catholic it had been drummed into
him that there were certain elements in America - and other places in the world
- who didn’t like Irish Catholics. After his experience in Southern schools,
Lucky had an idea what to expect.
"So Simms is laying for me," Lucky said
flatly.
"Too right, mate," Derek replied.
"Simms and his pals are just waiting for things to calm down some."
Then he became alarmed. "Don’t tell them I said anything!"
"I won’t… I swear," Lucky said, crossing
his heart. But then he just had to ask: "What about you, Derek?" he
asked. "Don’t they know you’re Catholic?"
Derek swallowed hard and nodded. "Yes."
"I’ve never seen anybody bother you," Lucky
said.
Tears jutted in Derek’s eyes. He manfully fought them
back. Long minutes passed before he could talk again. "You’re only there
in the daytime," he said, his voice nearly breaking.
"What do they do, gang up on you when the
teachers aren’t looking?" Lucky asked.
The tears that had been threatening for so long
suddenly burst forth, as if a faucet had been turned full on. "The
teachers?" Derek bawled. "They don’t care!" Lucky was astonished
at this outburst. Once again, Derek got himself under control. "Just watch
out for them," he said. "Don’t let them get you alone. They’re just
waiting for the chance."
At that point the cab was caught up in city traffic -
mostly bicycles and ox carts - and was moving very slowly.
Derek suddenly pulled on the door handle and jumped
out. Thanks for the ride!" he shouted. And he immediately disappeared into
the chaos.
Without instruction, Nikos turned the taxi around.
Backing up, sawing the wheel this way and that - his actions accompanied by
curses Lucky hadn’t yet learned - he eventually got the cab going in the
opposite direction. Heading toward Pallouriotissa - and home.
Lucky sat very quietly, running Derek’s dilemma over
in his mind. Trying, and failing, to figure out what Derek was so frightened
of.
Nikos coughed, getting his attention. "Do you
know what your friend was telling you, Lucky?" He asked, looking at the
boy in the rear view mirror. "Do you know what has been done to him?"
Lucky started to nod, but then realized he didn’t. He
shook his head. "No." Nikos took his right hand off the wheel and
made a rude pumping action. Even in Lucky’s innocence, he understood what the
gesture meant. He didn’t know what to say in reply. A whole frightening world
of threats was suddenly opening up for him to see. "You must speak to
Andreas," Nikos advised. "He can tell you what to do."
*****
NEXT: THE AMAZING BROSINA
*****
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.
*****
MY HOLLYWOOD MISADVENTURES
Audiobook version coming soon!
Audiobook version coming soon!
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.
*****
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
*****
TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
Audiobook Version Coming Soon!
 |
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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