*****
*****
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| Tyche - Goddess Of Luck |
*****
***
Jim’s teaching methods were unlike any Lucky had encountered. A lesson in geography, for example, might begin with memorizing the capitols of Europe. But by week’s end they were at a map store – owned by a retired Cypriot mining engineer – where Jim unrolled relief maps of Europe, that showed the mountains and valleys, rivers and plains. He pointed out ancient routes and explained how traders and invaders exploited those natural features to create and destroy empires.
Math, the subject Lucky found most boring, became pertinent and therefore not so boring when Jim started inviting Lucky to sit in on his business meetings. Afterwards, he’d have the boy compute the transactions – so much for the truck tires, which were purchased on time at such and such interest and would be paid at so much a month over a certain period of time; the same for the young newlyweds who had bought identical bikes; or the man who owned a little fleet of three cabs and required tires more often than most.
Combining that exercise with grammar and spelling, he’d dictate letters to the franchise holders to Lucky, and after correcting them, he taught the boy how to use the typewriter so he could type them up and address the envelopes. In turn, he related those lessons to English language workbooks where he relentlessly drilled the boy on spelling and especially the rules of English. After a time, Lucky was literally diagramming sentences in his dreams.
While Jim was teaching Lucky how to type, he took the boy on a tour of a multi-lingual Cypriot newspaper. In the vast, hot basement shop, Lucky got to see a linotype for the first time and met a man – a middle-aged Armenian -named Mr. Kaijer who not only set type in five languages, but wrote a daily column in four: Greek, English, Turkish and Armenian. The fifth language was a limited circulation French language edition and Mr. Kaijer said he didn’t write for it, because "I have no feeling for the French."
Mr. Kaijer showed Lucky how the linotype operated – it was a massive machine with hundreds of belts and gears and lifting arms. And while you typed on the keyboard, composing one line of type that would fit a newspaper column, molten lead was pumped into a matrix so that when the operator worked a foot pedal, a piece of warm metal fell into a slot with the letters etched in mirror image - upside down and backward.
"I’m surprised you don’t know about the linotype, my young friend," the Armenian said. His English was flawless and quite proper. "It was invented by an American – a German refugee. One Ottmar Mergenthaler. By all accounts he was a madman." He indicated all the whirring gears and parts. "As you can see, only a man who has lost his senses could conceive of such a complicated thing."
Lucky asked, "How can you do so many languages at once? The letters are all different, aren’t they?"
Mr. Kaijer swept his hands across the keys, the linotype chuffed, and letter matrixes fell into place. Lucky noticed that the keyboard had several extra rows, with letters that were both Roman and Cyrillic.
"Well, it’s not so difficult, really," Mr. Kaijer said. "Greek and Roman letters are similar in many cases, so you don’t have to add so many more keys to accomplish both Roman and Cyrillic. So that is two languages. Plus a few more keys and you have Armenian – because its letters are patterned after the Greek." He shrugged. "I could probably compose Russian articles on this, but my Russian skills are limited."
"What about Turkish," Lucky said. "That’s like Arabic, isn’t it? That how it sounds, anyway. So how do you compose type in that?"
The Armenian laughed. "Don’t let a Turk hear you say such a thing, Mr. Lucky. They consider themselves superior to Arabs." Then he grew more serious, once again he swept his hand across the keys. "My mother was a Kurd, my father was Armenian – both victims of the Turks. So you will forgive me if I don’t appear too warm about my duties setting type for the Turks. The column I write for the Turkish edition is not popular, to say the least."
Lucky looked up at Jim, wondering what the man was talking about. But Jim just gave him a look – the one that meant keep silent, so Lucky said nothing. He tried to look sympathetic, although he had no idea why he should express this emotion.
"But you don’t want to hear about politics, my friend," the Armenian said. "You are a young scholar and you must have your answers. The answer to your question is, the Turkish written language is nothing like the Arabic written language. Some years ago, a man named Mustafa Ataturk seized control of Turkey."
He nodded at Jim. "My good friend and your teacher, Demitrios Demetrakis, will surely tell you about the happenings at that time. Cypriots, as well as Kurds and Armenians suffered greatly.
"But you asked about letters, not suffering. So I will tell you that Mr. Atatürk was a master of deception. He wanted to be loved by Europe, but his country was Moslem. So he instituted many reforms – all aimed at making Turkey appear more European than Arabic. And this included, most importantly, changing the method of writing. He decreed that all Turkish writing should adopt Roman letters, expressing the vowels and constants. And his power was such, that this is what was done in every schoolhouse in that barbaric country."
Lucky was astounded. He couldn’t imagine how something like that could be tolerated. If some strongman ordered everyone in America, Canada, England, Australia and New Zealand to suddenly adopt a different alphabet – why, it would be chaos. Hell, it would be revolution.
Jim caught the drift of his thinking and explained, "The Turks kept their people ignorant. Few could either read or write. So it was easier than you would think to change their writing habits."
Mr. Kaijer laughed and said, "Isn’t that the way of the Turks?" Then he grinned at Lucky, saying, "Let’s see how many ways we can write your name. It shouldn’t be too hard, for there must be a word for Lucky in every language on the face of the earth, including the Bushmen who click their tongues, instead of making vowels."
And with that, his hands flew across the linotype board. The machine whirred and clunked. It stuck at one point, and Mr. Kaijer gave it a kick and it became unstuck. Finally, five lines of type fell into the receiving pan. The Armenian bound them up with a piece of tape, inked them with a small, black-ink imbedded roller and pressed the block on a strip of paper. He rolled the block of type into the paper and handed it to Lucky.
"A gift from an old Armenian scholar to a young American scholar," he said.
Lucky smiled, feeling awkward, and unrolled the gift. He looked first at the type – which looked indecipherable, because they were not only in several foreign languages, but upside down and backward as well. He studied the printed paper and this is how it read:
Lucky - English
Chanceux - French
Talihli – Turkish
Huyngnlpjnlh - Armenian
ΤΎΧΗ – Greek
Wow, Lucky thought. Wow. But all he could say to Mr. Kaijer was "Thank you." He held the gift high, clutching it as if it were the greatest treasure.
"Teepotah," replied Mr. Kaijer. "It is nothing. Just remember me, Mr. Lucky, when you write about your days in Cyprus. Remember the old Armenian printer, who told you about the madman who created this crazy machine."
As they exited the newspaper, Lucky felt a little dazed. "Did you tell him I wanted to be a writer?" he asked Jim.
Jim pursed his lips, as if thinking over previous conversations with Mr. Kaijer. Then he shook his head. "No, I don’t believe I did," he said. "Of course, it wouldn’t have been hard for him to guess. After all, your questions were those of a writer."
Lucky flushed with pleasure, but he said nothing – fearing he might jinx Jim’s compliment.
NEXT: THE DAY STALIN DIED
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.
*****
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United Kingdom ...........................Spain
Also: NOOK BOOK. Plus ALL E-BOOK FLAVORS.
TALES OF THE BLUE MEANIE
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!
NOW AN AUDIOBOOK!
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Venice Boardwalk Circa 1969
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In the depths of the Sixties and The Days Of Rage, a young newsman, accompanied by his pregnant wife and orphaned teenage brother, creates a Paradise of sorts in a sprawling Venice Beach community of apartments, populated by students, artists, budding scientists and engineers lifeguards, poets, bikers with a few junkies thrown in for good measure. The inhabitants come to call the place “Pepperland,” after the Beatles movie, “Yellow Submarine.” Threatening this paradise is "The Blue Meanie," a crazy giant of a man so frightening that he eventually even scares himself.
*****
STEN #1: NOW IN SPANISH!
Diaspar Magazine - the best SF magazine in South America - is publishing the first novel in the Sten series in four episodes. Here are the links:
REMEMBER - IT'S FREE!
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