Gentle Readers: Lucky In Cyprus, along with your humble scribe, will be on vacation for a few weeks. Lucky's adventures will resume Friday, April 18.
*****
*****
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| Easter At A Cypriot Beach |
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.
*****
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.
*****
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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