*****
 |
| The Deluge - Gustave Dore |
In the village of Kykko, high in the Troodos where the cool breezes blow and
in some places there were patches of snow even though it was coming on to June,
the old Plymouth sputtered to a halt at the edge of a fresh-mown field of
emerald green. Kykko was just beyond.
"This is the
village of my birth," Jim said, looking the happiest Lucky had ever seen
him.
The Plymouth coughed,
then moved onward and Lucky could see
that the village was set around an old church that looked in ruins at first,
but as they neared, it became apparent that serious reconstruction was going
on. Scaffolding climbed along the two sides within view, with ladders shooting
up to the belfry.
"Kykko was once
very poor," Jim said, "and the church wasn’t good for anything except
to pen up goats. But as you can see, things are better now."
Lucky saw that long
wooden tables and benches had been set up outside the church and colorful
banners and paper decorations festooned the lower reaches of the scaffolding.
Scores of people swarmed around the tables, all wearing their best clothes.
Women carried covered pots and baskets of food while the men congregated in the
shade, gossiping, smoking cigarettes and sneaking occasional nips from bottles
hidden in their coats. Children were dashing around, squealing and generally
getting underfoot, while a dozen or so adolescent boys and girls flirted within
the stern view of yah-yahs in black dresses and shawls.
When Jim pulled up,
everyone hurried to meet him, laughing happily and shouting greetings. Lucky
stood shyly by while Jim’s hand was shaken by the men and his cheeks kissed by
the women. Then he introduced Lucky and they made him feel like quite the
important visitor, praising his looks and urging him to come refresh himself.
Soon he and Jim were
seated at a table shaded by a striped awning, with cool drinks in their hands
and plates of sweets before them. People hovered over Jim while he told them
the news in Nicosia and they all chattered about mutual friends. Lucky remained
silent, drinking it all in. Although he was very happy and curious about his
surroundings, he was a little overwhelmed by everything he’d already
experienced and wasn’t quite up to deciphering the joyous Greek babble going on
all around him.
What impressed him
most were the enormous preparations that had been made for the Christening.
Lucky was well aware that peasant families in Cyprus suffered from many infant
deaths. Athena told him that among the poorest villagers few of the babies born
reached the first year of life. And so it was traditional in Cyprus to delay
the Christening, and the official naming of a child, until it was a year old.
This made the baptismal ceremony an especially important occasion and it was
treated like a grand feast day, or a wedding.
Lucky wasn’t totally
inexperienced with events of this kind. He’d attended several Irish Catholic
baptisms in Philadelphia which were quite elaborate and featured doting
parents, anxious godparents and teary relations by the score. First communions
and confirmations were also celebrated with much ceremony. But they paled by
comparison to what was happening now.
Musicians were
striding up and down the village green, tuning their stringed instruments and
some of the village youths had dressed up for a dance. The dancers-to-be were
all decked out in traditional Cypriot costumes: Doupletti for the women
– a pleated white skirt, with a blue cape that crisscrossed over either
shoulder like a cape and a high collar embroidered in white and set off with
colorful beads.
Thea, the junior maid
of the Cole household, told him later that the outfit was usually constructed
out of old bridal costumes. The men’s costumes were similarly constructed from
groom’s wear – a vra’ka worn with a striped silk shirt and a kerchief
tied about his neck of the same material. The shirt sleeves were voluminous and
were set off with a black, embroidered vest, a fancy black cummerbund and baggy
black trousers that tucked into high black boots. With glittering stones set
here and there, Lucky thought the men were almost as flashy as the women.
When Lucky murmured to
Jim, "You do all this for a baptism?" Jim whispered back, "Sure,
Lucky, but there’s a double reason for this festival. Today is also in
remembrance of the end of the flood."
"Flood?"
Lucky asked, voice rising. "What flood?"
"Noah’s flood,
Lucky," Jim said. He grinned, "You’ve heard of Noah, haven’t
you?"
Feeling a bit silly,
Lucky shrugged, "Sure," he said. But he was no wiser.
A young priest in
vestments of white and gold stepped out of the church, with robed altar boys on
either side. Someone rang the church bells and the whole crowd came to
attention. The musicians played a stirring song while the crowd lined up in
twin rows to make an aisle into the church. This was all done with a minimum of
confusion - as if much rehearsed.
Lucky saw the proud
mother and father – a young couple dressed in their Sunday best, the mother
carrying a bundle wrapped in a fabulous blanket of white silk woven with gold
threads. Lucky thought the mother looked as radiant as a bride, her cheeks
flushed, her lips slightly parted, bowing over the little bundle like a
portrait of the Madonna and Child. The father stood proud, his neck stiff, his
eyes staring straight ahead – only a swift look down at his child and a
trembling of his hands gave away his nervousness.
A regal woman of
middle age stepped up to the couple, ostentatiously kissing the father, then
the mother and then bending low – a beatific smile on her lips – kissing the
child. The godmother, Lucky surmised. There were fervent whispers… his ears
perked up… his Greek was working now… the godmother, it seemed, had a certain
familiarity with the father of the child. There were giggles. It was an older
woman teaching a young man.
Then, to his complete
surprise, Jim broke away and hurried to join the small procession. The church
bells pealed and the musicians came together to strike up a lovely melody, Jim
kissed the mother, the father and then paused as he came to the godmother. More
giggles. More whispers… was Jim a former favorite of this grand-looking woman?
Jim embraced her, delivered a quick kiss, then leaned over the child –
murmuring endearments and giving the baby such a sweet kiss, accompanied with a
smile so loving that everyone applauded and people cried out that this was the
luckiest baptism in village history.
The church was ablaze
with flickering candlelight which had the odd effect of making the statues of
the holy figures seem as if they were alive. At the altar, the priest and two
young assistants waited where a baptismal stand had been set up – a baby size
urn full of water, anointing oil in glass containers. One of the boys had a
censer filled with burning incense and when the priest signaled him, the boy
swung it gently on its chain, letting perfumed smoke drift over the procession.
The baby sneezed and people murmured that this was a lucky sign.
Finally, the ceremony
commenced – the baby dipped into water, anointed with oil, prayed over and
named – Sofia. Jim and the older woman solemnly swore that as godparents they
would see to the child’s welfare and religious education. When it was over,
everyone babbled their congratulations at once and crowded in to kiss the
parents and coo at the baby. Then the musicians started playing and they all
trooped out of the church.
Lucky thought the
feast was about to start – he was starving. But instead, from up the road, he
heard drums banging, horns blowing and the distinctive music of violins and laouto
- lutes with four double strings that were played with the point of a quill.
More villagers were marching toward them, all decked out in
traditional costumes and dancing along in time of the music. Several brawny
lads carried a large, replica of Noah’s ark, complete with a painted zoo of
animals and the faces of Noah and his family. Everyone joined the parade,
including Jim and Lucky – who’d momentarily forgotten his hunger – and they
trooped through the village, picking up more people as they went.
Soon they came to a
swift creek that rushed down the mountainside past the village and they
followed the creek until they came to its source: a large cave, whose mouth was
barred with thick iron grates. Lucky bent back as far as he could, looking up
the steep mountainside that housed the cave. The village was so high in the
Troodos that the mountains above them were mostly gray stone, with a few
stunted trees and spindly bushes. Lucky could see the peaks, not that far
overhead, still lightly crusted with snow. He looked back at the cave, then
knelt by the creek and scooped up some water.
He drank – the water
was freezing cold and had just a bit of salty taste. Even so, it was delicious.
Meanwhile, the parade had broken up and people were singing and dancing and
splashing each other with water. Children ran around with buckets, hurling
water at each other. Jim, standing along downstream, was watching with much
amusement. He waved for Lucky to join him and when he did, Jim pointed out some
rocks in the creek, then used them to jump to the other side. Lucky did the
same.
Jim started down a
narrow goat track that paralleled the creek, Lucky followed. Soon they came to
an outcropping of rock. Jim jumped up on it, pushed through some spindly bushes
and disappeared along another trail. Lucky hurried to follow. It was quiet
among the trees, the ground littered with pine needles and cones. The trail was
steep and winding and Lucky lost sight of Jim for a moment. He hurried to catch
up, his legs straining, his breath short in the thin air.
When he finally found
Jim, he nearly ran into him. He stumbled and Jim caught his arm.
"Steady," he said.
Suddenly Lucky
realized he and Jim were standing at the edge of a cliff. The boy peered down,
saw nothing but sheer rock for hundreds upon hundreds of feet, with distant
waves breaking over boulders far below. He gave a start and stepped back.
"It’s okay,"
Jim said, "I won’t let you fall."
Mustering his nerve,
Lucky moved forward again, looking out over the blue, blue Mediterranean. The
festival music was now very faint, stirring the air no more than the natural
music of the breeze and the swift-rushing creek.
Jim pointed. "Do
you see that shadow over there?" he asked. "Just on the
horizon."
Lucky immediately saw
the purple haze humping up on the horizon’s edge. At first he thought it was nothing
more than low-hanging clouds, but the closer he looked, the more they seemed to
take on substance and shape.
"Those are the
mountains of Turkey," Jim said. "About sixty sea miles away."
Lucky nodded. He knew Turkey was close, but not this close. "That
creek we just came from," Jim said, "the one whose waters you tasted…
originated in those mountains."
The boy goggled. How
could that be?
Jim said, "The
scientists tell us that the water melting from those mountains so far away
travel in an underground river beneath the sea, then – because of the pressure
– the water comes up through a fault in the Troodos mountains and gushes out
through that cave you saw. I suppose that thousands of years ago it was just a
trickle coming through a crack in the rocks. As time passed, the water made a
bigger opening – a cave."
Lucky nodded. He could
see how that could be so.
"But that’s not
the important thing to people in this village, Lucky," Jim said.
"They don’t care about the science. It isn’t the science they are
celebrating today – but the myth. The magic."
"You mean about
the flood?" Lucky said. "Noah’s flood?"
"Exactly,
Lucky," Jim said. "The story is that when the flood ended – and
waters receded – that Noah and ark came to rest on those mountains that you
see. Those Turkish mountains. And the first thing Mr. Noah did, after thanking
God and releasing the animals, and so forth, was to plant a grape vine. Well,
as the myth goes, that vine was so blessed by God that it broke through the
very rock and made a course all the way into the bed of the sea. And the roots
then bored through the ocean’s bottom until they rose again until they came to
Cyprus. There, the holy grapes flourished, just as they did in far off
Turkey."
"I didn’t see any
grapes in the village," Lucky said. "It’s probably too high up,
right?"
Jim laughed.
"Ever the skeptic," he said. "But you are quite correct. There
are no grapes growing in the this village. But if you followed the stream to
Paphos you would see some of the finest vines in the world. Before the British
took us, Cyprus was renowned for its wines. Of course, the Turks kept it all
for themselves, so the news didn’t travel far."
Lucky looked out at
the distant headlands of Turkey. "Do you really think there was a great
flood, like it says in the bible, or do you think it’s just a story?"
Jim shrugged and said,
"I’m not a scientist, of course, but my professors in Athens taught us
that the story of the great flood is common all over the world. Native people
as far away as Asia and Australia all have stories about a flood that destroyed
everyone. And most also have tales about a man in a boat, or a big canoe, or
something like that, taking his family and livestock and seeds from his farm to
a new place."
Lucky was astounded.
"Really?" he asked. "All over the world?"
Jim ginned, saying,
"That’s what my professors told us and they had no reason to lie. One or
two were even atheists – communists with no belief in God. It was a biblical
puzzle that troubled their non-believing views."
"What do you
think?" Lucky asked.
Jim thought a minute,
then crouched down and dug into the grit between two boulders. He must have
found what he was looking for because he suddenly smiled and scooped something
out of the grit.
"I think life is
more difficult to understand now, Lucky," he said. "In the old days
no one would question that the gods did this or that or the other thing. If a
god wanted to flood the world, so be it. If another wanted to punish Prometheus
for blessing mankind with fire, science, and music, why it must be so. But
these days we insist on evidence of some kind. Evidence you can see with your
own eyes."
And with that he
opened his hand, showing Lucky three perfect sea shells.
"How else do you
account for seashells in the mountains of Troodos, Lucky?" Jim asked with
a dazzling smile. "Maybe God did it. Maybe the ice caps melted and the
seas rose. But here we are with seashells, so we know that at one time
everything here was under water. And so, maybe someplace, some intelligent
people built a damned big boat and carried off their family and livestock. Or
perhaps, like it says in the Old Testament, God warned Noah and he built an ark
and carried away his family and all the beasts of the forest and the field.
However you look at it, the stories are the same. God willed the flood. Or Nature
did. I suppose clever men can quarrel about the difference forever – for all
that it matters."
Jim handed Lucky two
of the shells, but kept back one – smooth and glossy and shaped like a football.
He said, "My little cousin Sofia was Christened today – they made her
already innocent soul even more innocent."
Lucky said,
"Yeah, washing away original sin."
"Yes, original
sin," Jim said. "The curse of mankind. The curse of Prometheus, if
you trace the idea back.
"But let us
remain with the question of the lovely soul of my sweet little cousin. In time,
Sofia will grow to be the darling of the village, stealing the hearts of many
boys. She will marry, become a mother, then a grandmother. She will have
happiness and suffering – to be human is to suffer. And she will grow old and
she will die like all of us. But what about her soul? Your church, my church –
everybody’s church – claims that the soul is immortal."
He held up the
polished shell between two fingers. "Possibly the soul is like this shell,
which held a living thing thousands and thousands of years ago."
Lucky jumped –
startled - as Jim suddenly squeezed his fingers together and turned the shell
into dust. Jim dramatically held out his hand and blew the particles away.
"Is this what
happens to the soul?" Jim asked. "Dust into dust, even for holy
spirits? Or, is there even such a thing as a soul? When life ends, does the
creature who contained it – man or ant – end forever? On the other hand, is the
soul the sturdy, immortal spirit of life-giving energy that religions claim it
is?"
He waited for Lucky’s
answer. After a time, the boy shook his head. "I don’t know," he
said.
Jim laughed.
"Neither do I, my Lucky old sun. And if you should ever find the answer, I
pray you tell your old teacher what you think. Now, come, the music is fading.
We’d better hurry before they eat all the food."
Lucky’s hunger
returned and he rushed after Jim back to the square by the church. The priest
was just putting some final blessings on the scene, swinging his clattering
censer and sending out thick clouds of smoke across the empty banquet tables.
Then there were shouts, a wild wail of music and everybody ran to find a seat.
One of Jim’s cousins, a giggling country girl, showed him where to sit – at the
head of one table with Lucky at his side.
Then the heavy scent
of incense was suddenly overcome by food smells, and Lucky’s belly groaned in
anticipation. Women and girls came pouring out from every direction, carrying
platters and trays of food. The entire village had contributed to the feast,
with each household competing with the next for the deliciousness of its sacred
family recipes.
First were the
appetizers, delectables like the creamy cucumber Tsatsiki; or Tahini,
where you dipped your bread into a paste of smoky sesame seeds, olive oil and
garlic. Then there was Spanachopita, wild spinach from the fields
wrapped in thin pastry; and of course, Manitaria, which was mushrooms
cooked in garlic, onions, peppers and the fat red
tomatoes bursting on the vine that grew up one of the legs of the church
scaffolding.
As always,
there were several varieties of humus, each family proudly presenting its
version of the savory paste made from chick peas, olive oil, garlic and lemon.
Then out of the big clay ovens came the main courses – roasts of mutton and
lamb, pork and beef and fish and fowl of every variety. All accompanied with
the blankets of the fresh vegetables that had smothered the various cuts of
meat during their long cooking – potatoes and yams and carrots and onions and
squashes and greens of every kind. Accompanied by pots of steaming savory rice
cooked Cypriot style in a lemony chicken broth spiced with spring onions and
pine nuts.
Wine and
cognac flowed along with this stream of food, although under Jim’s watchful eye
Lucky only had a little retsina, but mostly drank lemon squash made with
bottled water. Pastries and sweets were next, with some of the pastries made of
dough baked into cloud light delicacies that were so lemony that they were more
delicious then the fillings could ever be. Coffee was served, thick and sweet
and hot in copper imbrikas straight from the hot sand beds they were
brewed in.
People
from other villages joined the feast, carrying jugs of wine and spirits and
baskets of food. "Kopiaste! Kopiaste!" everyone shouted. Welcome!
Welcome! And when they drank the fabulous Cypriot coffee, sometimes laced with
cognac, they cried "Stin’evan’sas!" - to your good health.
The party
started in earnest and everybody began to dance. The Syrtaki was Lucky’s
favorite – he’d practiced it often with Athena. A village girl on either side
of him, and urged on by the crowd, he began – stepping forward with the left
foot, tapping the heel of his right then kicking it forward. And then reverse –
right foot back, left heel tapping, left foot kicking back.
The music
went faster and faster until everything was a happy blur.
Much later, as they
drove home – winding down out of the Troodos with the cool evening breeze
blowing through the open windows – Lucky sat quietly next to Jim, sifting
through the day’s events.
It had started with
Saint Paul, then Aphrodite, the ancient Mother Goddess, the christening, the
festival of Noah’s flood, the river that came all the way under the sea from
Turkey, and then the feasting and dancing. He sighed.
What a marvelous day
it had been. Then the moon rose over the broad central plain.
And far, far away he
could see the ancient walls of Nicosia climbing above the horizon.
Jim said, "You
should sleep, Lucky."
Lucky closed his eyes,
listening to someone singing a sweet Greek ballad on the car radio.
The translation came
to him effortlessly.
It was as if his mind
had been unlocked and the words came tumbling out:
"…Old songs that sang themselves to me,
Sweet through a boy's day dream,
While trout below the blossom'd tree
Plashed in the golden stream…"
And soon he slept.
NEXT: THE SAGA OF
KEROSENE ERIC
*****
*****
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
*****
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.
*****
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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