“There’s no time to change, we is late already,” that old fool Vasilis insisted, stuffing a large plastic pink flower into Masha’s cleavage in an attempt to disguise the unsightly red stain.
Climbing onto the donkey the mismatched pair quarrelled all the way to the church, arriving just in time for the ceremony. Pappas Iraklis, hovering by the doorway ready to slip Masha the promised icon, rushed to help her dismount.
“I think yous is being a bit forward putting yous ‘ands on my bottom,” Masha scolded the blushing young Pappas.
“Sorry, I was just trying to brush the donkey ‘airs of yous backside,” he muttered shyly, utterly entranced by this Russian beauty.
“Malaka, my heel ‘as snapped,” Masha cursed, placing one hand on Pappas Iraklis’ shoulder to prevent herself falling. Kicking her stiletto off Masha hobbled unsteadily after her husband towards the font, leaving the trainee Pappas to scoop it up and discover he had a new found propensity for shoe fetishism.
“Are we the last to arrive?” Vasilis asked, taking a seat next to his daughter Stavroula, and the other godparents, Gorgeous Yiorgos and Petula.
“Did yous not see I broke my heel?” Masha complained, practically falling into the seat next to Vasilis. “Run over to the ‘ardware shop an’ see if Bald Yannis ‘as some superglue to fix it.”
“Never mind Masha, yous looks lovely even with only one shoe on,” Tassia reassured her.
That old fool Vasilis, rushing to follow Masha’s command, almost collided with Pappas Iraklis who was still hovering by the church door with his nose buried deeply in Masha’s shoe. “I think that is Masha’s,” Vasilis said, snatching the shoe.
“Sorry, I was just about to give it back to your granddaughter,” Pappas Iraklis blushed.
“Masha is my wife, yous cheeky young goat,” Vasilis thundered in anger, recognising the all too obvious signs of infatuation.
“That old fool never fails to embarrass me with ‘is jealousy,” Masha cringed as Vasilis’ voice resonated throughout the church.
“Don’t get upset,” Fat Christos implored, thinking this was not the time for one of Masha’s temper tantrums. Passing her the bottle he added “’Ere ‘ave some Idaho vodka.”
“It’s a gluten free speciality,” Deirdre piped up.
A hefty swig from the bottle calmed Masha down and the Pappas began the baptism. She needed another gulp of the potato spirit when the Pappas offended her by asking if she renounced Satan.
The Pappas’ droning litany was interrupted by the noisy late arrival of Fotini, Nitsa, Hattie and Fotis. The old Mercedes taxi had run out of petrol half-way to Astakos, leaving the uninvited foursome to totter along at a doddering geriatric pace. Having been forced to take it in turns to give the three old crones a piggyback, Fotis collapsed in an exhausted heap in the aisle, landing on top of Hattie who was still clinging onto his back. Fotini and Nitsa wasted no time shoving their way forward to the font where they started indiscriminately spitting all over the baby, the godparents and the Pappas, in malicious enjoyment.
“Yous is not invited, yous ‘ave no place ‘ere,” Masha shouted at the interlopers, dabbing the spit from her cleavage with the baby’s stuffed goat.
“Church is a public place, we can do’s what we wants,” Fotini retorted, plonking herself down on Quentin’s lap.
“Just ignore them, this is Andy’s special day,” Fat Christos urged as the Pappas picked up a pair of nail scissors in readiness for cutting three locks of the baby’s hair in baptismal tradition.
“The baby is bald, I’ll just cut a bit off ‘er sideburns instead,” the Pappas improvised, snipping away and preparing to pass Andromeda to Pappas Iraklis who would perform the traditional dunking in the font of Holy Oil.
This was the novice Pappas’ first time to dunk a baby and he was sensitive to the enormous responsibility bestowed upon him. The dunking went like a dream, but as he prepared to pass the now wailing baby to mail order Masha to wrap in the traditional lathopana he was distracted by her ample silicone assets and dropped the slippery baby back into the font.
“Yous fool, yous ‘ave dropped the malaka baby,” the Pappas screeched, “grab it quick before it drowns.”
Pappas Iraklis stood frozen in horror as the steady hands of Gorgeous Yiorgos came to the rescue, scooping Andy out of the oily mix and tenderly passing her to Masha. Everyone hovered over the baby, fussing and cooing to calm her.
“Try the stuffed goat,” Tassia cried, but it was Deirdre’s quick action of pushing Quentin in front of the baby that restored peace when Andy spotted the parrot and started gurgling with delight.
The Pappas decided this was the optimum moment to spring his spiteful surprise on the congregation. Drawing himself up to his full height and directing a venomous glare at Stavroula he announced, “Let us all pray for baby Andromeda, the blessed offspring of Tassia and Slick Socrates.”
The stunned silence that followed was broken by Fat Christos grabbing the Pappas by the scruff of the neck and unceremoniously dunking his head in the oily font. Stavroula sprang from her seat and started to batter the Pappas with her copiously large handbag. Tears ran down Tassia’s face at this very public humiliation, compounded by the ghastly cackles of Fotini.
“Shut up yous old hag,” Tassia screamed at Fotini, who responded by shouting “That’s no way to speak to an old lady who has brought yous brat a gift.” With that she threw the ineptly wrapped present at Tassia who recoiled in horror as a stiff dead black crow fell out of the parcel and landed on her feet.
“You are a wicked old crone to desecrate this sacred place with that symbol of evil,” Pappas Iraklis erupted in a high-pitched squeak, shocked to his core that the church could be so disrespected. Attempting to grasp Fotini under the arm to frogmarch her out of the building he was foiled in his efforts by Prosperous Pedros throwing his mother over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and carting her outside. Pedros was furious his mother had turned up uninvited at the christening to cause such a horrendous scene.
“Po po, I would never ‘ave known you ‘ad that in yous,” Masha said to the young Pappas, stroking his pimply cheek with a fake purple talon.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Pappas Iraklis cried “it’s not in my nature to be so rude, please forgive me.”
“’Ere, ‘ave a swig of this Idaho vodka, yous ‘ave ‘ad a shock,” Masha offered, proffering the bottle which he grabbed in relief.
Striding over to Tassia with a determined step Stavroula struck her a stinging slap across the face. “Is it true? I ‘ave to know. ‘Ave you been ‘aving it off with my Socrates, yous hussy?”
Tassia was at a loss how to defend herself against Stavroula’s accusation. It was true and Socrates was not here to assure his beloved he had had a vasectomy and there was no way Tassia could claim knowledge of this private matter.
“’Ow dare yous speak to my wife like that, she wouldn’t go near yous man, she’s an ‘appily married woman and Andromeda is mine,” Fat Christos thundered.
“’Ow does yous know the pair of ‘em didn’t cuckold yous?” Stavroula blurted, pointing an accusatory finger at the weeping Tassia.
“The baby can’t be Socrates seed,” Bald Yannis interrupted, marching into the church with mail order Masha’s stiletto shoe super glued to his chainsaw. “When Socrates was telling me ‘ow he planned to get Soula’s father acquitted he confided in me he’d ‘ad a vasectomy.”
“Malaka, I forgot all about ‘im ‘aving the snip,” Stavroula gasped in embarrassment, “it was so long ago since he told me. He couldn’t ‘ave fathered the baby, could he? He’d be shooting blanks. The Pappas is a wicked liar stirring up trouble an’ trying to sew disharmony.”
“Don’t blame me,” the Pappas called out, “everyone in the village was gossiping about it ‘cos Tassia’s baby ‘as Slick Socrates sideburns.
It was Fotini who started the rumour.”
Pushing her way to the font Stavroula took her first close look at Andromeda, pronouncing “The baby looks nothin’ like Socrates, she ‘as the same sideburns as Fat Christos.”
The villagers all looked shamefaced; embarrassed they had overlooked Fat Christos sideburns simply because they were not as prominent as those of the lawyer.
Soula sidled up to her husband, asking “what made yous make such a nice gesture?”
“Well the baby is a little innocent and I ‘ear tell she’s very fond of goats. I knows yous consider Tassia a goodly friend so I did it for yous.”
“An’ it’s true, Socrates confided in yous?”
“It’s true; he warned me whatever yous do Yanni dont’s ‘ave a vasectomy, it ‘urts like the blazes.”
No one doubted the veracity of Bald Yannis’ words. Out of all the villagers there was no one less likely to intervene and restore calm in this situation. No one could credit him with any self-serving ulterior motive so they took his words as gospel.
“I am sorry I called yous a hussy, Tassia,” Stavroula apologised, “when the Pappas said Socrates was Andy’s father I just saw red. I ‘ave been consumed with jealousy ever since I first ‘eard the rumours an’ I never confronted ‘im to give ‘im the chance to deny ‘em.”
The still weeping Tassia wordlessly accepted the hearty embrace of the other woman, consumed with guilt that she had actually deceived Stavroula with her lover and tentatively amazed that due to Bald Yanniss’ intervention she would not be held accountable for her shameful secret.
The other villagers were humbled by Stavroula’s apology, aware their own gossiping must have contributed to her incensed distress. Their tolerance did not extend to the Pappas though who had once again revealed his malevolent nature by scheming to ruin the baptism.
“Yous should be ashamed of yous malicious meddling,” Toothless Tasos shouted, hurling a bible at the Pappas.
Just then Victor and Vera decided to pop their heads into the church to see if they could photograph any interesting frescoes. Totally shocked by the sight of the villagers swigging vodka from the bottle, shouting, swearing and chucking bibles at the Pappas who was attempting to duck behind the font, they turned tail and legged it to escape the ridiculous mayhem, exclaiming “You don’t get that sort of carrying on in the Church of England.”
Chapter 45: A Sinful Obsession
Nursing his bible shaped bruises the Pappas simmered with resentment that his plan to humiliate Stavroula had misfired so spectacularly, leaving him yet again the object of derision. Having bottled up the oily water in the font with the intent of passing it off as extra virgin olive oil to a gullible churchgoer who would never suspect a man in a clerical dress of such nefarious deceit, he attempted to enter the vestry.
A solid object prevented the door from opening wide so the frustrated Pappas gave it a hefty kick, eliciting a yelp of complaint from Pappas Iraklis who was lying in a heap on the other side, cradling mail order Masha’s near empty bottle of 44 North Idaho gluten free vodka.
The Pappas launched into a tirade of abuse, shouting “yous useless malaka, yous made a right fool of yourself dropping the baby.”
“I know it was a terrible mistake,” Pappas Iraklis slurred, “I have to confess I was distracted by the womanly charms of the magnificent Russian and fear my worldly and lascivious obsession with her means I am not cut out to be a priest. I simply cannot get her out of my mind or rid myself of these sinful thoughts.”
The Pappas looked at his trainee as though he was something nasty stuck on the bottom of his shoe. He had no desire to offer spiritual guidance to the young pup who ought to be busy cooking the Pappas’ dinner rather than wallowing in self pity. However it dawned on him if he didn’t talk some sense into his protégé quickly he would end up losing his valuable dogsbody services and be forced to resume the menial household chores he so loathed. Summoning up some platitudes the Pappas advised;
“It is only natural to have doubts about yous calling, but yous must cast these sinful and lustful thoughts aside. The Russian is nothin’ but a gold-digging hussy who has lured yous with ‘er wicked siren ways. Everythin’ about ‘er is fake. If yous is into silicone I suggest yous works ‘ard in the church and save up for a blow up sex doll.”
Pappas Iraklis was horrified to hear the beautiful Masha may not be the genuine article. Her voluptuous bottom and her lusciously curvaceous chest flooded his thoughts, driving him to distraction. He was suffering a belated surge of teenage hormones, quelled as unnatural by his overbearing mother.
The vodka fog in Pappas Iraklis’ brain began to lift as he listened to the elder Pappas urge him, “Forget yous infatuation with the weather girl an’ focus yous attention on spiritual thoughts and charity.” The novice priest was clueless the Pappas’ notion of charitable deeds involved him rushing home to cook dinner and scrub the toilet. The Pappas continued lecturing, saying;
“Yous renounced real women when you signed up for the church without marryin’ first. Yous could ‘ave found a nice malleable girl in yous parish before goin’ to the monastery, but now it is too late. Yous cant’s get married now yous ‘ave taken yous vows.”
“Mother wouldn’t hear of it, it was her dearest wish I join the church as a celibate priest,” Pappas Iraklis disclosed. “I was innocent to the lure of the fairer sex in my sheltered life. Until I saw Masha’s plump and pouting lips I had no idea women didn’t have moustaches.”
“Nonsense, of course they do, didn’t yous see even that old hag Nitsa ‘ad a ‘andlebar moustache on ‘er forehead?” the Pappas sneered. “I expect Masha ‘as ‘er moustache waxed off in the beauty parlour ‘cos ‘er empty ‘ead is full of nothin’ but vain thoughts. Yous must put ‘er out of yous mind, she’s a married woman, so yous lustful thoughts are not only filthy but also adulterous.”
“I will pray I can cast these wicked thoughts aside,” Pappas Iraklis vowed.
“May I suggest yous starts by taking a cold shower,” the Pappas advised. “An’ if that doesn’t work I can lends yous my mail order catalogue of blow up dolls.”
Chapter 46: Soula Is Broody
“I think we’ve ‘eard the last of the nonsense about Slick Socrates bein’ the baby’s father,” Fat Christos consoled his still weepy wife, following a telephone call with Stavroula’s lawyer lover.
Socrates explained he had deliberately told Bald Yannis he had been vasectomised, certain the hardware shop man would be unable to keep this juicy piece of gossip to himself. He’d hoped once word got round he had endured the snip people would po po all possibility of him being Andy’s father, even though it was true.
“It’s not true,” Fat Christos insisted. “I am Andy’s real father an’ I dont’s want to ‘ear another word about it. Yous just ‘appened to ‘ave a bit of seed ‘andy.”
Changing the subject Christos tried to cheer up his wife, saying “Little Andy ‘as really taken a shine to Fotini’s parrot. Do yous think she would be willing to sell it to us?”
“I think we should keep our distance from the old hag after all ‘er malicious meddling, but we could always ask K-Went-In to try and get it off ‘er,” Tassia suggested. “The old bat must ‘ave lost ‘er marbles to bring a dead crow along to the christening.”
“Knowing the Pappas he ‘as probably got that young whippersnapper Iraklis cookin’ the crow up for ‘is dinner,” Fat Christos laughed. “But your idea is excellent darling; K-Went-In is the man to try an’ get ‘is ‘ands on the parrot.”
“If he can ever prise it off ‘is ‘ead first,” Tassia giggled.
The subject of vasectomies was threatening to cause a rift in the marriage of Soula and Bald Yannis. The usually compliant Soula was upset her husband had even been discussing such a private subject with the lawyer when she had assumed he would be happy for nature to take its
course. Her dearest hope was to soon be able to announce she was expecting a miniature Bald Yannis.
“I told yous, he only warned me never to ‘ave one ‘cos it ‘urts like the blazes,” Yannis huffed, baffled as to why his wife was making such a fuss.
“I never evens knew yous was thinkin’ of such a selfish act as ‘avin’ the snip,” Soula said.
“I’m not, an’ I wasn’t, it was Socrates that brought it up. Does yous really think I’d let someone loose with a knife on my privates? But now the subject ‘as been raised perhaps we ‘ave been a bit lax with the old family planning. Now yous is naggin’ on about it I ‘ave to say I’d rather ‘ave a kid than a baby.”
“So yous want to adopt an older child?” Soula questioned incredulously.
“Does yous ‘ave to be so pedantic? I meant a kid from a goat. ‘Appen Mrs Kolokotronis could knit it somethin’ cute an’ yous could wheel it round in a pram if yous gets all broody.”
“I cant’s believe yous can be so insensitive Yanni,” Soula cried, dashing out of the hardware shop. Pausing outside the pharmacy she worried if Vangelis the chemist could be trusted not to gossip about the purchase she was about to make.
“It’s too far to go all the way to Paraliakos for one,” she told herself, pushing the door open, grateful the shop was empty of other customers.
“’Ave yous got a pregnancy testing kit,” she requested in a low whisper.
“What, you mean to say Bald Yannis ‘as finally lost ‘is virginity?” the chemist chortled, happy to have a bit of prime gossip to spread round the village.
Chapter 47: Pick Yous Own Olives
Olive Virgins Page 16