Float the Goat

by Katerina Nikolas

  “I think the best thing to do is keep schtum Deirdre. We didn’t mean to kidnap the goat; it was Achilles the borrowed builder who threw it into the car. Pungent Pedros may be offended if we tell him it wasn’t our intention to gift it to him, after all he was very kind bringing us home and pressing those artichokes on us,” Quentin said.

  “At least if he takes it home with him it will get the ghastly creature out of our living room and put a stop to its chewing through our soft furnishings,” Deirdre concurred. “Now do try and get rid of him whilst I pop upstairs and have a shower, my sunburn is killing me.”

  “But he appears to have invited himself for dinner,” Quentin pointed out, watching Deirdre’s sun reddened face turn puce with annoyance at the prospect of catering to their pungently presumptuous guest. “You get spruced up quickly and I’ll invite Pedros to join us at the taverna for dinner. Can you stand one more turn on his motorcycle? It will save us the walk,” Quentin suggested hastily.

  “You are quite insane Quentin if you think anything will induce me to get back onto that mechanical death trap. You go along with him to ‘Mono Ellinka Trofima’ and I will stroll along shortly with your mother.”

  “Yes dear,” Quentin agreed meekly, realising he would have to forgo his shower to do her bidding and affronted his wife hadn’t noticed his many bleeding flesh wounds from his perilous journey with the artichokes.

  “And don’t forget to take the goat with you,” Deirdre reminded him.

  Pungent Pedros, readily accepting Quentin’s offer of a slap up meal at the taverna, was disappointed to discover neither Deirdre nor Hattie would be getting up close and personal with him on the motorcycle but happy to hear he’d have the pleasure of their company for dinner. Settling the goat on his lap he wordlessly handed Quentin the ancient crash helmet.

  “I’ll just pop home and change,” Hattie called up to Deirdre, before skipping back over the garden wall with a positive spring in her step. Old Pedros the goat herder may be a bit pungent but he had lavished more male attention on her than any man since her fake fiancé Randolph with his cruel catfish scam, even complimenting her on the blueness of her eyes. Hattie’s head was full of possible wardrobe choices for the evening as she tried to decide between a floral shirtwaist dress and a light cashmere twinset in powder blue.

  Entering her bedroom to make the choice she was confronted with the grotesque sight of Melecretes prancing in front of the mirror, wearing her very best twinset paired with her most precious pearls. Below the twinset, black stockings edged up towards the hemline of Mel’s boxer shorts, with his feet painstakingly stuffed into a pair of too small high heels.

  Chapter 12

  Bald Yannis is Diagnosed with a Syndrome

  Doctor Konstantinos, the new medic who had rented Thea’s harbour-side house for his Practice, was not best pleased to have his late siesta snooze disturbed by two old hags hammering on his door, demanding he treat a sickly parrot.

  “Do I look like a veterinarian? I don’t do parrots,” he said with lofty condescension.

  “I dont’s care if yous eat meat or not,” Fotini snapped. “The parrot ‘as ‘ad a relapse an’ could croak at any moment.”

  Pushing the white-coated pompous middle-aged medic to one side Nitsa barged straight in, saying, “We ‘ave cash, there’s not a lot of that around these days. Yous can expect ‘alf the villagers will be demanding credit or attempting to pay yous by bartering, so be grateful we ‘ave the readies.”

  “Cash you say. Bring the bird in then, but don’t be expecting a miracle,” Doctor Konstantinos agreed, conscious he would need to make regular payments to Thea to cover his rent and alarmed at the prospect of pauperous patients pressing to pay him with peppers, potatoes and pomegranates from their gardens, in lieu of cash.

  “Now what appears to be the problem?” the doctor asked, looking down at the practically comatose parrot sprawled out on his examination table, leaving an oily outline on the white protective paper.

  “It swallowed a whole lot of curative after nearly drownin’ in a vat of it,” Fotini replied.

  “I am a great sceptic when it comes to alternative medicines,” the doctor said snootily. “How long has the parrot been seeing this unorthodox quack?”

  “What is yous on about Doctor, the parrot was perfectly ‘ealthy till it nearly drowned? It ‘asn’t been ‘aving any alternative medicines.”

  Shaking his head in confusion the doctor argued they had just told him the parrot had swallowed a curative which he could only presume was not prescribed by a qualified parrot doctor but by some dubious holistic chancer.

  “No, the parrot must have fell in the curative when Hattie ‘ad ‘er back turned. Pedros ‘ad to get it out with ‘is grappling hook an’ by then it had swallowed a lot of gunk,” Nitsa explained slowly, wondering if the doctor was a reject from some obscure medical school with brown envelope diplomas as he seemed to have a hard time understanding the patently obvious.

  “What is in this curative it swallowed?” the doctor asked, wondering if the two old women were being deliberately dense.

  “Po po, yous can’t expect us to give yous the recipe, it is top secret,” Fotini sniffed. “Every Thomas, Adonis and Harris would be attempting to emulate it if word got out.

  “If you want me to help the blasted parrot I need to know what it swallowed,” Doctor Konstantinos insisted.

  “Well I will ‘ave to get Slick Socrates to sue yous if yous reveal our trade secrets,” Nitsa warned him, before begrudgingly listing olive oil, capers, vinegar, garlic and oregano as the vital ingredients. “The doctor dont’s need to know about the spit,” she whispered to Fotini. “Everyone knows that is ‘armless.”

  “Well each of those ingredients by itself is most healthy, but if the bird was submerged in them they could have clogged up its airway. Please step into the waiting room whilst I make a small surgical incision to aid its breathing,” the doctor said, wielding a large scalpel.

  “We’d prefer to stay and ‘old it down, we ain’t squeamish,” Fotini said flatly.

  “Speak for yourself Fotini,” Nitsa said, turning her back as the doctor set to the parrot with his scalpel. She turned round just in time to witness the doctor inserting a plastic straw into the parrot’s cut throat and sucking out a soggy clump of oily capers before deftly sewing the parrot back together.

  “I ‘ope the parrot ‘asn’t lost its memory like what that old fool Vasilis did when he came out of his coma,” Fotini worried. “It would be a great loss if it forgot ‘ow to call K-Went-In a pervert.”

  “’Ere don’t be wasting those capers, it took ‘ours for Hattie to pick ‘em,” Nitsa cried, grabbing the caper clogged plastic straw and sticking it in the pocket of Bald Yannis’ oversized belted mac as Doctor Konstantinos made a mental note to omit capers from his future diet. Fotini whooped with delight when the parrot stirred on the examining table and croaked “K-Went-In is a pervert.”

  “It’s a miracle. It still ‘as all it faculties,” Fotini gushed, completely forgetting herself and planting a smacker of a kiss on the doctor’s head. She had the grace to be mortified when the pompous doctor declared “I don’t expect to be sexually harassed by my patients.”

  “I dont’s know what came over me, I’ll ‘ave yous know I ‘ave a lifelong aversion to kissing men.”

  “An’ strictly speaking Fotini isn’t yous patient. Yous should be ‘appy it was ‘er and not the parrot what kissed yous, its beak can do a lot of damage,” Nitsa said. “Now would yous prefer to be paid in curative or lemons, we ‘ave some lovely late bloomers on our trees.”

  Turning puce the doctor shouted, “Hand over the cash and get out of here.”

  “Po po, extorting exorbitant doctor’s fees from little old ladies with meagre pensions,” Nitsa ranted, reluctantly counting out the cash as they left.

  “Aren’t you forgetting something,” Doctor Konstantinos called after them from the doorway. “Take your blasted parrot with you.”


  The doctor had only just slammed the door shut behind them when he was disturbed by yet more frantic knocks. Prepared to tell the next prospective patient to go away as it was still siesta time he changed his mind when confronted by a big bald brute wielding a chainsaw on his doorstep. Even with his chainsaw Bald Yannis appeared a lesser menace than the two hideous old hags he’d just seen off so the doctor reluctantly admitted him for a consultation.

  “What appears to be the problem?” Doctor Konstantinos asked.

  “I seem to be ‘aving quite a few pregnancy related issues,” Bald Yannis confessed. “It’s more than just the weight gain, I mean that is to be expected. I’m worried I might ‘ave anaemia and high blood pressure. I’ve been ‘aving the strangest cravings an’ I daren’t take my shirt off in this ‘eat as I appear to ‘ave grown a pair of man boobs that will make me a laughin’ stock.”

  “May I suggest a good quality support bra,” Doctor Konstantinos openly mocked. “You do realise it is physically impossible for you to be pregnant for goodness sake. Get a grip man.”

  The doctor worried he may have overstepped the mark when his patient started revving the chainsaw menacingly.

  “Well of course I ain’t actually pregnant yous eejit, I am ‘aving a phantom pregnancy on account of my wife is expecting twins. But my symptoms is real. Look at ‘ow bloated my stomach is an’ dont’s tell me it’s normal to be craving soap.”

  “I suspect you have what is known as ‘Couvade Syndrome,’ the doctor diagnosed. “Your body has been taken over by the hatching urge, in sympathy with your wife. Needless to say it is all in your head. For the obvious symptoms I recommend a low-fat high-fibre diet and the aforesaid support bra. You will find the symptoms ease if you have less time to dwell on them. Apply yourself to something useful such as constructing a cot to deal with your nesting instinct. You could also stock up on your winter wood supply.”

  “Does chopping wood ‘elp with this ‘ere hatching syndrome?” Bald Yannis asked.

  “I shouldn’t think so, but you may as well put that chainsaw to good use.”

  Whilst not appreciative of the new medic’s condescending manner Bald Yannis was at least relieved to hear his condition had a diagnosable name, especially as a ‘syndrome’ appealed to his masculine pride far more than a ‘phantom’ condition. He pondered if any of the stolen bras he had purloined in his days as the elusive underwear thief would be supportive enough to stop him visibly sagging and if he could get away with wearing one without Soula noticing.

  “An’ what about my craving for eatin’ soap, Yiatro?” Bald Yannis remembered.

  “Well I’d knock that on the head if I were you in case you start foaming at the mouth,” the doctor advised, desperately trying to keep a straight face. He was only two patients in to this new clinic and already doubting the wisdom of his decision to open his medical practice in this backwater village populated with obvious morons.

  “As yous ‘ave mentioned wood supplies ‘ow would it be if I paid yous in logs,” Bald Yannis asked, wondering if Soula could still manage to chainsaw effectively with her pregnant belly.

  “You can pay me in cash,” Doctor Konstantinos said firmly.

  “Now dont’s be hasty, we is practically neighbours. I ‘ave the ‘ardware shop and could pays yous with a hideous old lady dress, or perhaps a patriotic lobster adorned shower curtain would be a great screen for yous patients to get undressed behind.”

  “Cash,” the doctor reiterated, watching the grumbling Bald Yannis rifle through his pockets in search of a few notes before leaving.

  Doctor Konstantinos sighed deeply, realising he would be forced to plaster his waiting room and surgery with posters saying ‘Cash Only: No Credit or Bartering.’

  Rummaging through his desk drawer he swore loudly when he discovered his bottle of medicinal whisky was empty. Muttering under his breath he set off for the supermarket with high hopes the owner would be willing to hand over a few bottles of medicinal spirit in a credit swap for free medical consultations.

  Chapter 13

  A Far-Fetched Fishy Fib

  Toothless Tasos and Thea had been fighting like cat and dog ever since Thea returned home from Stavroula’s kitchen. Thea refused to reveal where she had been and Tasos blatantly lied, telling his fiancé he had been playing tavli in the kafenion. He was at a complete loss why his beloved goddess was in such a strop and refusing to cook dinner, oblivious to her snooping on him and clueless his cloak and dagger plans to arrange a surprise wedding had triggered the crazy notion in Thea that he was cheating with Tassia.

  In an attempt to restore equanimity to their home Toothless Tasos sidled up to Thea, saying “my love dove, I is sorry I stopped so long at the kafenion an’ missed watching the soap opera with yous.”

  “Dont’s try to sweet talk me with falsehoods tripping as smoothly as syrup off yous tongue Taso. I know yous is up to no good; don’t think I didn’t see yous sneaking into the church,” Thea said icily, biting her lip to stop herself from an outright accusation of infidelity until she had gathered more proof.

  “I did pop into the church,” Tasos reluctantly admitted. Desperately trying to think up a convincing lie he pathetically blurted “the Pappas wanted to buy a fish off me for ‘is dinner.”

  Staring at her fiancé with disdain Thea scoffed “a likely tale indeed. The Pappas wouldn’t ‘ave a clue which end of a fish to gut or ‘ow to even cook it to make it edible.”

  “So that must be why he asked me to gut it for ‘im. I ‘ave no idea ‘ow inept the Pappas is in the kitchen,” Toothless Tasos replied, unaware he was digging himself into an ever deeper hole with his far-fetched fishy fib.

  “An’ was it the Pappas plying yous with ouzo? I might ‘ave known that fraud of a bible basher was back on the booze,” Thea scoffed, wrinkling her nose at the intoxicant smell seeping from Tasos and casually maligning the sober reputation of the Pappas who hadn’t touched a drop since his blood transfusion.

  Before Thea had a chance to grill him further their argument was interrupted by the arrival of Sofia, so self-absorbed she failed to notice the thick tension hovering heavily between them.

  “What’s for dinner Nona? You have no idea how exhausting it was blow drying mail order Masha’s long hair extensions in this heat.”

  “It’s too hot for me to cook, Sofia. Dont’s forget Tasos ‘ere is too tight to put air conditioning in the kitchen. ‘Ow about yous and I go to the taverna for a treat?”

  “An’ what about me Thea? What about my dinner?” Tasos asked, cut to the quick to be excluded.

  “Seeing as ‘ow yous ‘ave taken to guttin’ fish apparently, as well as catchin’ ‘em, yous can cook one up in that stifling overheated kitchen,” Thea growled at Tasos before turning to Sofia and sweetly saying “Just give me a minute to change my frock an’ we’ll be off.”

  Tasos slumped dejectedly into the deckchair, hanging his head despondently. The silence that descended with Thea’s departure was only broken by the ceaseless chirping of thousands of cicadas signalling their mating cries outside the shuttered windows.

  “It’s not like Nona to be in such a temper,” Sofia observed.

  “She caught me out in a lie Sofia. I told ‘er I was in the kafenion when really I ‘ad to see the Pappas about the wedding. It breaks my ‘eart to ever ‘ave to lie to ‘er, but if I tell ‘er the truth it will spoil the surprise wedding. This is a tricky dilemma of my own creatin’.”

  “Try not to worry Taso, I will put in a good word for you this evening. Nona will be over the moon on Friday when you surprise her with the wedding, it’s such a romantic gesture,” Sofia reassured him. She had grown quite fond of Toothless Tasos recently, forming a familial bond when he had allowed her to practice her clumsy cutting technique on his hair.

  “I ‘opes yous is right Sofia, I couldn’t bear to lose Thea.”

  “Did you get the rings sorted yet?” Sofia asked, remembering she must dye the cat before Friday so it would match her bridesm
aid dress, in addition to training it up so it could play the important role of the ring bearer. She hoped Tassia had chosen a stylish and edgy bridesmaid dress for her as she’d requested. She’d been adamant she didn’t want anything frothy. Her visit to the taverna with Thea meant she wouldn’t be able to pop over to Tassia’s house to take a look, sparing her the horror of discovering the bridesmaid’s dress was an exact replica of the fussy flamingo meringue Andromeda had demanded.

  “The rings is in ‘and,” Tasos confirmed. “Is yous not seein’ Iraklis tonight?”

  “No, he has a late shift at the supermarket. We both work such long hours we barely get any time together,” Sofia replied. In truth the young couple had shared a few glorious hours in the sea together during the afternoons since Iraklis had persuaded Fat Christos to coordinate his breaks with the beauty parlour’s siesta time. The youngsters had so far managed to keep their afternoon rendezvous secret from Mrs Kolokotronis to avoid her tagging along to the beach as an unwelcome chaperone.

  “It’s a pity he turned ‘is back on the church. I’d ‘ave preferred Iraklis to oversee our vows, the Pappas cant’s be trusted not to make a pig’s breakfast out of it,” Tasos sighed.

  “Well I’m very glad he gave up the church in favour of a good steady job in the supermarket. If he’d stayed in the church he wouldn’t have been allowed to date me, not that I’d have wanted to date a boy in a black clerical dress, it’s hardly the height of fashion, and I don’t like boys with straggly beards though Iraklis did say he struggled to grow one. He said he’d tried in the hopes it would cover his acne, but it was hopeless. Now he’s discovered Fotini’s curative his pimples have gone.”

  “My, ‘ow Sofia does prattle on,” Toothless Tasos whispered to the turquoise cat who, attracted by Tasos’ fishy smell, had jumped up to lick his face.