Float the Goat

by Katerina Nikolas

  Delighted to receive an unexpected fare Nitsa grinned ghoulishly, removing her sunglasses and causing the tourists to gawp in horror at her dramatically swollen black eye. Clicking the central locking into place to prevent them escaping she stuck her foot down hard on the accelerator and grabbed a bottle of ‘Granny’s Traditional Greek Cure All’, pouring the contents over her throbbing eye.

  “Malaka,” she screeched as the oily curative smeared her line of vision, preventing her from seeing Iraklis trundling along towards her on the supermarket tricycle. In a desperate attempt to avoid being splattered by the oncoming taxi Iraklis speedily swerved, planting him firmly in the path of Prosperous Pedros’ oncoming pick-up truck. Pedros veered like a scalded cat to avoid squishing Iraklis, violently rear-ending Tall Thomas’ mobile refrigerated fish van and propelling it straight towards the newly opened tourist tat annex.

  With no time to control the van’s trajectory Tall Thomas screamed “malaka” as the mobile refrigerated fish van scrunched over the racks of tourist tat lying on the pavement, before coming to a shuddering halt wedged in the brand new glass doorway of the annex, its bonnet nosing shelves full of tat that promptly collapsed all over it. Villagers pushed a gobsmacked Stavroula out of the way, running over to check on Tall Thomas whose forehead had hit the windscreen with a sickening thump. Nitsa drove blindly off; blithely unaware of the destruction she had left in her wake but confident her earlier antics had more than delivered enough chaos to satisfy the warped scheming of Bald Yannis.

  “Onos,” that old fool Vasilis wailed as the pregnant donkey brayed piteously before collapsing on top of Stavroula’s precious knock-off Flokati Chinese rugs.

  “Tell me I didn’t hit the donkey?” Tall Thomas cried in horror, pushing the mangled van’s door open and falling unsteadily onto the rugs beside the distressed animal as his legs gave way in shock.

  Prosperous Pedros hurried to his friend’s side, abandoning the pick-up next to Iraklis’ overturned tricycle and blocking the harbour road. After taking one look at the prostrate Thomas, Pedros turned on his heels, announcing, “I’ll go an’ get the new doctor.”

  The momentary eerie silence that descended over the village as everyone reeled in shock was broken by loud honking as the bus pulled into the ‘No Parking’ spot, with the driver desperately thumping the horn. Soula had been waiting patiently at the bus stop when pandemonium struck. Her natural instinct to rush across the harbour to help was tempered by the thought of her sister Voula arriving with no one to greet her and feeling out of her depth in this strange village.

  Seated directly behind the bus driver Voula had a bird’s eye view of the accident. The moment the bus braked she rushed to alight; her ears assaulted by the painful brays of Onos the donkey. Unable to ignore any animal in distress she thrust her olive sack and the piglet at Soula, saying “take hold of Poo while I help the poor donkey.” Dashing across to Onos she assertively instructed the villagers to stand back, saying, “This donkey is in labour, give it some room.” Her calm and measured tones cut through the general hysteria, lending her words an air of authority.

  “So I ‘aven’t killed it then?” Tall Thomas asked hopefully in a weak voice.

  “Don’t worry, your van didn’t touch the donkey but the shock of all the excitement may have brought on premature labour,” Voula assured him.

  “Never mind the malaka donkey, look what yous ‘ave done to my annex, yous ‘ave destroyed it,” Stavroula complained, battering Tall Thomas round the head with an embroidered Evzone pompom slipper that had fallen from the display.

  Voula grabbed the slipper from Stavroula’s hand, chiding “how can you be so vicious? This man is in shock, he’s just survived a nasty accident which could have been fatal.”

  Turning to that old fool Vasilis she barked, “You. Go and get a brandy for this poor man.”

  “But I dont’s want to leave Onos,” Vasilis protested, throwing his arms around the donkey and sobbing over its mane.

  “There, there Vasili, don’t worry, Onos is in the very capable hands of my sister Voula,” Soula assured the old fool, leading him away to give Voula room to deliver the foal. “Let’s go inside and telephone Masha; she wont’s want to miss the birth.”

  Voula fussed busily round the donkey, speaking to it in a soothing and reassuring tone as it strained and brayed. Glancing over at Tall Thomas she was alarmed to notice he’d passed out from the nasty bump on his head he’d received when he flew into the windscreen.

  “Soula, stroke the donkey’s head to calm it,” she instructed as her sister reappeared with the brandy. Voula hurried to Tall Thomas, propping his head in her lap and pressing the glass of spirits to his lips. The mobile fishmonger revived and his eyes flew open. Gazing up at Voula their eyes connected and Tall Thomas gasped “are you an angel?” Their reverie was interrupted by the condescending voice of Doctor Konstantinos demanding:

  “Do I look like a veterinarian? I don’t do donkeys. What sort of backwater place is this where my patients are parrots, pregnant men and pregnant donkeys?”

  “The ‘uman patient is ‘ere,” Prosperous Pedros said, leading the pompous medic over to Tall Thomas and freeing Voula up to return to Onos.

  Stavroula rushed over, attempting to yank her new rugs out from under the donkey, complaining, “I won’t ‘ave that animal leaving its mess all over my genuine hand-woven by nuns, from wool obtained by bottle-fed sheep hand-reared on the verdant plains of Epidaurus, Flokati rugs.”

  “Leave Onos be Stavroula, I will pay for any damage to yous ghastly imitation rugs,” that old fool Vasilis promised, ashamed of his heartless daughter.

  “Voula, I can see its ‘ead,” Soula cried excitedly. Onos tried to stand up and with a heartfelt bray and a final push delivered her foal into Voula’s waiting arms to a rapturous round of applause from the villagers.

  Chapter 25

  Happy with Granny

  Mail order Masha felt clammy and overheated even after Evangelia had elaborately coiled her long blonde hair extensions into a glamorous upswept pile. The producer at the television studio wasn’t too happy when she telephoned to cancel the weather, but Masha pointed out it was blindingly obvious to everyone that it was hot and sunny. She told him no one would be stuck indoors watching the television for an update anyway so he may as well drag his cardiganed old mother out of retirement rather than expecting her to haul her pregnant body up to Paraliakos, and risk revolting her fans by visibly sweating on camera. Reminding the Russian of the ratings, the producer threatened to sack her, but Masha po po-ed him saying her ardent fans advised her to take it easy and there were laws against sacking pregnant weather presenters.

  The relentless sunshine ensured Masha’s tan was permanently topped up. Bored of lazing around sunbathing without even a vodka to keep up her spirits and stuffed to the gills with tart Russian pickled lingonberries, she decided to pay a visit to Melecretes to find out what his intentions were towards Evangelia. She recalled Evangelia telling her Mel was into embroidery which sounded suspiciously like a dodgy pastime for a manly moustached Greek. Masha determined to get to the bottom of things as she couldn’t afford a scissor happy distracted hairdresser in case she ended up with a laughable lopsided hairdo like Deirdre. Thinking of Deirdre reminded her she must pop into the church and arrange Deirdre’s baptism with the ghastly Pappas so her American friend would be all set to take up her role of godmother to the silicone chip.

  Masha tarted herself up in a pair of orange hot pants that matched her latest fake nail extensions and dangly earrings. “Malaka,” she muttered, looking down and realising her pregnant belly now obscured her view of her matching shoes. Another “malaka” hotly followed when she remembered that old fool Vasilis had taken the donkey with him to Stavroula’s grand opening and the local taxi service wasn’t answering calls. She would have to walk to Nitsa’s house to see Melecretes. Prancing along country lanes in stilettos wasn’t ideal, but Masha didn’t possess a pair of flat shoes.

/>   “Good gracious child, don’t tell me you tottered all the way here in those ridiculous heels,” Hattie greeted Masha, ushering her into the kitchen and filling the washing up bowl with water topped up with a generous measure of ‘Granny’s Traditional Greek Cure All’.

  “Take the weight off and stick your feet in this bowl before they swell up grotesquely,” Hattie invited. “Now what can I do for you?”

  “I came to see Melecretes,” Masha said.

  “I’m afraid he’s not at home dear, but he is due back any time now. I expect you’ve called round out of concern as you’ve probably noticed Mel has been acting a tad peculiar lately.”

  “He ‘as been sending mixed messages to Evangelia. It doesn’t do a woman any good to ‘ave ‘er romantic feelings trifled with. Mel needs to let Evangelia know where she stands instead of leading ‘er on,” Masha said bluntly. “I ‘ave grown quite fond of the hairdresser, but ‘ave to confess to ‘aving a bit of a soft spot for Melecretes too. He’s always the first to heap lavish praise on my fashion choices and my glamorous style.”

  “That might be the problem dear. I rather think Mel is a bit too keen on women’s fashion, if you know what I mean,” Hattie said enigmatically.

  Hattie’s subtle hint might have struck home with Masha if the older woman had added a knowing wink, but without one it went right over the Russian’s head.

  “I ‘ave told Evangelia she looks a bit frumpy an’ she is tryin’ to make more of an effort,” Masha said. “But even after I gave her a few fashion tips she reckons Mel is more interested in embroidery than in ravishin’ ‘er.”

  “Oh dear, things may be worse than I suspected,” Hattie sighed. “I knew Mel had a few peculiarities, but I brushed them under the carpet. He spends so much time at the hairdresser’s apartment I naturally presumed they were engaging in amorous congress.”

  “Evangelia didn’t mention anything about Mel bein’ political,” Masha said, failing to grasp Hattie’s euphemism.

  “Not that sort of congress Masha, I meant I thought they were shaking the sheets,” Hattie said in exasperation, hoping Masha wouldn’t make her spell out her meaning.

  “Evangelia didn’t mention that Mel was helping her with the laundry,” Masha said, beginning to wonder if Hattie was going senile.

  “Oh Masha, how do I say this politely? I thought Mel was stamping her passport.”

  “I didn’t know she was ‘aving any trouble with her travel documents,” Masha sighed, thinking she should mention to Quentin he really ought to consider having his mother committed as she’d clearly lost the plot.

  “Masha you can be so infuriating,” Hattie cried. “I am trying to tell you the pair of them spend so much time together that I naturally assumed they were doing the horizontal tango.”

  “Evangelia didn’t mention Mel had taken her dancin’,” Masha replied, rolling her eyes and thinking that the empty brandy bottle could explain Hattie’s bizarre ramblings. The older woman was obviously a secret tippler.

  “Hattie is trying to tell yous she thought me and Evangelia ‘ave been sleepin’ together an’ indulging in carnal relations, but she’s too much of a lady to use vulgar language,” Melecretes announced, having returned and overheard the two women gossiping.

  “Why’s she been twittering on about politics an’ passports then?” Masha asked, completely flabbergasted.

  “Older ladies like Hattie don’t like to speak too bluntly, they don’t consider it polite,” Melecretes explained.

  “Po po, ‘ave yous ‘eard the sort of filth that comes out of the mouths of Nitsa and Fotini?” Masha scoffed.

  “Hattie has led a more sheltered life,” Mel said.

  “Well I’m truly sorry you had to overhear us gossiping about you Mel,” Hattie apologised sincerely. “Masha was concerned you have been trifling with Evangelia’s affections which surprised me as I presumed the pair of you had been enjoying some afternoon delight.”

  “She means sleepin’ together,” Mel explained for Masha’s benefit, having concluded she was linguistically clueless about euphemisms.

  “Mel’s fondness for dressing up in women’s clothes might explain why they haven’t been, you know...” Hattie blurted, immediately covering her mouth with her hands, mortified she had revealed Mel’s aberrant secret.

  Mail order Masha’s only response to this outlandish revelation was an attempt to arch her immovable Botoxed eyebrows; still half convinced Hattie was bonkers.

  “Actually, my little dress hobby ‘as nothing to do with me not pouncing on the hairdresser, Hattie,” Mel confessed. “I’m not blind. I can see ‘ow much Evangelia likes me, an’ I like ‘er too, she’s a lovely woman. But if I get romantically involved with ‘er I expect she’ll get clingy. In no time at all she’ll be nagging me to move in with ‘er, no offence, but yous know ‘ow demanding women can be. I just couldn’t bear to move out of ‘ere. Yous ‘ave no idea ‘ow much I enjoy livin’ ‘ere with Nitsa, Fotini and yous. It reminds me of those happy days livin’ with my Granny before I lost ‘er.”

  Throwing open his wallet Melecretes produced a photograph of a moustached old crone with a remarkable resemblance to Nitsa.

  “Granny was the light of my life, such a wonderful woman. Hattie, the reason I sometimes dress up in women’s clothes is because Granny, bless ‘er, could be a bit of a smotherer. Nothin’ gave ‘er more pleasure than dressing me up like a girl, I think it made ‘er feel closer to ‘er lost daughter, my mother, as though she was recreating the days of her only child’s childhood.”

  “Oh Mel, I had no idea your poor mother was dead,” Hattie lamented.

  “Mother’s not dead,” Mel protested. “She got religion and ran off with a preacher from Pennsylvania, brainwashed by the manipulatively seductive words he spewed from the pulpit. Granny said Idaho just wasn’t exciting enough for ‘er.”

  “And yous mother thought a bible basher was exciting,” Masha said, astonished by Mel’s confession.

  “He had a lot of sway, not to mention swagger. He ‘ad a big radio congregation eating out of his hand, sending ‘im bigly donations he spent on a helicopter he used to fly banner advertisements full of gospel sayings. He got lots of gullible converts who turned over their cash to ‘is church. Granny couldn’t believe ‘er daughter converted from Orthodox to Ecstatic Evangelical, suckered into a cult full of vegan tambourinists,” Mel said.

  “So your mother abandoned you, leaving you with your poor Granny who dressed you up like a girl because she missed her daughter,” Hattie summarised. “And sometimes you dress up in women’s clothes to make you feel closer to your dear dead Granny.”

  “Yes, it brings back memories of ‘appy days,” Mel sighed. “I really should try to find some extra time to research my Greek roots ‘cos I ‘ave a sixth sense that Nitsa and me are related.”

  “Because of the family moustache,” Masha exclaimed, finally beginning to make sense of this bizarre situation. “’Appen yous would ‘ave more time Mel if yous didn’t spend so long embroidering cushions.”

  “Oh, has Evangelia told you about my passion for embroidery and my ambition to launch an embroidered cushion empire? I was hoping to keep it under wraps until I’ve got a goodly collection of cushions stuffed. I don’t want any of the villagers stealing my idea; yous know ‘ow the likes of Bald Yannis are always on the lookout for new money spinning ventures.”

  “I can’t quite see Bald Yannis taking up embroidery,” Hattie laughed.

  “No, but he’s a nasty malaka who would steal my idea and then pay Mrs Kolokotronis to do the dogsbody sewing work, like he does with his goat’s clothes.”

  “I’m guessing your Granny taught you embroidery,” Hattie surmised.

  “Granny was a positive virtuoso with a needle and thread,” Mel agreed, before asking.

  “What does yous two think I should tell Evangelia? I’m very fond of ‘er and it pains me to think I’ve upset ‘er.”

  “I think you should tell her you want to take
things slowly and court her romantically in an old-fashioned way. Let her know you are sweet on her, but don’t want to rush things by moving in with her. As for your other little foible, Masha and I will keep it under our hats,” Hattie promised.

  “We won’t breathe a word Mel. Hattie is right, yous must tell Evangelia yous isn’t ready to move in with ‘er yet but yous is up for a bit of afternoon delight, amorous congress and passport stamping. After all it’s a long time since Evangelia shook the sheets with anyone,” Masha winked, reaching for the mobile phone vibrating inside her hot pants.

  “Po po what’s the old fool want now?” Masha tutted. “What do yous mean yous is a new father Vasili; talk sense? Don’t tell me yous ‘ave another middle-aged woman coming out of the woodwork claiming to be yous offspring because I can assure yous the silicone chip ‘asn’t put in an appearance yet.”

  Tossing the phone aside Masha announced, “Mel, I ‘ave to get to the village. Can yous give me a lift? Onos ‘as given birth an’ by the sounds of it Vasili is rat arsed on ouzo.”

  Chapter 26

  The Grand Greek Tour

  “Gosh, that was a close thing,” Cilla and Clive said in unison as Nitsa’s taxi narrowly avoided knocking a young man off his tricycle before speeding away from Astakos harbour. The English tourists remained as oblivious as their driver to the destruction and pandemonium left in their wake.

  Gorgeous Yiorgos had told Nitsa that the English tourists wanted the grand Greek tour, but she was at a bit of a loss as to what it actually involved. She had no intention of driving them all the way to the Acropolis; it would take hours to get there and with her gammy swollen eye she might end up driving into the toll booths and denting the old Mercedes taxi. Pulling the taxi over by the beach, Nitsa gesticulated towards Quentin and Deirdre with their ridiculous pink plastic flamingo, cackling,