“No,” Sofia screamed, throwing her arms tightly around her boyfriend and sobbing, “I don’t want you to go.”
“Sofia darling, I have no choice. I’ve been expecting this moment ever since I left the church. My exemption on clerical grounds became null and void when I reverted to civilian status,” Iraklis said worriedly.
“It’s not right, it’s not proper. They ought to exempt yous on the grounds yous is so weedy,” Mrs Kolokotronis wailed. “’Ave a look at ‘im Did-Rees, a puff of air would blow the lanky lad over. ‘Ows he meant to bayonet the enemy or not collapse under the weight of a big manly gun?”
“Try not to upset yourself Mrs Kolokotronis,” Deirdre comforted her. “Perhaps there is another way to get Iraklis an exemption. What about those brown envelopes we are always hearing so much about?”
“No Did-Rees, it is my duty to serve, however unpleasant it may be,” Iraklis said, his Adam’s apple visibly quivering in his neck. “I need you all to be strong for me so I can steel myself for what must be done.”
“Irakli, I promise to wait for you and write every day,” Sofia vowed.
“Does the letter say when and where you must report for duty?” Quentin asked.
Grabbing the letter Iraklis perused the contents before replying, “I must report to the army barracks in Paraliakos on Friday at noon.”
“Thank goodness they aren’t shipping yous off to one of the islands,” Mrs Kolokotronis declared, making the sign of the cross.
“Yes, you’ll be near enough for us to visit you in Paraliakos,” Sofia exclaimed in relief.
“When my Christos did ‘is national service it was two long years an’ he was shipped all the way off to Kriti. At least yous will only be gone nine months and there’s a daily bus that stops near the barracks,” Mrs Kolokotronis said, thinking she could deliver home-cooked food to Iraklis and get a lot of knitting done on the bus ride.
“Perhaps they could assign you to the kitchen,” Sofia said hopefully, realising it would be a good idea going forward if at least one of them could cook.
“Yes, yous must ask to go in the kitchens, at least until yous get fattened up,” Mrs Kolokotronis agreed, squeezing Sofia’s hand.
“I must dutifully face whatever assignment I am given,” Iraklis said bravely, suddenly emboldened by the memory of mail order Masha telling him there was nothing sexier than a man in a uniform. “Come on Mrs K, I bet you have your cossie on under that dress, let’s have a swim while I still have my freedom.”
“The poor boy, he certainly doesn’t look old enough to be sent off to the army,” Deirdre said to Quentin, watching Iraklis and Sofia hauling Mrs Kolokotronis out of the sea.
“It will make a man of him,” Quentin declared. “The enforced separation might be good for their relationship.”
“Yes, Mrs Kolokotronis can be a bit clingy,” Deirdre agreed.
“I was referring to the relationship between young Iraklis and Sofia,” Quentin explained.
“I see dear,” Deirdre said. “Now there’s no chance of playing gooseberry I think I’ll test out this pink flamingo in the water. It really was most thoughtful of you to buy it for me.”
“Let me rub some sun cream into your back before you go dear, you don’t want to risk burning like you did the day we ran into Pungent Pedros,” Quentin offered. “And don’t forget your straw hat for protection. I’m just going to laze here with my book about the Eiffel Tower. Have fun.”
Tying a sarong around her swimsuit Deirdre dragged the inflatable pink flamingo across the sand, launching herself onto it as she reached the water. Quentin, sitting up to watch her progress, smiled to himself when a family plonked themselves down on the beach with an identical pink flamingo. Picking up his book he relaxed on the plastic sun lounger, promptly falling asleep.
Chapter 30
Doctor Konstantinoupoleos, I Presume
“This is outrageous,” Doctor Konstantinos proclaimed, facing off against Pancratius the village policeman in the clinic. “I have never even been to England and the preposterous accusations of this deluded woman that I am a struck off doctor going by the name of Konstantinoupoleos are patently false.”
“It is indeed a serious allegation,” Pancratius stated. “What makes you think this doctor is a fraud madam?”
“Well his name sounds the same as the struck off quack. I remember the case well, this Konstantinoupoleos character was actually a veterinarian with a very distinctive Greek name who had the nerve to try and operate on human patients. I remember there was a picture of the moustached fraudster plastered all over the local paper. There was a big stink when he was uncovered, you must remember it Clive.”
“Konstantinos is my name, not Konstantinoupoleos, they don’t even sound remotely similar. I can assure you I am not a veterinarian, I have no love for animals,” Doctor Konstantinos declared.
“That’s right, ‘is bedside manner with the parrot was ‘orrible,” Fotini piped up.
“An’ he refused to go anywhere near the Onos the donkey just now when she was in labour,” Gorgeous Yiorgos agreed.
“I think it may be the ouzo talking, my wife has been a bit free with the bottle,” Clive ventured.
“I am not drunk Clive, I have been poisoned by that nasty curative and intend to sue those old women who make it,” Cilla threatened.
Ignoring his wife’s threats Clive suggested, “Has anyone in the village got Internet access, we could bring up the photographs of the fraudulent doctor for comparison?”
“That bald malaka at the ‘ardware shop ‘as it,” Fotini volunteered, recalling Nitsa had explained their underwear shopping spree using Bald Yannis’ credit card on the occasion when they’d been locked in the hardware shop, had been conducted on something known as the new-fangled Internet.
“There is no need for you to conduct your investigation in the hardware shop,” Doctor Konstantinos sneered. “I have Internet access here in my office.”
The sheepish look on the policeman’s face was a dead giveaway that he had no idea how to use it, so Doctor Konstantinos Googled the information himself.
“Ha, the blighter looks nothing like me,” he exclaimed, swinging the screen around so everyone could take a look at the struck off imposter.
“Well yous do ‘ave the same moustache,” Gorgeous Yiorgos pointed out.
“So you think similar facial hair is enough to malign my reputation? Any idiot can see this fraud in the photographs is a young Chinese man who weighs a good forty kilos less than me and obviously cultivated that moustache in an attempt to look Mediterranean. How on earth did he manage to successfully pass himself off as Greek?”
“That would be political correctness gone mad,” Clive suggested. “Cilla, you have wasted police time and cast aspersions on the good doctor. The fraudster was a Chinese chap using a false Greek name.”
“Do you want me to charge her with wasting police time, doctor? Those were indeed nasty aspersions she cast on your good name,” Pancratius asked.
“’Old on a minute, I need a quiet word with my doctor,” Nitsa interrupted, dragging Doctor Konstantinos to one side and whispering frantically.
“But the names were almost the same,” Cilla gulped, terrified she was about to be arrested for slander and wasting valuable police time.
“Greek names can indeed be very confusing to the linguistically challenged; especially when the said confused parties have inadvertently imbibed a contaminated dose of our highly respected village curative on top of a high dosage of ouzo,” Doctor Konstantinos concurred, turning to give Nitsa a sly wink. Addressing Cilla he continued “I must commend you madam on your due diligence in ensuring I am a verified, bona fide qualified doctor and not some fraudulent imposter struck off from your local hospital.”
“So you aren’t going to prosecute my wife for wasting police time?” Clive asked glumly, thinking a night in a Greek police cell might do Cilla good and allow him to spend some quality time alone with the parrot without her naggin
g.
“I will instruct this policeman to take matters no further if your wife promises to drop her threats to sue over being poisoned by ‘Granny’s Traditional Greek Cure All’,” the doctor said in his most pompous tone, slapping a paper down in front of Cilla. “I will prescribe her an antiemetic and say no more about the matter if she signs this paper extolling the wonderful curative effects of the curative.”
“Sign the paper Cilla,” Clive instructed. Not needing to be told twice Cilla meekly added her moniker. As the English pair turned to leave, Fotini yanked the parrot off Clive’s head, leaving claw like incisions in his greasy hairline. Turning to Nitsa she asked, “what did you say to the doctor?”
“I told ‘im if he could persuade Cilla not to sue us for poisoning ‘er we’d give ‘im a generous commission on any bottles of ‘Granny’s Traditional Greek Cure All’ he can flog ‘ere at the clinic.”
Cackling hysterically the two old crones left the clinic arm in arm. “Anyone could tell he’s a genuine doctor, look ‘ow he cured my blindness, an’ he even forgot to demand payment,” Nitsa said admiringly, wincing as the sun hit her now caterpillar free eye.
A sudden dark shadow loomed across their path.
“Who put the sun out?” Fotini asked.
“Po po, don’t yous get fed up of wearing that gloomy black dress?” Nitsa said contemptuously, looking up into the bearded face of the Pappas.
“I want a word with you Nitsa. I know all about you scheming with Bald Yannis to sabotage the grand opening of Stavroula’s tourist tat annex,” the Pappas said ominously.
“What, did our alleged plotting come to yous in a heavenly vision?” Nitsa mocked.
“No, I overheard you talking when I was lurking by the bins in the back alley. My silence will cost you dearly, old woman.”
“Po po, what a load of old malarkey, yous must ‘ave misheard. It’s not a crime for an attractive woman to ‘ave a secret assignation with ‘er ‘andsome lover yous know,” Nitsa retorted, imagining Bald Yannis had indeed taken diabolical liberties with her by the dustbins.
The Pappas was taken aback by Nitsa’s ready admission she was in fact engaged in a passionate fling with the hardware shop man. It was possible he had got the wrong end of the stick when he eavesdropped, perhaps mishearing the mutterings of sweet nothings as dastardly scheming.
His eyes narrowed, remembering how Bald Yannis had lied to his face, insisting there was nothing of an amorous nature between him and this hideous hag. Recalling Soula’s emphatic defence of her husband’s fidelity the Pappas made one last feeble effort to extort blackmail money from Nitsa.
“Now you have admitted to your disgraceful and sinful affair with a married man, my silence will cost you. If you don’t pay up I will tell Soula all about your disgustingly torrid carryings-on with her husband,” the Pappas threatened.
“More likely I’d pay yous to tell ‘er, that way she’ll divorce ‘im an’ I can ‘ave ‘im all to myself,” Nitsa chortled, rudely pushing the Pappas aside.
As the two old crones headed past the hardware shop towards the taxi Bald Yannis summoned Nitsa inside.
“Did the Pappas just try to blackmail yous too? He reckons he overheard our scheming in the back alley,” Bald Yannis hissed.
“Don’t worry Yanni. I put the malaka off the scent by telling ‘im we is ‘aving a passionate affair. I bet the old pervert’s picturing us now makin’ love in the bins,” Nitsa chortled before elbowing Bald Yannis and suggesting with a saucy wink, “We should give it a try some time, I’m very flexible for my age yous know.”
Bald Yannis’ stomach recoiled at the very thought of getting up close and personal with the deluded old bag, but he had to admire her quick wit in putting the Pappas off the scent.
“Yous did go a bit far today Nitsa, I didn’t expect you to be responsible for completely destroying Stavroula’s annex,” Bald Yannis noted.
“What is yous on about, I only knocked over a few racks of tat an’ a table of food,” Nitsa said.
“Yous caused a pile-up when yous nearly hit Iraklis on his tricycle.”
“I don’t know what yous is on about. What pile-up?” Nitsa asked, genuinely bewildered.
“The pile-up what put Tall Thomas in the clinic,” Bald Yannis explained.
“I’ve just come from there, I never saw sight of my nephew Thomas,” Nitsa said in confusion.
“That’s because yous was blind Nitsa,” Fotini reminded her, at the same time convincing Bald Yannis there was absolutely no point in attempting to engage the pair in a serious conversation as it was patently obvious they were losing their marbles.
Chapter 31
Quentin Loses Deirdre
The sun washed down over Deidre’s reclining body, caressing her with its warm rays as she floated on the giant pink plastic flamingo. Quentin’s latest purchase was far more roomy and comfortable than the old lilo that had been punctured by the goat on the motorcycle. Deirdre trailed her hands leisurely over the sides of the flamingo, the water cooling her fingers with its soothing ripples. Her gaze settled on the mountainous terrain dotted with olive trees behind the beach; the odd wispy white cloud flitting across the dreamy blue sky.
Deirdre decided she would try to persuade Quentin to extend their Greek stay as she would love to be in the village when the three expectant mothers delivered their bundles of joy. She would hate to miss the births and have to settle for hearing about it over the long distance telephone line in Idaho. She remembered promising mail order Masha she would be Nona to the silicone chip and wondered if there was any way round the threatened oily dunking in the church font necessary to turn her Orthodox. It struck her as quaintly odd that in order to be godmother at the baby’s baptism she first had to be baptised into the Orthodox Church herself. She hoped that perhaps there was a simple remedy using a well stuffed brown envelope.
The combination of the sun’s warming rays, the refreshing sea breeze and the gentle bob of the water beneath the flamingo lulled Deirdre into a dreamless sleep. The subtle swell of the sea soon carried the floating flamingo further away from the beach. By the time Quentin woke up the flamingo and Deirdre were too far out to sea to be visible.
Quentin awoke, stretching languidly and cursing when he noticed he had a sunburned outline of the Eiffel Tower on his chest. Turning to ask Deirdre the time he was surprised to notice her plastic sun lounger was empty except for her towel. Digging his watch from his pocket he was shocked to realise how much time had passed; his manual labour in the garden must have exhausted him more than he’d realised.
Quentin wondered where Deirdre could have got to. Strolling over the sand he peered out to sea, but there was no sign of the vibrant pink flamingo anywhere on the horizon. It was very unlike his wife to wander off without telling him and her absence left him uneasy.
“At least she isn’t still out on the flamingo,” he reasoned, spotting a pink inflatable nestling against the rocks to one side of the beach. Quentin jumped to the erroneous conclusion the flamingo was the one he had purchased from Bald Yannis when in fact it belonged to the family who’d been on the beach earlier, having left it behind when they returned to their tourist apartment late afternoon.
Unable to imagine where Deirdre had gone, Quentin kept peering out to sea, his perturbed expression resembling a ship’s lookout tasked with watching for pesky icebergs. He told himself not to be an alarmist even though the sun was setting. Picking up Deirdre’s towel to check if it was dry he uncovered her handbag on top of the sun lounger. Now he really began to worry, knowing Deirdre simply wouldn’t wander off without her enormous handbag. There was always something inside it she would need to put her hands on with a quick rummage.
“If she did decide to leave without a word, which is most unlikely, would she have gone home to Rapanaki or strolled back to Astakos?” Quentin questioned. “She simply wouldn’t have left without telling me or taking her handbag, it’s just not like her,” he reasoned, more worried by the minute.
Chapter 32
Chicken Soup and Taverna Barriers
“Do stop bawling Sofia, yous will set me off again,” Mrs Kolokotronis pleaded, wringing out a voluminous handkerchief and blowing her nose noisily. She had insisted on treating the two youngsters to dinner at ‘Mono Ellinka Trofima’ to take their minds off the dreadful news that Iraklis must leave for the army. The taverna bustled with locals and tourists packed around the outdoor tables and Mrs Kolokotronis hoped the cheery atmosphere would lighten their despondent mood.
“At least Fat Christos has promised I’ll still have my job in the supermarket to come back to,” Iraklis said.
“Are yous going away?” mail order Masha asked from the next table.
“The poor lad ‘as ‘ad is army Call Up Papers,” Mrs Kolokotronis answered for him, prompting another bout of hysterical weeping.
“Can’t yous get an exemption on the grounds yous is so weedy?” Masha asked, causing Iraklis to blush with embarrassment. Though he was happily dating Sofia he would never forget that the voluptuous silicone Russian had been his first crush.
Iraklis perked up when Masha mused, “A man in a uniform is very sexy,” but reddened again when she added “but poor Iraklis will just look like he’s playin’ dress up. I used to fantasise about being rescued from the icy barren wilderness of the wolf infested Verkhoyansk by a sexy Cossack who pinned the severed tail of the wolf he saved me from to his uniform.”
Float the Goat Page 14