Olive Virgins Page 4

  “Never minds that, just brings the boat over and rescues me,” Tall Thomas screamed, dropping his hold on his mobile phone and taking in a mouthful of seaweed laced salty water.

  Prosperous Pedros sped over to the drowning figure and heaved his dripping body into the boat. Gasping for air Thomas vomited up a copious amount of sea water and several small fish, rewarding Pedros for his efforts.

  “Malaka, I dropped my phone,” he complained, persuading Pedros to use his newfangled computerised guidance system to locate the phone in the water. The two men argued over which button to press to activate the guidance system’s ‘peer at the seabed feature’, with Pedros convinced if the wrong button was pressed the fishing boat might explode.

  “’Ow comes you is out ‘ere drowning?” Pedros questioned, holding tightly onto Tall Thomas’ legs as he balanced precariously over the side of the boat attempting to retrieve the mobile phone with a long handled fishing net.

  “It was them malakas down in Gavros,” Tall Thomas explained. “They went ballistic when I tried to sell ‘em gavros. They tooks me out to sea in a boat and threw me in the water with nothin’ but that tyre to keeps me afloat. I tells yous Pedro, I was on the point of dying of ‘unger and sunstroke when yous come along and saves me.”

  “’Ere, ‘ave a prawn,” Pedros offered, proffering his bait to the starving man.

  Tall Thomas immediately regretted snacking on Pedros’ expensive bait as he had forgotten all about his propensity for sea sickness until it was too late. Refusing to reveal the embarrassing condition that had caused him to stop fishing Thomas accused Pedros of buying dodgy prawns, to which Pedros argued “well none of the fish is complaining.”

  “Well they is dead like this phone,” Thomas reasoned, going green and losing the prawns. He was very impressed by Pedros’ superior knowledge that placing his telephones battery in the deep freeze may revive it, but he had another more pressing matter on his mind.

  “What if they ‘ave another go when I goes back to retrieve my mobile refrigerated fish van what is still in their village?” Thomas shuddered, reluctant to brave his adversaries in Gavros again in case they meted out a similar brutal treatment.

  “I expects we can rounds up enough of us in Astakos to go down and gets it,” Prosperous Pedros proposed, thinking if they went to Gavros mob-handed that evening he would have a readymade excuse not to visit his parrot obsessed mother.

  Chapter 13: Egg On The Pappas’ Face

  The Pappas was having a bad day. The gormless American pair had turned up at the church to flatly turn down his offer to bless their newly renovated house. Then he had nearly blown the chance to officiate over the christening of Andromeda by insulting the proposed godmother, calling her an unsuitable gold-digging floozy.

  “You aren’t the only church around and we can take our business elsewhere,” Fat Christos threatened. “Masha is not only Tassia’s dearest friend but she personally delivered the baby, making her the perfect choice to be Andy’s nona.”

  It had taken a lot of grovelling to appease Fat Christos before he had agreed to let the Pappas officiate. He had been forced to coo over the ugly baby, declaring her a beauty. The news that Gorgeous Yiorgos was the chosen godfather further enraged him as he wished only ill-luck on the fisherman now living with his estranged wife Petula, but he knew better than to voice his objections to the philandering fornicator taking the role of nonos.

  Locking the church the Pappas prepared to head home and try out his new recipe for soft boiled eggs from the ‘Idiot’s Guide to Cooking.’ Fotini had left some eggs, pilfered from her neighbours’ chicken coop, in the church collection plate. He thought the eggs made a nice change from the usual useless offerings of grubby condoms, suspicious bits of toffee and foreign coins.

  Calling out a greeting to Prosperous Pedros, as the fisherman parked his boat in the harbour, the Pappas was shocked to be on the receiving end of a mouthful of expletives. He had no idea Pedros now considered himself the unfortunate victim of the Pappas’ fishing curse, convinced his current excellent fishing luck would now be reversed.

  The phone call he received from the Bishop upon returning home left him conflicted. The Bishop’s request that he take on an apprentice Pappas, straight from his stint in a monastery for a spot of on-the-job training, seemed rather ambiguous as it could mean his experience was valued, or it could mean the young upstart was after his job. Mulling over the implications of sharing his church and his home with a wet behind the ears eager trainee the Pappas was oblivious to over boiling his lunch until it exploded, leaving him with egg all over his face.

  The sight of a new parishioner huddled in the church doorway lifted his spirits as he liked to welcome new members to his congregation who were oblivious of his terrible reputation. Averting his nose from the rank garlic smell seeping from the woman’s amulet embellished bosom, the Pappas asked if he could be of any assistance.

  “I ‘ave come to say a prayer for my missing brother Kostas what was driven from ‘is ‘ome by ‘is bossy and domineering wife Stavroula, who ‘as the taverna round the corner,” Katerina announced, adding “yous is a bit messy for a priest, yous ‘ave yolk all over yous collar.”

  “Indeed she is a dreadful woman,” the Pappas agreed, still smarting from his ban from Stavroula’s taverna and pulling bits of egg shell out of his ear. “Come inside and light a candle,” he invited, hoping the woman would divulge some dirt on his hated neighbour. He hadn’t ruled out the hope of future blackmail attempts if he could garner some new incriminating gossip. Unfortunately Katerina was the type to drone on endlessly with nothing interesting to reveal. The Pappas was left none the wiser about the fate of Stavroula’s missing husband after three hours of listening to Katerina’s complaints, leaving him seriously tempted to slip back into his old habits and break open a bottle of holy wine. If Kostas was anything like his sister he could understand Stavroula doing a runner from Pouthena.

  The Pappas finally got rid of Katerina by convincing her everyone in Yiota’s taverna would be riveted by her tales. Shooing her on her way he suddenly remembered he had intended to dine at Yiota’s that evening. Unable to face yet another minute in Katerina’s company he resigned himself to yet another disastrous meal concocted from the ‘Idiot’s Guide to Cooking.’ Perhaps if he hurried he may just catch Kyria Papadopoulos’ cooking show on television and learn some new culinary techniques to prevent his food exploding.

  Chapter 14: The Body In The Deep Freeze

  Bald Yannis was convinced the repulsive old bag Fotini had only demanded he deliver a pile of new olive sacks ready for the upcoming harvest to give her repugnant and foul mouthed parrot a chance to attack him. Cycling back to the hardware shop he cursed the old woman and her parrot as it had viciously uprooted a large chunk of his hair transplant, leaving him completely bald on one side of his scalp. Mulling over possible macabre plans, his revenge on the parrot involved a vision of a pair of pliers and a large cooking pot.

  With Soula helping out in the shop Bald Yannis had been able to expand his home delivery service. Takings were up as Soula had a winning way with the customers, nicely compensating for his own bluff rudeness and his natural inclination to hurl insults at anyone attempting to shop in the hardware store.

  Back at the hardware shop Bald Yannis was astounded to discover his new wife collapsed in floods of tears. The sight of the sobbing woman left him floundering out of his depth. He was inexperienced in offering comfort. “’As something ‘appened, ‘as the shop been robbed?” he asked, thinking of his profits rather than his wife.

  “Oh Yanni, I wish it ‘ad, it would be preferable to what ‘as ‘appened,” Soula wept, attempting to throw herself into his wooden arms. “Yanni I am sorry to say yous marriage to me is about to disgrace yous good name.”

  Dreadful thoughts flashed through Bald Yannis’ mind. Looking at his wife he asked her, “Was yous l
ying to me an’ not really a virgin bride?”

  “Of course I was virgin,” Soula stuttered, appalled he could think such a thing. “Father ‘as been arrested. A body ‘as been found in his deep freeze.”

  “An ‘uman body?” Bald Yannis questioned.

  “Yes, they says it is decomposed ‘uman remains,” Soula shuddered.

  “I always suspicioned yous father wasn’t right in the ‘ead, but keeping a body in the freezer is positively grotesque,” Bald Yannis proclaimed, disgusted to think of dead meat possibly being stored next to frozen vegetables. “Soula did yous ever suspect there was a body in the freezer?”

  “Of course not Yanni, I didnt’s even know father ‘ad a freezer, he always said it was a needless luxury. They found it in the old barn what father always kept padlocked. He told us girls he would beat us black an’ blue if we ever entered the barn an’ we always thought it was where he brewed ‘is illicit ‘ome made tsipouro.”

  “Whose body could it be?” Bald Yannis asked.

  “They thinks it mights be father’s spinster sister. They say he ‘as been claiming her unmarried woman pension for years.”

  “Are you thinkin’ he done ‘er in then?” Yannis questioned.

  “Father does ‘ave the most terrible temper an’ the two of them was always at each other’s throats, but he swears he is innocent of murder,” Soula revealed. “I ‘ate to speak ills of the dead Yanni but my aunt was an ‘orrible strict woman. She disappeared on the night I was caught in the bear trap. I always suspected she just ‘adn’t the ‘eart to nurse my gammy leg, but father insisted she’d run off with the man who set up the bear trap.”

  Bald Yannis pondered Soula’s words before asking, “So yous ‘ad no affection for this dead aunt and yous lived in mortal fear of yous dastardly father?”

  “That’s right, they was nasty ghastly people, but I cant’s just see father locked up. Please Yanni, yous must ‘elp father.”

  Bald Yannis was naturally inclined to leave Soula’s nasty father to rot but the sight of her tears stirred something protective within him. He promised to drive up to the high mountain village of Osta, ironically named for bones, and see what he could find out. He was also determined to discover more about the dreadful tale Soula had recounted in explanation of her lameness.

  He knew poor Soula had been trapped overnight in the vice-like jaws of a steel bear trap, with her screams of agony seemingly unheard. This latest news concerning the body of her dead aunt in the deep freeze led Yannis to suspect Soula’s cries had been deliberately ignored, giving her father time to dispose of the body. He did not wish to voice his suspicions in case they brought on a fresh onslaught of tears.

  Soula wept in relief at her kind husbands understanding nature. Wiping her nose on his sleeve she gazed up at him through red rimmed eyes. “Oh Yanni, what ‘as ‘appened to yous ‘air, it looks ‘orrible?”

  “That malaka parrot attacked me,” Bald Yannis declared. His visit to Osta would mean he must delay his plans to take revenge on the foul-mouthed bird.

  Chapter 15: Stormy Weather Forecast

  “Tell step-daughter I am too tired to go round for dinner, all I wants is to go ‘ome and ‘ave a big bowl of borscht and a bottle of vodka,” mail order Masha instructed that old fool Vasilis, flicking through a pile of glossy magazines as the television studio make-up artist contoured her cheekbones with a flattering crimson blusher.

  “But Masha, Stavroula ‘as gone to a lot of effort,” Vasilis pleaded, watching his daughter brandishing a rolling pin in his direction while eavesdropping his phone call. “She ‘as cooked all yous favourite foods so yous can tell everyone at the television station she is a better cook than Kyria Papadopoulos.”

  “Stavroula ‘as cooked borscht?” Masha questioned suspiciously, “She always calls it foreign muck.”

  “Tell ‘er yes,” Stavroula hissed at her father. Grabbing a beetroot she scratching her head, perplexed as to how exactly she could turn it into the infamous soup.

  “Yous knows she never stops boasting ‘er glamorous step-mother is a famous weather girl,” Vasilis grovelled, wishing he wasn’t stuck in the middle of two such demanding women.

  “Oh all right then,” Masha reluctantly agreed, beckoning over the smitten young reporter to cancel their secret assignation.

  “Masha ‘as agreed to come for dinner but yous best not say anything to rile ‘er up. Now I need to borrow yous shovel. Petros the postman is getting lots of complaints Onos is delivering something extra on the doorsteps with the mail. I needs to follow ‘im round an’ clean it up,” Vasilis said. He didn’t bother to mention he hoped to make a nice profit from Onos’ steaming deposits as he had duped the gullible American pair into paying top dollar for organic garden fertiliser.

  Mail order Masha slammed the phone down in exasperation. She would now be forced to endure an evening in the company of her ancient husband, her step-daughter Stavroula, and Stavroula’s lecherous live-in-lover Slick Socrates, instead of her planned frolic with the smitten young reporter.

  Masha checked her outfit in the mirror before stepping onto the studio stage to deliver the weather forecast. She was wearing a perky pink sou’wester and a translucent raincoat Soula had fashioned from a lobster adorned shower curtain, over a sequin bikini. If she could sneakily drop in the name of Bald Yannis’ hardware shop as the supplier of her unique raincoat she stood to make a nice back handed commission from her endorsement.

  “There will be bigly storms ‘ere and ‘ere tonight,” she announced, pivoting seductively and using an umbrella as a pointer. “Ladies the rain will play ‘avoc with your ‘air an’ make yous mascara run, an’ the strong winds will blow up your skirts,” she warned. “If you’ve no need to go out in wet windy weather best stay at home unless you needs the titillation of being struck with lightening,” she advised with a wink.

  “You were just marvellous Masha,” the producer gushed. “The switchboard is jammed with admiring fans who want a photograph of you in that novel raincoat.”

  “Where’s the smitten young struck-off doctor with ‘is camera then?” Masha asked, annoyed he was not instantly on hand to photograph her for posterity. The ridiculous shower curtain raincoat was making her sweat in a most unladylike manner. She just hoped Bald Yannis would sell enough to justify her dressing up in non-porous polyester.

  The smitten young struck-off doctor rushed over, snapping away with his camera as Masha remembered to tell the producer about Stavroula’s determination to become a television cook. The producer was open to persuasion, presuming any relative of Masha’s would be equally as glamorous and good for the ratings. “My only reservation is employing your step-daughter could be considered nepotism and we’ve only just aired that discussion panel about corruption in the work place,” the producer worried.

  “It’s no more nespotic than when yous employed your mother Kyria Papadopoulos to do the cooking show,” Masha pointed out. “At least Stavroula isn’t a blood relative of mine.”

  The producer had the grace to blush while arguing his mother had made his life hell until he had agreed to let her host the cooking show. “She threatened to go on strike and stop doing my washing,” he said.

  “I will never understand the bizarre Greek habit of fifty-years-old men living at ‘ome with their mothers,” Masha replied contemptuously, remembering how Fat Christos had refused to leave his mother’s house until he married Tassia.

  “It would break my mother’s heart if I moved out,” the producer said defensively, “she loves to have me to cook and clean for.”

  “More like yous is just bone idle and cant’s even fathom out how to work a washing machine,” Masha sussed, getting to the heart of the matter. “Just come along to dinner and make up yous own mind about Stavroula, I am washing my ‘ands of the matter.”

  The producer sighed in agreement, knowing
when he was defeated. Mail order Masha’s ratings were so high he dare not defy her. On the plus side he could expect some good old fashioned home-cooked Greek food which would make a nice change from his mother’s endless offerings of overcooked onions.

  Chapter 16: Thea’s Cat Suffers An Unwanted Bath

  “Malaka, Thea will kill me,” Toothless Tasos groaned at the sight of Thea’s cat rotating vigorously in soapy bubbles in the washing machine. His efforts to help more around the house had resulted in this feline disaster when he threw their filthy clothes from the landfill site into the machine without first checking it was empty, oblivious to the loathsome cat’s habit of often taking a nap in there.

  Running into the street he flagged down Gorgeous Yiorgos who was driving by. He demanded the crowbar from his boot, explaining he had a trapped cat emergency. The two men rushed into the bathroom to prise the washing machine door open. Yiorgos had the bright idea of turning the electric supply off at the fuse box to spare the soaking wet cat any further soapy rotations.

  “Thea will skin me alive if we can’t get the cat out and revive it,” Toothless Tasos shouted as the two men heaved on the crow bar. The door suddenly sprang open, releasing a gush of soapy water in which the bedraggled and half-drowned cat was floating in confusion. Tasos grabbed the cat by its hind legs, holding it upside down until it had expelled the foaming contents of its stomach.

  “Not a word of this to Thea,” Tasos commanded, watching the cat violently shake its head in an effort to dislodge water from its ears.

  “How will yous explain the broken washing machine to Thea then?” Yiorgos queried.

  “I will tell ‘er I left a ten euro note in the pocket of my trousers what needed washing,” Tasos improvised.