Greek Capers Page 4

  “Well I ‘eard on the gossip vine that old fool Vasilis was attacked by a madman and rushed to ‘ospital. ‘Appen Stavroula dashed to his bedside,” Prosperous Pedros volunteered. As news of this supposed attack on Vasilis sank in the customers were surprised to see mail order Masha enter the taverna noticeably less glamorous than usual.

  “Is it true yous ‘usband ‘as been attacked an’ is in the ‘ospital?” Takis asked Masha.

  “It’s a tragedy,” Masha confirmed with a weary sigh. “The old fool had to ‘ave his head stapled together and he’s lying there in a coma like a dribbling vegetable.”

  “’Ow come yous is not at the ‘ospital with yous ‘usband,” Takis questioned.

  “I’ve been there for hours. The doctor recommended I come ‘ome for a rest. Vasilis would never forgive me if I wasn’t ‘ere to tend to the donkey,” Masha protested, neglecting to mention her donkey duties were being attended to by Iraklis.

  “There, there, of course you deserve a break Masha,” Deirdre sympathised, inviting the mail order bride to join them. “You have to keep your strength up now you’re eating for two my dear.”

  “I’m eating for three, but Yannis doesn’t believe in breaks,” Soula muttered under her breath, before slapping a hand to her mouth guiltily when she remembered her husband was treating her to a break at this very moment.

  “Why’s Toothless Tasos lurking outside?” Gorgeous Yiorgos asked just as the fisherman reluctantly walked in, circumnavigating the tables to avoid having to greet the pair of Scottish tourists he had rented his living room floor to. Joining the other fishermen he dispensed with the niceties, poured a glass of wine and immediately started grumbling his home was overrun with unwanted visitors.

  “Thea is fussing about getting ready for her goddaughter Sofia who arrives tomorrow. She spent all afternoon nagging me to move my fishing buckets an’ bait out of the spare bedroom. The minute I dumped ‘em on the living room floor that Scottish pair kicked up a stink, objecting to the smell of fetid fish,” Toothless Tasos complained, tilting his head towards Hamish and Fenella, who completely oblivious, were tucking into fried squid. In truth Tasos hadn’t understood a single word the pair uttered in their thick Scottish accents, but he’d got the message they weren’t prepared to sleep next to his fish buckets when they resorted to demonstrating their displeasure by attaching clothes pegs to the end of their noses.

  “Thea ‘asn’t even got time for the cat and yous all know ‘ow she dotes on that malaka creature. I tried to make it feel at ‘ome by making a bed for it out of one of Fenella’s posh frocks.”

  The fishermen all turned in unison to stare at Fenella who was covered from head to toe in cat hairs and clad in the hideous old lady dress Hamish had bought in the hardware shop. Toothless Tasos’ grumbles were interrupted by the arrival of Thea screeching like a fish wife. Grabbing her fiancé tightly by the ear she yanked him from his seat, demanding “is it too much to expect a bit of help around the house? Sofia is arriving tomorrow and I don’t want word getting back to Athens that we live like a pair of slobs in your tatty old fisherman’s cottage.”

  “Well that’s fine thanks after I took yous in when the debt collectors were banging on yous door,” Toothless Tasos hissed as he was dragged away, embarrassed by Thea making a scene in the taverna.

  “Och, what a shame, I was hoping to buy our host a drink,” Hamish said to his wife. The Scottish couple were delighted with their accommodation in the quaint fishing cottage and were looking forward to boasting to all their friends they had experienced authentic Greek hospitality, if, by any chance the world didn’t end on apocalypse day and they survived to tell the tale.

  Hamish asked Takis to send a jug of wine to the table of fishermen in a gesture of friendship. Prosperous Pedros, raising his glass in thanks, became flustered by the fixated gaze of Fenella. Following crazy Koula’s unnatural obsession with him Pedros was convinced random women were after his body and had no intention of letting any of them get their hands on it. He was clueless Fenella was simply admiring his fisherman’s pullover and wondering where she could buy one for Hamish.

  Soula was torn between ordering lamb chops and chicken. “There’s no need to go over the top and choose the most expensive dish,” Bald Yannis reprimanded Soula, settling the matter by telling Yiota they would both have fava and fasolakia.

  “You must try some of my lamb chops Soula,” Deirdre offered, cringing at Bald Yannis’ penny-pinching insensitivity. “Yiota always cooks far too many.”

  “I don’t mind if I do Did-Rees,” Bald Yannis beamed, spearing one of her chops with his fork.

  “I thought you were a vegetarian,” Deirdre sneered.

  “Well I was until this phantom pregnancy messed up my hormones,” he replied.

  “Did-Rees, ‘ow many times do yous need telling lamb is a vegetable?” Prosperous Pedros piped up with a wink, re-igniting their long standing good-natured squabble.

  Silence descended as a new arrival with a menacing presence entered the taverna, looking like a mafia reject in a three-piece black suit and ostentatiously dripping with heavy gold jewellery. His black hair was slicked back with grease and his long nose was topped with a thick monobrow. Nudging Bald Yannis, Adonis whispered “that’s the wealthy Kazakh who wanted to bathe in crude oil.”

  Takis rushed over to seat the obviously rich customer who abruptly ordered a bottle of vodka and a glass to be sent to his bodyguard who was standing to attention outside the door. Knocking back a large glass of neat vodka the Kazakh stared Takis in the eye, saying “Your Russian tsai is most excellent. Do you have the penis of a horse?”

  “Yous would ‘ave to ask Yiota about that,” Takis replied, nervous to offend the heavily built stranger but thinking the size of his manhood was none of this Kazakhs business.

  “It is a great delicacy in my country. Perhaps you have the sheep’s head instead,” the Kazakh continued as it suddenly dawned on Takis the stranger was discussing the menu.

  “My wife has cooked a delicious dish of beef kokkinisto,” Takis volunteered.

  “Yes, bring it,” the Kazakh ordered. Glancing round the taverna he spotted mail order Masha and was instantly infatuated with her plastic beauty. Grabbing Takis’ sleeve he demanded, “Tell me, who is that enchantress with the voluptuous figure?”

  “That is Masha, she’s a famous weather girl,” Takis told him.

  “Send her a glass of vodka with my compliments,” the Kazakh instructed.

  Sensing the taverna’s newest arrival practically undressing her with his eyes, mail order Masha retired to the bathroom to touch up her makeup and adjust her silicone cleavage. The stranger was a cut above her usual admirers and a harmless flirtation would take her mind off the vegetative state of her old husband. Returning to her seat she looked longingly at the glass of vodka sent by her new admirer before reluctantly telling Takis to tell the stranger she couldn’t accept it as she was pregnant.

  “Tell ‘im youself,” Takis snapped, thinking it quite outrageous the Russian floozy was even entertaining the idea of flirting with this mafia hood whilst her husband was lying dead to the world in a coma.

  “Allow me to present myself madam,” the Kazakh said, appearing at Masha’s side and planting an oily kiss on her hand. “I am Dastan from Kazakhstan, at your service. Allow me to say your beauty is magnificent.”

  As Masha fluttered her false eyelashes Bald Yannis butted in, shouting “Masha is a married woman and yous attentions are unwanted,” whilst revving his chainsaw threateningly. The two men glowered at each other, but before further words could be exchanged Fat Christos burst into the taverna dragging Bald Yannis’ pet goat by its lead. Quentin and Deirdre had become so acclimatised to the goatly goings on in the village they barely raised an eyebrow at the sight of Agapimeni in the taverna, but the stunned look on the faces of Hamish and Fenella was quite priceless as they gawped open-mouthed.

  The Kazakh bodyguard had released the goat from the lemon tree in anno
yance when it started to chew through his trouser cuffs. Once free Agapimeni had gambolled into the supermarket where it caused chaos by knocking over Fat Christos’ display of fresh fruit before settling in to gnaw through the shelf of cuddly stuffed germs.

  “Get that thing out. The only goats welcome in ‘ere are the ones we serve up on plates,” Takis roared at Fat Christos.

  “I would welcome to eat the goat,” Dastan declared, licking his unnaturally thin lips. Addressing Bald Yannis he suggested “perhaps you could lend to me your chainsaw so I can prepare the goat for the cooking.”

  “Yous jumped up Kazakh malaka, that goat is my darling pet,” Bald Yannis yelled, wielding his chainsaw in Dastan’s direction and chasing him out of the taverna.

  Chapter 7

  De-Icing Horses and Frozen Eyelashes

  “I’ll take the goat home,” Soula reluctantly offered, upset that her first ever taverna evening would be cut short.

  “Nonsense,” Yiota interjected. “I’ll tie Agapimeni up in the back yard. She’ll be safe there while yous finish yous meal.”

  “I am sure Bald Yannis thought he was bein’ chivalrous and looking out for me but I am perfectly capable of handling admiring men. I would ‘ave liked to chat to that fellow whose country was part of our great Soviet Union. Sometimes I get ‘omesick for my motherland even though I ‘ad an ‘orrible time there. Not one of yous lot speaks Russian or ‘ave a clue what it was like growing up in Siberia,” Masha cried out, before dissolving in a hysterical flood of tears as the horrific events of the day finally caught up.

  “He was just trying to protect yous honour,” Soula said in defence of her husband. “After all yous is a married woman Masha, with a baby on the way.”

  “I know that Soula, but sometimes it is ‘ard being married to that old foolish relic. It is ‘ard to feel like an attractive woman when my ‘usband needs Viagra to perform, no longer bothers to woo me with compliments and expensive baubles, and thinks more of ‘is donkey than me,” Masha wept. “At least the Kazakh appreciated my womanly beauty an’ could speak my own language.”

  “I can sympathise Masha. Yannis ‘as never wooed with me sweet nothings and he thinks more of his goat than me. But yous ‘ave to remember men ‘ave problems expressing their feelings,” Soula consoled Masha, secretly thinking the Russian bride was a tad ungrateful. Soula realised Masha thrived on the male attention she received as her natural due by virtue of being so gorgeous, and famous to boot.

  Admiration from the opposite sex was something plain lame Soula had never experienced, having expected to remain a childless spinster until the day Bald Yannis turned up in the high mountain village of Osta with the matchmaker; no other man had ever looked twice at her. On the other hand she had fallen in love with Bald Yannis the moment he appeared as her saviour, but it was impossible to imagine she would have felt the same heartfelt emotion if it had been that wrinkled old prune Vasilis who came to her rescue.

  “Oh Masha, you know Vasilis thinks the world of you,” Deirdre consoled her, even though she believed Masha would be far better matched with a younger, more vigorous man and considered the smitten young doctor a good catch for the Russian.

  Quentin patted Masha’s knee sympathetically, telling her “Masha you are right, we are all so insensitive. You must long to speak to someone in your mother tongue. We really know nothing about your life in Russia before you moved to Greece to marry Vasilis, because we didn’t like to pry.”

  “Oh K-Went-In, I tries not to think backwards to my time growing up in that Siberian wasteland of Verkhoyansk. I remember when yous all returned from yous trip to Idaho and complained incessantly about the cold and snow like such spineless wimps. Yous don’t know what cold is until yous ‘ave lived in a desolate place where the horses have to be de-iced. The air hangs dense with poisonous fumes because if people ‘ave cars they ‘ave to leave the engines running all day; they freeze up if turned off.”

  “But surely Masha, you have some happy memories of Siberia,” Deirdre suggested.

  “What, living in an ‘ouse where nothin’ came out of the frozen taps an’ the milk was delivered in frozen blocks, not to mention the constant fear of being eaten by wolves. One winter my drunken lout of a brutal father sent me out to hack ice for water an’ it was so cold my eyelashes froze solid an’ broke off,” Masha moaned. “Yous people simply don’t appreciate what a paradise Greece is.”

  “Oh, but we do,” Quentin protested, vowing to never voice his petty complaints again.

  Appreciative of the effort Quentin and Deirdre were finally making in trying to understand her background, Masha wiped her eyes and said “but I did look absolutely gorgeous in my Arctic fox ‘at with the sexy ear flaps. Vasilis took one look at the photograph of me in that ‘at and proposed instantly. He was ancient, but ‘ad a kind heart and offered me a ticket to live in this sunny place. People ‘ere called me a heartless gold digger, but I’m no different to Soula latching on to a man with a shop to escape her life of drudgery up the mountain.”

  “It is true we both relied on men to change our fortunes in life but I never thought yous was a gold digger Masha, yous ‘ave a heart of gold. I will never forget ‘ow you gave me the dress off yous back and stuffed toilet roll in my bra for my wedding to Yannis,” Soula said with genuine affection for the other woman.

  “I could cry when I hear of the hardships you two have endured,” Deirdre sighed. “I wish we could adopt the pair of you.”

  “’Ow about yous is honorary grandparents to our babies,” Masha suggested with a smile.

  Their confessional mood was interrupted by the brusque return of Bald Yannis who immediately helped himself to Deirdre’s last lamb chop before laying into Adonis at full volume.

  “I thought yous said the Kazakh was a Doomsday tripper, yous malaka. It turns out he’s some smarmy businessman scouting for the next foreign place to drill for oil. If we allow ‘is type in the village the next thing yous know we’ll be livin’ on top of a big ‘ole spouting nasty black crude gunk that will kill all the olives and choke the goats. ‘Ow would yous lot fancy pulling fish out of an oil slick?”

  All the taverna regulars gasped in horror on hearing Bald Yannis’ words. Not one of them would approve of a foreign company arriving in the village to exploit their beautiful land for oily profits and causing untold environmental damage. They all started shouting at once to protest the very thought of such an abomination, until Adonis stood up as the voice of reason.

  “There is not a shred of evidence Astakos is sitting on a sea of crude oil, so we must not panic. We must go to the Dimos tomorrow and find out if this is true. If the Kazakh is indeed an oil speculator with the evil intent to drill ‘ere we must stand firm against the politicians who would sell us out for the brown envelopes they would receive by allowing the despoliation of this glorious area.”

  “I ‘ave a brainwave,” Bald Yannis yelled. “Masha yous must ‘ave dinner with the Kazakh.” Addressing the room he continued, “We could all see the slimy Kazakh ‘ad eyes for Masha an’ she could use ‘er womanly charms to get ‘im to reveal ‘is plans.”

  “Yous soon changed yous tune Yanni. Not ten minutes ago yous chased ‘im out of ‘ere with a chainsaw because he had the temerity to introduce himself and kiss my ‘and,” Masha scoffed.

  “Masha, I chased ‘im out of ‘ere because he wanted to cook Agapimeni,” Bald Yannis argued. “I stopped ‘im from chatting yous up because there was something definitely mafia like about him.”

  “So now yous ‘ave decided I can fraternise with the mafia if it suits yous to ‘ave me spying?” Masha sneered.

  “Masha, do it for the village,” Adonis pleaded. “Just ‘ave dinner with the malaka and find out what he’s up to. Yous will ‘ave the chance to speak Russian and talk about the goodly old times in the Soviet Union.”

  Masha pretended to mull over the idea, but was secretly delighted at the prospect of dinner with the wealthy Kazakh and the opportunity to chat in Russian. A
ppearing reluctantly to relent she told Adonis “okay, yous can tell Dastan the Kazakh I will ‘ave dinner with ‘im tomorrow evening when I am finished with visiting my ‘usband at the ‘ospital. But I don’t want to eat ‘ere with all yous lot staring, tell ‘im to take me to some place fancy up in Paraliakos with cloth tablecloths.”

  Everyone breathed a sigh of relief, confident mail order Masha was more than capable of extricating oily secrets out of the Kazakh so they would be armed with all the facts if they needed to protest against any scheming avaricious oil prospectors.

  Just then Iraklis arrived at the taverna and tentatively approached Masha. Summoning up the courage to address the Russian goddess he spluttered, “Masha, I have fed the donkey and took the liberty of scrubbing the red soup off your kitchen floor. I couldn’t have lived with myself if you slipped in the mess and did yourself an injury. I have brought the donkey with me and hope you allow me the honour of escorting you home on it. It isn’t safe for you to be out alone with a madman on the loose.”

  “That is very thoughtful of yous Irakli, yous is a good kind boy,” Masha praised him.

  Blushing with pleasure at Masha’s compliment Iraklis proffered a box of loukamades, saying “Mrs Kolokotronis asked me to give you these sweet treats she made especially for you.”

  “Please thank her Irakli,” Masha replied, touched by Mrs Kolokotronis’ kind gesture. “Yous will ‘ave to eat them for me though as I’m on a strict sugar free diet.”

  “A bit of sugar never did anyone any ‘arm,” Bald Yannis piped up, helping himself to the honeyed dumplings without a care in the world for his rapidly expanding stomach.

  “Talk about the donkey has given me an idea,” Quentin said. “It might be just the thing to bring Vasilis out of his coma. Everyone knows how much he dotes on the creature.”

  “Don’t be so ridiculous Quentin,” Deirdre scoffed. “How can Masha possibly take the donkey into the hospital?”