The Explosive Nature of Friendship Read Online Free PDF Page A

latching back on, breaking Mitsos ’ concentration.
    ‘ Ah, my friend, you look so content. I remember a time when I was content …’ The milk is all gone and the baby looks sleepy.
    ‘ Unfortunately, what starts with fun and laughter – and there was much fun and laughter at that age, I can tell you – can often lead to more serious places.’
    Mitsos is aware that he is using the opportunity to voice all his worries but feels no shame. He has been silent so long, the same stories rattling round and round in his head. He needs to allow them to escape. This is the first person who has given him the time or the confidence to speak. Mitsos wonders what that says about him.
    The baby yawns, giving a small noise that makes Mitsos smile before he continues his soothing talk.
    ‘ The donkeys were just a silly boyish prank, but what happens when you are so full of life that each step must outreach the last? That's when you need to take care. But when you are young,’ he sighs, ‘you do not see the path ahead clearly, you only see the next step.’ He manoeuvres the baby over his shoulder and pats his soft back. ‘Take Manolis’ next step,’ he whispers into the child’s ear. ‘Was it over the line? Did it foretell things to come? Would we have acted any differently if we had known where our path was leading?’

    ‘Here, give us a hand …’ Manolis said.
    ‘ What are we doing?’ Mitsos’ heartbeat had increased and there was a fine sweat on his brow. His spine felt cold. They were up to mischief again, and God was watching this time.
    ‘… with this,’ Manolis said, as he ran to the centre of the nave and grasped the brass font with both hands as if to lift it. ‘Come on, I can't do this alone.’
    Mitsos was horrified. He imagined bolts of lightning coming through the church roof at him, the voice of God bellowing through the high domed ceiling. His feet stayed glued to the spot where he stood and his jaw hung limply open. Manolis beckoned him over, but Mitsos hesitated as the icons glowered at him from the walls.
    ‘Come on!’ Manolis shouted. Mitsos was sure shouting in church was a definite sin and hurried towards him to stop him shouting out again.
    ‘ Shhhh.’ Mitsos hissed. But Manolis’ words were no longer a request and Mitsos found, in his fear of the shouting and of Manolis himself, that he lifted the font off its stand and the two of them, wobbling under its weight, carried it to the door. Together they tipped it up, pouring the contents over the mud and grass.
    ‘ That's holy water!’ Mitsos exclaimed, as it was quickly sucked away by the cracked mud.
    ‘ Ha! He can bless more,’ Manolis laughed. ‘Besides, he picked on the wrong boy to preach to this time!’

    The young trainee Papas was far too keen, and each Sunday he would pull aside a couple of boys.
    ‘ You boys are nearly too old for school now. How old are you – ten, eleven?’
    ‘ Nine,’ Manolis answered. He pulled at his shirt collar, uncomfortable in his Sunday clothes.
    ‘ Look at the size of you! You should have been out working beside your Baba years ago. And you, boy …’
    ‘ Mitsos, sir,’ he replied, standing erect.
    ‘ How old are you – seven, eight?’
    ‘ Nine and a half!’ Mitsos was wide-eyed with indignation.
    ‘ Well then, you too should be out helping your Baba. "Αργία μήτηρ πάσης κακίας" – Idleness, mother of all evil. How often do you read your Bible?’
    On the subject of the Bible, on how infrequently the boys read it and on how far their behaviour diverged from that expected from a good Greek Orthodox Christian, there was seemingly no end. Mitsos and Manolis jiggled from foot to foot, trying to keep their attention on the priest, but it was a losing battle. The curls of smoke from the incense burner, the old lady lighting a candle, the reflective gold leaf embellishments on the icons, anything, well actually everything, was more interesting than the sonorous voice of