The Explosive Nature of Friendship Read Online Free PDF

this young trainee Papas.
    Presently a distraction was provided by way of a bee landing on the Papas’ kamelaukio. The bee began to crawl up the side of the tall black flat-topped hat that denoted his status, and the boys could not take their eyes off it. Manolis willed the bee, and indeed he actually prayed to God, for it to circumnavigate the black mountain and crawl down the Papas’ collar. Maybe then the trainee would stop droning on.
    To Mitsos ’ horror, he had laughed and laughed when he bragged about his prayers after they were set free.
    Finally, the trainee Papas, who was too young to have grown a proper, full, official Papas ’ beard, told them he was posted there for a month. He added that if he could help them with anything, anything at all spiritual, then they must not hesitate; it was his calling, his duty, his pleasure to be of assistance to them in their quest for Godliness.
    At last, he released them with a nod towards the door.
    The air outside the church that Sunday had never smelt so fresh; running into the square, their legs had never felt so alive. Manolis unbuttoned his best shirt at the neck and pulled it off over his head and knotted the sleeves round his waist. It was hot, but more than that: to the boys, divesting themselves of their shirts spelt freedom.
    ‘ Let's go up the hill,’ Manolis shouted, his bare feet already propelling him on his way.
    Mitsos also unbuttoned his shirt at the collar, but he dared not take it off. What if his Mama or Baba saw him, or someone else who would tell them? He wore shoes, too. He only wore them on Sunday, once the winter had gone. They were too big and they flopped and slapped when he tried to run. As he passed the low stone wall to the almond orchard, he sank to the ground on the dusty track and pulled them off and dropped them down over the wall. They would be there when he returned.
    Manolis was lying on his back in the shade of the pine trees, a dense clump of which provided a tuft of hair on the very top of the hill.
    Mitsos followed suit and lay looking up at the branches, listening to the hissing of the breeze through the needles. Such a lovely, lonely sound. He presumed that Manolis was listening too, and they lay there silently, time of no relevance, lost in the noises of nature and the scent of wild thyme.
    ‘Got it!’ Manolis sat up with a start.
    ‘ Got what?’ Mitsos sat up too, just to copy Manolis.
    ‘ What we are going to do to that trainee Papas. Ha! I’ll show him what reading the Bible does.’ And with that he leapt to his feet and did a little dance on the carpet of pine needles.
    ‘ What are we going to do to him?’ Mitsos’ young brow frowned in alarm, an unpractised expression, his young forehead, still too soft to form creases, creating waves.
    But, as usual, Manolis would not tell. He just instructed Mitsos on the preparations he must make. He felt a fortnight would be long enough for what they had to gather.
    Mitsos was a bit put out that Manolis would not share the idea with him. They had been partners in the donkey prank, when he had more than proved his worth. He held no secrets from Manolis, and it only seemed fair that it should work the other way round too. The slightest splinter of resentment crept under his skin.
    Two weeks later Manolis announced that they were ready. Early morning prayers had finished and the congregation were leaving the church. The incense hung heavy in the air, and the gold leaf glowed and the brass chandeliers reflected the sea of candles offered up as prayers. The brass font, and its stand, had been moved to the centre of the nave ready for a baptism later. Manolis grabbed Mitsos ’ sleeve and pulled him down to crouch behind the stall of unused candles. It smelt of beeswax and mice. Manolis was giggling, but as Mitsos still had not been told what the plan was, he just felt afraid. He was going to get into trouble again, he could see it coming; he might even be committing a sin, he didn't