The Explosive Nature of Friendship Read Online Free PDF Page B

know. But Manolis' energy was so great, his attraction so compelling, that Mitsos felt weak beside him. He stifled the whimper in his throat and by force of will turned it into a giggle.
    It took time for the church to empty completely. Then all was quiet, the only movement the curling smoke of incense. The trainee Papas had gone back to the real Papas ’ house for his lunch. No one would return until the late afternoon for the baptism.
    ‘ Right, come on,’ Manolis said. Mitsos started at the loudness of his voice in the silent sanctuary. But Manolis was unafraid and he strode to the side door. The key was in the lock, he turned it and, with both hands, pushed it opened to view the rough ground at the back of the church. A donkey with soft brown eyes grazing there ceased chewing the short stubble and lifted its head to contemplate the boys briefly.
    It was then that they had lifted and emptied the font outside before replacing it on its stand.
    Mitsos was hopeful that the job was complete, but Manolis grabbed his sleeve and pulled. They ran out of the side door to the bush at the corner where for the last two weeks they had made their storage in a hole in the ground, covered with sacks and leaves. Manolis pulled off the sacks and tossed one to Mitsos. There was a stench of vinegar and goat. The odour was offensive and Mitsos tried to think of nice smells. He wondered what his Mama had cooked for lunch. His favourite dish came to mind: pastichio with cheese melting on top and a side plate of fresh tomatoes with that unmistakable just-picked-from-the-garden smell. He wished he was at home filling his stomach, with nothing to interrupt his afternoon but a long sleep. Instead, he was doing what? Manolis hadn’t even shared with him what his plan was. Mitsos’ excitement that had turned to fear was now on the edge of resentment.
    Manolis nudged him, and they filled the sacks and hauled them to the church, Mitsos dragging his, creating dust that tickled his throat and made him cough. Manolis laughed all the way but still would not share the joke.
    Once back inside the church, Manolis half-closed the door and put down the sacks.
    He took the first bottle from his sack and poured the contents into the font. Mitsos followed suit and the font began to fill.
    The smell from the brew became even more pungent as it mixed with the incense. There were also many fruit flies in attendance. The liquid stored in the goat skin smelt the worst.
    ‘ Shall we try it?’ Manolis asked. But Mitsos pulled a face and wondered if he was going to be sick.
    Most houses in the village had a cask or two of homemade wine. Manolis and Mitsos had been turning the tap and letting it flow into any containers they could find over the last fortnight. Mitsos had not contributed much as his Baba had remarked on how quickly the cask was emptying. Besides, he didn ’t like the smell. Manolis said his father hadn't noticed and he had filled bottles and jars. The old goat skin he had found in the barn, and he had filled it until it was fat with the rosy liquid. There must have been ten litres or more. It had felt terribly dangerous at the time.
    But pouring the liquid into the font felt worse.
    Mitsos, who was sure they had now finished, started for the door. He wanted to be at home.
    ‘ Where you going? Now we wait.’ Manolis grabbed his arm, and pulled him to the back of the church. Mitsos sat stiff, frightened and just a bit bored. After a while, Manolis leaned back and put up his feet on the chairs, with the attitude of a man immune to the whole world. Mitsos copied, experimenting with how that felt. It gave him a curious sense of power, which he liked, and he began to relax and enjoy himself.
    As time passed the feeling of power faded and was replaced again with boredom. Manolis drew a crumpled packet from his pocket and took out a cigarette, trying to act casual.
    ‘You can't light that in here – this is the house of God!’ Mitsos was horrified, and