Mud and pomegranates

 

It wasn’t even half past three when Angelís woke up. He’d set up the alarm clock for four but his excitement couldn’t wait. Sundays were the best, there was no school and he could do whatever he liked with his time-usually hunting or playing football. He got up, pulled on his dad’s old military fatigues, an old woollen jumper with holes, thick socks. He had a quick glass of milk, looking out of the window. It was still pitch-dark. He put on his coat and wellies, grabbed his bag, turned the key in the door and found himself outside in the crispy cold.

He headed for the shed and soon emerged with his koukkourká* and a small cage. He threw the koukkourká over his shoulder and walked to the far end of the neighbourhood where he was to meet up with Paráskos. Paráskos was not there yet-he was probably running on time rather than jump out of bed early like him. He looked around. The neighbourhood was still, motionless, like a freight ship waiting in the distance at night before docking in the morning. Most lights were off, apart from one or two, where the unlucky ones had to get up very early to go to work. He took it all in: the crisp October chill, the last of the starry night, the sweet scent of jasmine. He loved that time of year, when summer still held on but the winter had started to move in, like a tenant eager to occupy the premises for a few months.
Paráskos’ voice made him jump. He’d been lost in his thoughts when his friend called him as he approached. “What are you doing there Angelís? Dreaming again? We’ll never catch anything like this”. “I’ve been waiting ages!”, protested Angelís, in an attempt to snap out of his thoughts and into reality. Paráskos was also carrying his own koukkourká, all ready and in good spirits. They left the road towards a path which led to the fields. The darkness swallowed them but they knew very well where they were headed; this was a path they’d taken many times before and knew with eyes closed. They went on teasing each other for a while but their games gradually faded into the darkness, leaving them in their own, individual and shared contemplation. It was a beautiful morning, the air was sweet and mild and they were happy to be there. 

They slowly walked through the muddy paths to the edge of the village where they usually did their hunting. They usually set their lime sticks in specific trees and even specific branches in an old olive grove. The grove was one of those which weren’t producing many olives any more. The trees were ancient, their trunks hollowed out, the size of small rooms. These occasionally doubled as hideouts or tree-houses during various phases of afternoons full of games. The grove belonged to old man Kongolís who hadn’t even bothered fencing it as he didn’t mind the children playing in it. He sometimes tied his mule on one of the trees and Angelís and his friends had endless fun with it.

There was neither mule nor Kongolís that morning. The boys moved as swiftly as the red soil mud would allow them to. They picked their trees carefully in advance and they had each taken his share of the spots in the grove. Angelís pulled out a bunch of his lime sticks and placed it on a branch on the first of ‘his’ trees. He climbed it with some difficulty, as his muddy wellies slipped against the ancient trunk. When he was up and secure, he picked up the bunch of lime sticks, all glued together, and with great skill he picked one out, held the tip with his mouth and cut it out of the bunch with his knife moving outwards and away from his body. He placed it across an opening in the branches, ready for the birds to rest on. He placed them all, one by one, with great care and attention. When he finished the first tree, he moved on to the next one, and then the next one, until he had placed all six of his lime stick bunches. He put his fingers to his lips and threw a swift whistle in the direction of Paráskos, who whistled back in acknowledgement. Paráskos was slower and was still setting up on the fourth tree. Angelís gave him a helping hand, and together they emptied Paráskos’ koukkourká in no time.

They picked up all their things and started walking fast away from the grove towards an orchard a few hundred meters away. They had to be done and away from the grove before the break of dawn, and they could already see the rosy horizon in the east breaking into two. They sat down and rested their backs against the trunk of a carob tree. All they could do was sit and wait, so they leaned and waited, dozing off but waking up from the cold. The first birds started singing as the dawn chorus started rehearsing the day’s performance.

(to be continued)

 

*custom-made reed basket for lime sticks

 

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This entry was posted in birds, childhood, Cyprus, hunting, lime sticks, Memoirs, olive trees, stories. Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to Mud and pomegranates

  1. >τί ωραία… περιμένουμε την συνέχεια… σε μία άλλη διάσταση… αν έβρεις ποιός μου τηλέφωνησε να πάμε για καφέ! Μεγάλο βήμα για τον παράξενο μας φίλο… τί λες?

  2. Blackbeard says:

    >Χμ. Κοίτα, νομίζω ότι τη προηγούμενη φορά απογοητεύτηκες γιατί επερίμενες πολλά. Τωρά που ξέρεις τι παίζει απόλαυσε τη παρέα.

  3. >I will… είμαι κι εγώ στα κάτω μου αυτό τον καιρό όπως θα έχεις προσέξει και είναι ευπρόσδεκτοι οι παλιοί φίλοι… κουράστηκα πολύ φίλε μου… στείλε μου λίγο θετική ενέργεια (ή έστω κανένα μεζεδάκι!)

  4. >Πρώτη φορά διαβάζω για το τζιυνί στα αγγλικά. Κάμνεις το τζαι ακούεται πολλά πολιτισμένο, πολλά αγγλικό κυνήγι των upper classes. Περιμένω τη συνέχεια

  5. Blackbeard says:

    >@Αιθέρα: Ευχαριστώ για το σχόλιο σου. Το κυπριακό τζιυνί στη πρώιμη μορφή του ήταν πολιτισμένο διότι ήταν μέρος της φύσης. Η διαφορά με το Αγγλικό κυνήγι των upper classes είναι ότι τα πουλιά εμείς τρώμε τα, ενώ οι Εγγλέζοι τες αλεπούδες σκοτώνουν τες για πλάκα, για να μαζεύκουνται τζιαι να πίνουν μπράντυ οι αριστοκράτες με τα άλογα.

  6. >… και εξ αυτού αναμένουμε νέα συνταγή! Πότε θα έρθεις κάτω να φάμε και να πιούμε??

  7. Blackbeard says:

    >Θα είμαι κάτω οικογενειακώς το Μάη, γιατί η αντοχή μου για την πολλή πυρά εν πολλά χαμηλή τελευταία :-)Νέα συνταγή θα ακολουθήσει σύντομα, αφού τελειώσει η ιστορία μας. Έγραψα τη συνέχεια αλλά θέλει λλίο διόρθωμα, αναμένατε 🙂

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