Page 7 of The Summer Show
Ana zipped her lips.
“Greeks are the world’s most creative writers when it comes to swearing and insults,” Thanos told me. “Most of what comes out of their mouths isn’t physically possible, either. Thankfully.” He nodded to the bow. “Let’s go check it out.”
Everyone on board was pressed against the bow’s railing, gawking at the obstacle preventing the ferry from docking. A fancy yacht had squeezed its bulk between the ferry and pier. Not quite a billionaire’s lavish mega-yacht, but its owner wouldn’t baulk at sneezing into a handful of hundred dollar bills.
The yacht’s passengers were on deck, relaxing and drinking frothy drinks in fluorescent colors, ignoring the ferry pilot’s howls of outrage.
“They don’t look too worried that they stole our parking spot,” I said.
Ana didn’t answer. Too busy gawping in amazement. “Holy cow! I know those people. That’s Effie Makri! What are they doing here on Nera, of all places?”
That made one of us. I combed my memory for an Effie Makri and came up blank. “Making the ferry pilot angry? I have no idea who they are.”
“They’re judges on Greece’s Top Hoplite.” When I shook my head, she went on in an excited and breathless voice. I rarely saw Ana this jazzed about anything except surprise book boxes and new art supplies for the classroom. “It’s Greece’s most popular unscripted—”
“Yet totally scripted,” Thanos said.
“Now I remember why I used to hate you,” she told him. There was no heat in her words, only a smile. “As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted, it’s the most popular show in Greece. Everything stops for new episodes of Greece’s Top Hoplite. It’s like American Idol, but with fighting and physical challenges. Sometimes they get crazy and throw in something completely wild. Occasionally animals.”
“Is that safe?”
She shrugged. “The legality of things is much murkier over here. The good news is no one has sued the show. Yet. Anyway, I knew they were about to start casting a new season. Maybe they’re filming on Nera.” She pointed. “Effie, the buff woman in red, is the judge half of Europe loves to hate. They adore her in Germany. She’s bigger than David Hasselhoff. The others are judges, too. But Effie is the big draw. The guy in the purple wig and Speedo, carrying the little dog, is Paris. He’s the show’s host.”
All the yelling wasn’t producing the desired result. The yacht didn’t budge, and its passengers ignored the pilot’s insults and continued living the dream. In an act of desperation, the ferry pilot retrieved his cellphone and made a big production out of making a call.
“The police?” I asked.
Thanos waggled his eyebrows at me. “The real authorities. Their mothers.”
Ana shuddered.
Something cold and dark deep down inside me flashed its scales before curling up and retreating to its cave. The idea of mothers holding so much power was foreign to me—even more foreign than this new-to-me country. My mother had not held a position of authority in my life for almost twenty years now, but she still had influence in strange, small ways. When I purchased storage containers for my kitchen, I always bought glass. Never plastic. I shunned tights and leggings with bright patterns. Evangelizing of any flavor of religion made me break out in hives. And the ultimate kiss-my-ass: I became a librarian. Nobody would be burning books on my watch.
A puzzle piece was missing, though. “Wait—how is this one ferry pilot going to get in touch with all their mothers? Does he know them?”
“He doesn’t need to,” Ana said darkly. “One mother is all it takes. Watch.”
As soon as the pilot’s melodramatic role of someone making an indignant phone call ended, he shoved his phone into his butt pocket and folded his arms. His face wasn’t visible from this angle, but I suspected he was wearing a satisfied smirk.
The results took seconds.
A miracle, really.
One at a time, the yacht’s passengers set down their pretty drinks and reached for their phones. Their faces were visible from this distance, and they looked … scared?
“And there it is,” Ana said, satisfied. “Nothing moves faster than the speed of gossip in Greece, unless it’s tattling to someone’s mother. Every Greek mother in Greece, as far as I can tell, is part of a hive mind. Tell one, you may as well tell them all.”
Paris, the show’s spooked host, leaped up and rushed to the yacht’s bridge, dog jiggling in his arms. Within seconds, the extravagant boat began chugging away from the dock. The moment there was sufficient space, the ferry’s pilot shoved the ferry into the slot. The gangplank fell into place. Everyone charged at the exit.
Thanos put his hand out. “Stay back. Wait until the locals disembark, especially the old ones. They’ll gut you like a fish if you get in the way.”
“It’s true,” Ana said. “It’s the same with buses. Always wait for the elderly women to get on and off first, or they’ll break your face without a second thought. That’s before they get started on massacring your reputation.”
I gazed at the stampede in wonder. “It’s like Black Friday, but without capitalism. So why do they it?”
“Bragging rights,” Ana said. “They get to say they got off first. It’s the petty things that extend their lives beyond their natural borders.”
* * *