Free Now and in the Hour of Our Death by Patrick Taylor

listened to Dimitris’s rapid-fire Greek. “ Kalee mairah .”
    Fiona heard the liquid sounds of words that were meaningless to her, as would be hers to the parents, when the father said, “ Kalee maira, kay efharistoumai pou mas dethikatai stou yrafiosas. ”
    Dimitris was obviously enjoying being in charge. “My father says, ‘Good morning and thank you for seeing us.’” His English was barely accented.
    â€œPlease have a seat.” Fiona pointed to the chairs in front of her desk and waited until the father, who was dressed in what was obviously his best suit, preceded Dimitris to the chair to Fiona’s right. He sat, a heavyset, balding man, crossed his legs, and waited.
    Dimitris came next. When seated, his legs did not reach the floor.
    â€œ Efharistoumai, ” said the mother. She was wearing a flower-patterned dress. Fiona couldn’t help noticing the woman’s jewellery, two enormous finger rings and a golden crucifix that swung from a fine gold chain around her neck. Mother waited until her husband and son had been seated side by side before joining them. They were, Fiona thought, like “three dicky birds all in a row.”
    Dimitris immediately began to swing his legs back and forth.
    Fiona sat. “Dimitris, please tell your parents I’d like to talk to them about you.”
    â€œ Thelee nas sas maleesi ya mena .”
    â€œ O Dimitris enai kalo ped, poli kalo pedi ,” the mother said.
    â€œShe says I am a very good boy.” Dimitris translated, grinning. “ Poli kalo pedi .”
    â€œI know that,” Fiona said, trying to smile, “but you can be disruptive in class.” Would he tell his parents that?
    â€œ Toe keseri oti emai kalo pedi …”
    Those were the words, “ kalo pedi ,” the mother and Dimitris had used for “good boy.” He was embellishing what she was saying. She understood why the lad would try to cast himself in as favourable a light as possible, but could she trust him to convey some of the less flattering things that she must tell them? Fiona studied the parents’ faces.
    â€œâ€¦ alla poles foress emai nohleticos stin taxi, ” Dimitris continued.
    She saw the father frown. The mother shook her head, grimaced, and heaved a huge sigh. Something that had not pleased them had been transmitted. Perhaps Dimitris was doing his best to tell them what she was saying, and she could hardly blame the boy for trying to sugarcoat the pill.
    This wasn’t the first time Fiona had been forced to surmount the language barrier. She decided that she would use an old tactic that had worked before. She would not tell the parents anything. She would ask specific questions, and from the answers hope that she would be able to see if the message had got through. That, of course, assumed that Dimitris wasn’t quick enough to garble the translation and still give her what she would think were the parents’ responses. She didn’t think a ten-year-old would be as clever as that—at least she hoped he wouldn’t be. And watching their expressions and how they sat would help.
    Dimitris kept swinging his legs so that now there was a rhythmic drumming of his shoes on the desk front.
    The father growled and put one hand on the boy’s leg.
    â€œ Eni kalo pedi, ” the mother said emphatically, then spun round and clipped her son firmly round the ear. “ Dimitris! Katsai eseehos kai mein klotsas to trapezee. ”
    The kicking stopped. Dimitris sniffled. “Mother says I should stop kicking.”
    She hauled him to her bosom and made soothing noises. He grinned at Fiona but kept up the sniffles for his mother’s benefit, leaving Fiona in no doubt that, as she already knew, he was a bright lad and, being bright, could probably play his mother as an angler plays a fish. “All right,” Fiona said, “let’s all just take a minute and settle