YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) (25 page)

‘But you can’t marry him just because you’re pregnant – or is it his?’

‘I can, I will and it’s not.’ Louisa looked at Yannis defiantly.

‘Whose child is it?’ Yannis felt a cold chill creeping over his heart.

‘What’s that to do with you?’

‘I thought, maybe, it was possible…’ he faltered to a halt.

‘Who knows? It could be, couldn’t it?’

‘Please tell me.’

‘Why? So you can boast to your friends? Or would you want to marry me to make an honest woman of me?’

‘No, I couldn’t, but I’d be relieved to know it wasn’t mine.’

‘I’m sure you would! Annita wouldn’t like to think her Yannis had been a naughty boy.’ Louisa’s voice was mocking.

Yannis shrugged. The parentage of Louisa’s child was not his business. ‘I’m going up to unpack. May I take a bottle of wine with me?’

Louisa nodded. ‘Do you want something to eat?’

‘Not yet; I’ll have something later.’

Louisa watched him go up the stairs. Maybe she would tell him when she was safely married; she did not want him doing anything impetuous to spoil her plans.

Unpacking was a tedious chore, but Yannis decided to complete it before writing a letter to Annita. He told her how hard they had all worked and how he had left the farm as soon as his father gave him permission. He related his visit to her parents, but remembered his promise to Andreas and did not tell her the boy’s intention of becoming a priest. He also vented his annoyance to her that Yiorgo had not been to the post office and consequently had not received his letter, but then excused him by saying how busy he had been, getting elected to a government position and also making wedding plans with Louisa. By the time he had finished he knew the post office would be closed and he placed it on his table to take the following day.

He ran his hands through his hair. He really must get it cut tomorrow. His fingers stopped, along his neck and up behind his ear he could feel a series of small lumps. He rubbed them with his fingertips; they didn’t hurt. He had probably been bitten whilst he was working in the fields.

Yiorgo returned to the taverna and was as surprised as Louisa had been to see Yannis. He kissed Louisa passionately, revelling in this new pleasure she allowed him. He pushed back his lock of hair and ran his hand down his trousers.

‘I am sorry, Yannis. Of course I should have thought that you would write. I’ve been so busy. Did Louisa tell you I’m a member of the government now?’

Yannis nodded. ‘Congratulations. She also told me you are soon to be married.’

Yiorgo beamed. ‘Isn’t it wonderful news? The most beautiful girl in the world has agreed to marry me. Bring a bottle, Louisa. Yannis should celebrate with us.’

Despite Yiorgo’s elation at his forthcoming marriage, his thoughts were all on his election success. ‘I’ve had some posters printed. I make my first speech next week so I want to have a good turn out. Pavlos and I are going to distribute them tomorrow. You wouldn’t like to help us, would you, Yannis?’

Yannis frowned. ‘I will if I have time. I want to go to the museum, post a letter and get my hair cut.’

‘If you could deliver some on your way to the post office it would be a great help. Now, would you like to hear what I’m speaking about?’

Yannis felt obliged to show an interest and spent the rest of the evening thoroughly bored. He had enjoyed the meat balls Louisa had made for them, drunk a bottle of wine and was having a job to stifle his yawns. ‘I really must go to bed. I’m still catching up on my rest after all the hard work on the farm.’

Yiorgo nodded sympathetically, not really listening. ‘And then I plan to say…’

Yannis rose. ‘Tell me tomorrow, Yiorgo. I’m going to bed.’

Yiorgo looked crestfallen. There was no one else in the taverna to act as his audience.

Yannis lay in bed, revelling in the luxury. There was no point in getting up too early, as the post office would not be open, or the museum. He could get his hair cut first, but that would mean carrying around the bundle of posters that Yiorgo had asked him to deliver. He pulled his blanket up to his chin and lay there happily for a further hour.

Each shop he entered he had to explain to the owner why he wanted a poster displayed and he wished he had started earlier. By the time he reached the post office there was a queue and Yannis stood impatiently in the line. He paid for the letter to be sent to Annita and asked if there was any mail for Yiorgo Pavlakis. His own letter was returned to him and he sighed deeply.

‘There’s one for you.’

Yannis looked at the brown envelope first in surprise, then in horror. It was a letter from the hospital. He pushed it deep into his pocket, unsure whether he wished to open it. He could feel a cold sweat breaking out on him as he mumbled his thanks and on shaking legs left the building.

He turned into the first taverna he came to and took a seat by the door. With trembling fingers he tore open the letter and read the contents in disbelief. He was to report to the hospital immediately for further tests. Inadvertently his fingers went to the nodule on his neck. It did not hurt, but his fingers contacted a damp stickiness that made his stomach lurch.

The coffee he had ordered grew cold as he sat and tried to marshal his thoughts. If the doctor had thought it was something serious he would not have let him return to school. The hospital outpatients would be closed until Monday, so he might as well visit the barber and have a haircut and a shave, then go on to the museum as he had planned. He drank his cold coffee, pulled the neck of his pullover a little higher and left.

He joined the queue at the barber’s and when his turn arrived he requested a shave followed by a haircut. The barber nodded and went to drape a grubby towel around his neck.

‘I’ll do it.’ Yannis placed the towel over his pullover, but made no attempt to tuck it down, holding the ends firmly between his fingers.

A close shave made him feel considerably cleaner and he sat up ready to have his hair trimmed. ‘Not too short, please.’ He indicated a line with his hand.

The scissors snipped, removing the long hair that was beginning to form straggly curls. ‘How’s that, sir?’ The barber stepped back and held up the mirror for Yannis to inspect the finished effect. None of the bites showed.

‘That’s fine.’

Before Yannis could stop him the barber had removed the towel and pushed down the neck of Yannis’s jumper to brush away the ends of hair. As he did so an open nodule was revealed on his neck. The barber recoiled from him, visibly shaken.

‘Get out. Get out quick and don’t ever come back here.’

‘It’s nothing,’ Yannis tried to explain, but the barber gesticulated towards the door.

‘Out! I don’t deal with lepers.’

Yannis’s face blanched. ‘I’m not. The…’

‘Out!’ The barber was backing away from him.

‘I haven’t paid you,’ protested Yannis.

‘I wouldn’t touch your money. Get out.’

The two men who had come in after Yannis rose and slipped through the door. There were plenty more barbers in town that lepers did not frequent. As Yannis stumbled through the door they spat at him, a globule hitting his face. Yannis wiped it away with his sleeve. Hot tears were stinging at the back of his eyes. He was not a leper, he could not be. Slowly, the tears forcing their way down his cheeks, he returned to the taverna. It was no use thinking of going to the museum. He would stay in his room for the weekend until the hospital opened on Monday. After his visit there he would go on to school and pick up the threads of his life again.

Miserably he pushed open the door. Louisa looked out from the kitchen. ‘You were quick,’ she remarked. ‘I thought you were going on to the museum.’

Yannis swallowed hard. ‘I thought I ought to catch up on my reading ready for school on Monday.’

She nodded, not really interested. Yannis helped himself to a bottle of wine, feeling in his pocket for the coins and retreated to his room. He examined his neck in the mirror and shuddered. The nodule was raw and open, the skin at the sides cracked and dry. With a sick fascination he explored it with his fingers. Nowhere did it hurt. Maybe if he covered it no one would remark upon it and it would heal up. He clung to the thought that the doctor had allowed him to return to school, so he could not be ill. He tried to read, but could not concentrate, his mind continually returning to the scene in the barber’s.

Yiorgo knocked his door and entered. ‘Did you finish delivering the posters?’

Yannis nodded. ‘It took longer than I’d expected.’

‘Are you coming down? We could have a drink and a game of cards when Pavlos returns.’

‘No. I have a lot of reading to catch up on. Do you think I could have a tray up here? I can read whilst I eat then.’

‘I’ll ask Louisa.’ Yiorgo was only too ready to return to the taverna where he could watch Louisa’s every movement, still hardly able to believe that she had agreed to marry him. He had drunk half a bottle of wine by the time Pavlos returned.

‘Did you finish?’ asked Yiorgo eagerly.

‘Yes, but what a time it took. I heard a strange story when I was out. People were saying there’s a leper in town.’

Yiorgo and Louisa looked at him in amazement. ‘A leper? There aren’t any lepers around now. You must have misheard.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ Pavlos was indignant. ‘Elias told me that Dimitrakis had told him that Andreas, the grocer, had sat next to him in the barbers.’

‘What was he doing there?’

‘How do I know? Having a shave, I expect, or a haircut.’

‘I’ll go and ask Yannis. He said he was going to the barbers.’ Yiorgo ran up the stairs and knocked again on Yannis’s door. ‘Yannis, do you know anything about the leper?’

There was a moment’s silence. ‘What leper?’

‘The one who went to a barber. We wondered if you’d seen him.’

‘No. I really am busy, Yiorgo.’

With that Yiorgo had to be content. He returned to the taverna and shrugged his shoulders at Louisa and Pavlos. ‘He said he hadn’t seen him.’

Disappointed they began to eat their meal, and little information could be gleaned from the customers during the evening. It was always someone else who had told them. His description varied from an old man with one leg, to a young man with one arm, but despite all the rumours no one seemed to have any definite knowledge of the incident.

Yannis was hungrier than he had realised. He tried to convince himself that he was being foolish, but the thought that a customer in the taverna could once again brand him a leper horrified him. Time and again he rose and looked in the mirror, hoping he would see signs that his neck was healing.

He undressed and lay in his bed. Cold fingers seemed to be touching him as he tried to reason his fears away and sleep. Twice he gave up the struggle, re-lit his lamp and tried to read, but nothing could allay his terrors. Dawn came, finding him still sleepless. He rose stealthily, dressed quietly and made his way downstairs.

How could he spend the day? If he stayed in his room they would think he was ill, but he dared not sit in the taverna, certain that he would be recognised as the man who had been branded a leper by the barber.

Sounds from above decided him. He slipped out of the taverna into the chill morning, walking hurriedly away and round the corner. Where could he go? If he stayed in the centre of the town he was certain to meet someone he knew. He gazed around, as if lost, looking at the still sleeping houses. The tolling of a bell startled him. He smiled to himself, how silly to jump when a church bell sounded. The church! That was it, he would go to a church, and maybe there he could find some peace of mind.

Turning in the direction the sound had come from, Yannis walked through the back streets until he reached the plain, low building, the bell still swinging gently between the supports. He hesitated. Would he be questioned about his presence? He hurried down the steps and slipped into the dark interior, relieved to find few people inside. Taking a place at the back in the darkest corner he could find, he tried to concentrate on the service. He dared not light a candle for fear that he would be recognised. Kneeling, his mind rejected the words that fell from the priest’s lips. The same sentence was repeated over and over again by him in a frenzied prayer.

‘Please don’t let me be a leper. Please don’t let me be a leper.’

So engrossed was he that the few people leaving did not disturb him. A hand, placed on his shoulder brought him to his feet. ‘I’m sorry. I must go.’

‘There is no need to go. God’s house is open to everyone at all hours. Maybe I can help a little.’

‘No one can help me.’ Tears coursed down Yannis’s cheeks.

Gently the priest pushed him onto a chair and sat beside him. ‘Tell me your troubles, then we’ll decide if no one can help you.’

Yannis sobbed, his head on his arms. ‘Don’t touch me.’

‘I shan’t touch you.’ The priest placed his hands in his lap. ‘It’s very cold in here. Would you consider coming to my room? There’s a fire in there.’

Yannis shook his head. ‘I can’t. I can’t go anywhere.’

‘I have invited you. Whatever your problem, whether you wish to tell me or not, it would be more bearable if we were warm. I cannot leave you here in this distressed state and I do not wish to freeze to death. I haven’t eaten yet and you’re keeping me from my breakfast.’

‘Go then.’

The priest shook his head. ‘Not without you. Come and sit by my fire and have some breakfast. You don’t have to tell me anything.’

Reluctantly Yannis followed the priest across to his house and into a small room, sparsely, but comfortably furnished with two rocking chairs, a low sofa, table and glowing fire. Still shaking with sobs, Yannis huddled down before the fire. Saying nothing the priest poured coffee for them both and placed a cup beside Yannis. Taking a seat in the rocking chair he picked up a sheaf of papers and began to read. The silence between them continued unbroken, until the priest rose.

‘I have the next service to take. I doubt I shall be more than half an hour. Have more coffee if you wish.’ With a swirl of his robes he was gone.

Yannis stayed huddled by the fire, his sobs gradually abating. The warmth was making him feel drowsy. With a sigh he stretched his cramped limbs and turned so he could rest his head on the chair behind him. Within a few minutes he was asleep.