YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) (28 page)

‘I suppose his father needed him,’ continued Yiorgo. ‘Why come back at all? He had most of his belongings with him. We could have packed the rest and sent them down to him, or even given them to my old landlady to give to his relatives when she comes up for our wedding. Oh, Louisa, I am the happiest of men. I can hardly believe that in a few weeks time I’m to be your husband.’ He dropped a kiss on her hair and caressed her cheek with his hand.

‘I hope you’ll not be disappointed.’

‘I shall never be disappointed in you,’ he assured her.

Louisa’s eyes flickered upwards. ‘I shall remind you of your words if necessary.’ She spoke quietly and Yiorgo imagined the words held a hidden threat. He looked into the unfathomable depths of her eyes; then kissed her passionately.

‘I shall always love you, Louisa,’ he vowed.

Father Minos eyed the letter that sat on his table. What should he do? The boy had not come back. A whole week had gone by without a sign of him. He sighed. The hospital must have declared him well, so he had no further need of comfort from a priest. It was a sad fact of life that he was gradually accepting, but he had thought Yannis to be different from the usual distressed people he tried to help. Obviously he had been wrong. The boy was the same as anyone else. He picked the letter up and tapped it against his hand. Should he send it? There was probably little point. Yannis would have written another by now. He had it in his hand when his housekeeper appeared with his tray.

‘He didn’t come back,’ observed Father Minos as he placed the letter back on the table and took the tray.

‘Who?’

‘The boy who was here last week.’

A look of consternation came over the old woman’s face. ‘I forgot!’ Her hand went to her mouth in horror. ‘I’ve never forgotten to give you a message before.’

‘What did he say?’

The woman’s brow wrinkled. ‘I’m not sure now. I think he said his name was Yannis and he was going home.’

Father Minos smiled. ‘I’m very pleased for him.’

‘It won’t happen again. I never usually forget to give you a message.’

‘I know you don’t. This one wasn’t important. No need to worry.’ He glossed over her mistake and turned his attention to the tray.

Maria was worried. Why had Yannis not written to say he had arrived safely in Heraklion? Her husband assured her that Yannis would be too busy to write, he would be catching up on the work he had missed at school.

‘He’s always written before,’ grumbled his mother.

‘I’ll write to him, Mamma,’ promised Maria. She sat and wrote a long letter to her brother, explaining that they had not heard from him, maybe a letter had gone astray in the post, and her mother was worried. She told him how their father was progressing, how she had sold another drawing, and that Yiorgo was working very hard in the fields, finishing by sending him love from all of them.

The letter sat on the shelf for three days before Maria remembered to go down to the general store and pay for it to be taken to Heraklion. Smiling contentedly she returned home, hoping her brother would write soon to put her mother’s mind at rest.

Annita wrote to Yannis each week and waited anxiously for a reply. She had received his first letter to say he had arrived; then there was silence. At first she excused this by saying he must have work to catch up on, but she began to feel resentful. What was more important to Yannis; spending time socialising with his friends and working at the museum or writing a letter to her? She became convinced that he had succumbed to the charms of a girl from Heraklion and spent her nights tossing and turning, tormented by her own miserable thoughts.

Finally Annita confided in her brother and persuaded him to make her a promise. A promise that he hoped fervently he would not have to keep. He had arranged to spend the Easter holiday at the monastery at Ierapetra, now he had promised Annita that if she had not heard from Yannis by then he would visit Heraklion and talk to him, finding out the reason for his silence.

As Easter drew nearer he was beset by a further problem. He would need money to stay in Heraklion. His parents would give him sufficient for his fare, ostensibly to Ierapetra and a little over, but even that might not be sufficient to take him to Heraklion. He approached Annita, and she gave him the ten drachmas she had saved since starting work at the hospital. With this Andreas had to be content.

The journey was uneventful to the driver, but every mile was a delight to Andreas. At times there was a sheer drop down to the sea and the road seemed far too narrow for them to travel safely. Rocks had fallen from the bank that rose up steeply and in some stretches the driver had to take the vehicle sickeningly close to the edge to avoid hitting them. Andreas rose to leave the bus as they coasted into Malia.

‘Thought you were going to Heraklion?’

‘I thought we were there,’ explained Andreas feeling foolish.

‘Not yet.’

The driver accelerated and Andreas was almost catapulted onto the floor. He gripped the edge of the seat, feeling excitement beginning to build up inside. He tried to suppress the emotion, reminding himself that he had deceived his parents.

The bus ground wearily up the hill towards the town and then hurtled dangerously down the other side to stop abruptly, once again nearly shooting Andreas from his seat. The driver jumped out, followed by the few other passengers who had joined them during the journey. Andreas waited until last, not wishing to repeat his earlier mistake.

He looked around him. Which way should he go? He pulled the scrap of paper from his pocket and studied the address of the taverna before approaching the bus driver.

‘Can you tell me the way to this address, please?’

The driver shook his head. ‘Can’t help you there. I suggest you go to a taverna and ask.’

Andreas shouldered his bundle and made his way up the hill. He had expected to find the town busy, but Heraklion appeared to have most of the world’s population milling in Eleftherias Square. He stood and watched, fascinated, as the people moved about their business. Deciding that the middle road would lead him to the centre of the town he began to weave his way through the people, donkeys, carts and small, three-wheel trucks. On reaching the road he felt more bewildered than ever, and realised the suggestion from the bus driver made sense. A boy, probably not as old as he, asked what he wanted, and reeled off a list of food and drink that made his head spin.

‘I’d just like some directions, please.’ Andreas pulled the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. ‘Can you tell me the way to that address?’

Screwing up his eyes the boy looked at it and shook his head. ‘I’ll ask inside.’

Fidgeting, Andreas looked after him, hoping he would return with the information quickly and not forget. It was like being in the centre of Aghios Nikolaos, but with many more people. The same activities were going on all around him, but with more speed, a hurried intensity seemed to emanate from everyone as they pushed, jostled, shouted, laughed and talked. Diving in and out amongst them were men of various ages with swinging trays of coffee, stopping only long enough to collect their few coins before returning to a taverna for further supplies.

‘You go along the main road here, past the market,’ the voice made Andreas jump, so engrossed was he in the scene before his eyes. ‘Then about four or five roads on you turn to your right. Better ask again then. It’s in one of the side roads.’

Following the waiter’s instructions he joined the throng on the main road. The market was not hard to find and it seemed that most people he was walking with were destined for that area. Not sure how many roads he had crossed he looked around for someone to ask. On the corner stood a man with a cart loaded with oranges. Andreas approached cautiously, half expecting to be knocked over by someone racing round the corner, but his only encounter was with a bent, old lady who pushed past him and began to handle the fruit.

Andreas waited until she had shuffled away; then produced the dog-eared piece of paper again. ‘Please can you tell me how to get to this address?’

‘What does it say?’ The orange seller peered at it.

Andreas read the address out to the man who shrugged. ‘Could be anywhere. Who runs it?’

‘A brother and sister.’

‘Sounds like Louisa’s place. Turn down there.’ A grubby finger pointed to a narrow alley. ‘About half way along turn right, then turn left at the end of the road and sharp right again. If you get lost ask for Louisa’s. Everyone knows her place.’

Thanking him Andreas started off down the alley and took the appropriate turns. After the bustle of the main streets the area appeared deserted. At the far end of the street an old woman, dressed in the habitual black of a widow, was sitting in her doorway.

‘Excuse me, ma’am, can you tell me the way to Louisa’s please?’

Rheumy eyes looked at him. ‘Round the corner. She’s not there now, though.’

Andreas thanked her and hurried round the corner where he could see the taverna. He pushed at the door, which did not yield, then hammered on it, standing back to see if anyone had heard him.

‘What do you want?’ A voice called from the opposite side of the road.

He spun round gratefully. ‘Is this Louisa’s?’

She nodded. ‘You’re at the right place, but there’s no one in. Pavlos has gone to work. He’ll be back this evening. His sister’s away.’

Andreas felt deflated. ‘Thank you, I’ll come back later.’

He wandered down the narrow street and to his surprise found he was close to the harbour. He gazed at the fishing boats in delight. He would surely find a fisherman who knew his father and would be willing to give him a bed for the night. As he neared them he was surprised. Not a single fisherman was mending a net or swilling down his deck. Andreas was puzzled. At home there was always a certain amount of activity. Further out in the sheltered bay was a large ship, a white flag with a red cross fluttering from the mast. By screwing up his eyes Andreas could see there were people aboard, moving slowly about their business.

Losing interest, he walked on, admiring the fort that stood guarding the harbour entrance, wondering if Yannis had visited it. Vaguely he wondered where the museum was and if Yannis was there. As the thought struck him he cursed himself for being foolish. Of course Yannis would be there. He hurried along to the waste ground where the bus had deposited him and back up the hill to the Square, entering the first taverna he saw. Breathlessly he asked for directions to the museum.

‘Over there.’

He walked over to the dingy building. The door was locked. Of course, it was Monday. Museums and libraries were always closed on a Monday. He leaned against the wall and took stock of his surroundings. He might as well explore the town. The road curved, following the contours of the massive stone wall that ran as far as he could see. He guessed it was the old boundary wall of the city so he was hardly likely to walk far from the centre. The further he went the poorer the area seemed to be, the houses more neglected, the occupants gazing at him curiously, children running after him and begging for a coin, young women leaned from their doorways and smiled and beckoned to him. He looked around wildly as he quickened his stride; there seemed nowhere he could go to avoid the undesirable neighbourhood without turning back. A priest left a house a few doors away and Andreas called to him, panic in his voice. ‘Father. Please, Father, wait for me.’

The priest turned, expecting to see one of his parishioners and to his surprise a young boy who was a total stranger to him stood there. ‘Did you want me?’

‘Please may I walk with you? I’m a stranger here and I’ve wandered away from the centre and lost myself.’

‘Certainly you may walk part of the way with me, then I’ll direct you.’

Andreas breathed a sigh of relief and walked in silence beside the man who called out a greeting or waved to many of the people as they passed. A bell in the distance began to toll mournfully and the priest quickened his pace. Andreas kept up with him, noticing people were following behind them. The priest hurried into a side road where the street widened to form a small square. Drawn up outside the double doors of a building was a large, open cart, half loaded with boxes. The bell seemed to be ringing inside Andreas’s head and he realised it was placed on the roof of the building.

‘What is it? What’s happening?’ Andreas turned to the priest for enlightenment.

The priest had sunk to his knees. ‘They’re moving the lepers.’

Andreas gazed in fascination, tinged with fear, as the men came out in single file and climbed into the cart. They none of them looked particularly ill, just somewhat shabby and apprehensive.

Andreas felt the blood freeze in his veins. His head swam in disbelief as he clutched at the priest’s sleeve. The crowd, which had gathered, were hissing and hurling whatever missile they could lay their hands on. The last man to climb into the cart looked around, unable to believe the sight before him. For a split second his eyes and those of Andreas met.

‘Yannis!’ The exclamation came from the priest and Andreas at the same time. Recognition reached Yannis’s brain as the rock thrown from the crowd hit him on the temple and he fell unconscious amongst the occupants of the cart.

Father Minos was the first to recover. ‘You know him?’

‘He’s my cousin.’ Andreas almost choked on the words.

‘May God forgive me.’ Father Minos crossed himself. ‘The poor boy! All this time.’

‘Where are they taking him?’ Andreas was wild eyed.

‘To the ship. They’ll take them to Athens.’

‘We must stop them.’ Dragging the priest by the arm Andreas began to follow the cart.

Father Minos resisted. ‘I’ve no power to stop them. You must understand that. They’re going to the hospital over there.’

‘I must speak to him. There must be some mistake.’

‘We’ll go to the harbour. Follow me.’

Father Minos gathered his robes in his hand and began to hasten away from the hospital, Andreas following him, his breath coming in panting sobs. They reached the quay as the cart drew up. Father Minos started forward.