YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) (30 page)

‘I suggest we all sit down.’ Father Minos took a chair from beside the table. ‘I regret to say that we have some very distressing news for you.’

‘Annita?’

Father Minos shook his head. ‘To the best of my knowledge she is well. It’s her cousin.’

‘They’ve sent Yannis away.’ Andreas lifted his tear stained face.

‘Away? Away where?’

Father Minos frowned at the boy. ‘May I tell you from the beginning? Andreas, maybe you could find your father.’

Andreas nodded, scrubbed his face with his sleeve and ran down to the quay.

‘This has been a great shock to your son, madam. You may find he has some difficulty in finally coming to terms with the facts.’

Elena’s face was white, the lines showing taut with fear. ‘Please tell me what this is all about. I thought Andreas was in Ierapetra, now he’s here.’

‘He arranged with his sister to visit Heraklion and find his cousin. I had met Yannis some weeks earlier. By coincidence I met your son, he’d lost his way and I offered to direct him. On our way we passed the hospital as they were moving the patients down to the ship. Yannis was amongst them.’ Father Minos leant back and waited.

Elena looked at him puzzled. ‘I still don’t understand. Is Yannis ill?’

‘I believe he is very ill. They’ve taken him to hospital in Athens.’

Realisation dawned on Elena. Her hand flew to her throat. ‘It can’t be. There must be some mistake.’

Sadly Father Minos shook his head. ‘There’s no mistake. When he came to me and showed me the sore I knew what it was, although my medical knowledge is very scanty. I still blame myself.’ He slapped his fist into the palm of his hand. ‘I should have looked after him.’

The door opened and Andreas stood there with his father. Judging by the pallor of Yiorgo’s face he had been told on his way up from the harbour.

‘Is it true?’

Elena nodded. ‘They’ve taken him to Athens.’ Her voice broke. ‘The poor boy, the poor, poor boy.’ Instinctively her hand went out to her own son as if to protect him.

Yiorgo crossed to the cupboard and reached for glasses and a bottle, pouring liberally and handing a glass to everyone. Andreas coughed as the fiery mixture caught at his throat. He had not sampled whisky before.

‘Tell me.’

Father Minos repeated the story to Yiorgo who listened attentively until he stopped speaking. ‘So what do we do? Which hospital have they taken him to in Athens? How long will he be there?’

‘I don’t know the name. It’s just spoken of as ‘the hospital’.’

‘Then we must find out. How did he look when he left?’

Before the priest could answer Andreas had said the one word. ‘Dead.’

‘Dead?’ Both Yiorgo and Elena turned on their son in surprise.

‘They stoned them! The people stoned them! Yannis was hit on the head and fell down.’

Elena’s eyes filled with tears. ‘They’re wicked, wicked, wicked,’ her voice rose and Yiorgo slapped her smartly on her cheek.

‘Control yourself. This is no time for hysteria.’

‘I’m quite sure Yannis isn’t dead,’ Father Minos assured them. ‘He was only stunned.’

‘But why stone them?’ Elena looked at the priest in horrified disbelief.

‘Haven’t you ever thrown a stone at a leper to drive him away?’ asked Father Minos.

‘Yes, but Yannis…’

‘Yannis is a leper,’ the priest finished the sentence for her. ‘You have to face that fact. He’s not welcome anywhere.’

‘Suppose,’ a germ of an idea was forming in Yiorgo’s head. ‘Suppose I took my boat over to Athens? I could bring him back with me.’

‘Out of the question.’ Father Minos shook his head. ‘The hospital could be anywhere in Athens. You’d have to carry a certificate of clean health from the doctor before they would let you take him, and besides, Yannis went to the hospital voluntarily. He could have run away to the hills and hidden, or even stayed on at school until his affliction became more obvious. If they’ve held out hopes of a cure for him he wouldn’t thank you for taking him away.’

Yiorgo stroked his chin. Had he known a priest was coming he would have shaved that morning. ‘You think he will be cured?’

‘I pray that he will. He’s young. In all other respects he appeared healthy, so there is hope.’

‘Elena, some food for us,’ Yiorgo turned to his wife who was twisting her glass of whisky between her fingers. ‘Elena,’ he spoke more sharply. ‘Some food for our guest.’

With a start Elena looked at Yiorgo. ‘I was just thinking of Yannis.’ She took a gulp of the whisky and choked, handing the glass to her husband. ‘I don’t want any more of that.’

Yiorgo turned back to the priest. ‘I haven’t thanked you for coming to tell us, also for looking after my son.’

Father Minos spread his hands. ‘That was a pleasure. We have much in common. Andreas says he has a desire to take up the religious life.’

‘We are very proud of him.’

‘My father was of me. I regret I failed him.’

Andreas and Yiorgo looked at the priest in surprise.

‘He expected me to rise to the top, become wealthy with vast estates, a figurehead to grace a church once a week. As it is I am poor, my parish is poor. I spend seven days a week in church and as a rule I am available to anyone at any time. Maybe I would have been better suited as a monk. I would certainly have been no poorer or spent more time in devotions.’ His eyes took on a dreamy look. ‘I still feel I am being called. God has something else in store for me yet.’

Elena returned, bearing rolls, cheese, olives and tomatoes. ‘We have only very plain fare at mid-day,’ she explained.

‘As I like it,’ Father Minos assured her. ‘With a glass of wine to wash it down it is food fit for a king.’ He looked ruefully at his empty glass and Yiorgo rose hurriedly to offer a choice of wine or whisky. Father Minos chose the whisky, making sure the bottle stayed near him. Another would not come amiss later.

The meal was eaten in silence, only Father Minos really doing justice to the food. Andreas was the first to push his plate away. ‘I wonder what Yannis has had to eat.’

‘Much the same as us, I expect.’ Father Minos spoke reassuringly. He was beginning to feel completely out of his depth and was annoyed with his shortcomings. He should know to which hospital the lepers were taken, of what their meals consisted, how long their treatment lasted and the chances of complete recovery. He determined to find out once he was back in Heraklion. He tipped the bottle that stood near his elbow and refilled his glass. Andreas went to do the same and his father laid a restraining hand on his arm.

‘No more. I’ll need your help this afternoon.’

‘What for?’ Surely his father was not going fishing!

‘We have to go to Plaka. We’ll be quicker if we go through the canal.’

Maria sat in her chair, clutching the arms. She seemed to be falling to one side and if she did not hold tightly she would fall out altogether. The buzzing in her ears made her deaf to the voices of her family who were clustered around her in consternation. She tried to speak, to say she wanted air, but only a strange gurgling noise came from her parted lips.

‘Get the Widow.’

It was an order that Andreas obeyed, running as fast as he was able over the cobbles and mud that made up the village street, and hammering on the door as if to break it down.

‘Come. Come quick. Maria’s had a fit or something. I think she’s dying.’

The Widow peered suspiciously at him. His face was vaguely familiar. She sniffed. Maria had been perfectly well that morning. She shuffled her swollen feet into her wooden clogs.

‘Are you sure, boy?’

‘Yes, hurry, please hurry.’

‘Where’s my shawl?’

‘Here.’ Andreas draped it round her shoulders.

‘I’ll need my stick.’ Still she sat in her chair.

Andreas picked up the stick from beside her. ‘Let me help you.’ He almost pulled her from her chair in his anxiety.

‘Not so fast,’ she grumbled as he propelled her across the room. ‘I’m not as young as I was.’

Still grumbling she allowed him to help her along the uneven road, annoyed at being called out on a fool’s errand. As she entered the cottage she was taken aback to see a priest there. Was Maria that ill so suddenly? The family, who had been clustering around the chair of the stricken woman, fell back before the waving of the old woman’s stick.

‘Let me get to her. What happened? Did she fall?’

Father Minos acted as spokesman. ‘It was my fault. I had to break some distressing news to her. I did it rather clumsily.’

In truth he had broken the news gently, step by step, offering hope all the time of a mistaken diagnosis or a rapid cure before finally mentioning the word ‘leper’.

The Widow stood back from her patient. ‘Best get her to bed. She’s had a shock. Give her some brandy. It will help her sleep.’

Yannis nodded. They had all had a shock, followed by another when his wife had collapsed so dramatically. He poured out a glass and offered it to Maria, whose fingers seemed to curl tighter round the arms of the chair. Anna, seeing her father was at a loss to know what to do, took the glass from him and held it to her mother’s lips.

‘Drink this, Mamma. It will help you feel better.’

Once again the strange gurgle from her lips. Didn’t they understand that she could not move? Anna tilted the glass so that a little of the liquid entered her mother’s mouth, most of it running out at the side.

‘Mamma, please,’ Anna whispered, thoroughly frightened. ‘You must try to swallow it.’

A gurgle again, but a little of the liquor went down her throat. Anna persevered, not knowing how much her mother was swallowing or how much was running down her neck.

The Widow hobbled back to her own cottage, leaving the two girls to look after their mother as best they could. Yannis sat with his head in his hands. His son, the clever boy with the brilliant future before him, was as good as dead. Maybe he would be better dead. Maybe they would all be better dead. His leg was crippled; his wife looked half dead, his son a leper, what was going to happen to them? He took another swig from the brandy bottle. He had given up using a glass.

Father Minos looked at the drunken farmer. This was getting out of hand. He took the bottle away from Yannis and called to Andreas.

‘Get one of the girls to make some coffee. Strong.’

Andreas looked at his cousins and decided it would probably be made more quickly if he did it himself. He returned with the steaming pot and the plain white cups his aunt always used for visitors. Father Minos insisted Yannis drank the strong brew, until most of the pot had been consumed, by which time he made a rush for the yard. Father Minos was relieved. That was one problem averted. He turned to Yiorgo.

‘Could you help me place this poor woman on her bed? I’m sure her daughters could make her more comfortable there.’

Together they lifted Maria. Anna appeared to be taking charge, ordering her sister to remove her mother’s shoes, apron and shawl, whilst she arranged the pillows, putting one down each side of her mother to hold her in a sitting position.

Yannis returned from the yard and stretched out his hand for the bottle of brandy.

‘No more.’ Firmly Father Minos removed the bottle from the farmer’s hands. ‘It will do no one any good to have you incapable. Your wife needs you.’

Yannis nodded. His head was throbbing as though he had been clubbed. ‘Yannis? Tell me again.’

Patiently Father Minos explained. This time Yannis listened quietly and as the priest stopped speaking a large tear crept slowly down the side of his nose, which he tried to brush away with his sleeve. Yiorgo cleared his throat and left the room for a turn in the yard, signalling to his son and the girls to join him. Left together the priest took the big man into his arms, feeling his chest heave with emotion as he sobbed like a baby.

Yiorgo returned from the fields, leading the donkey and giving her a flick with a twig every so often to relieve his feelings. His father had promised to return to help him load up the cart as soon as he had discovered uncle Yiorgo’s errand. Now, no doubt, they were sharing a bottle of wine and had completely forgotten him. He turned into the yard and was surprised to find the silent group standing there.

‘What’s wrong?’

Andreas was about to answer when his father frowned at him. ‘Best see to the donkey, then come in.’

Hurriedly he tethered her and followed his uncle into the house, a feeling of foreboding coming over him. He took in the scene at a glance, his father and the priest sitting at the table, his mother lying in her bed.

‘Mamma? She’s dead?’

‘No, no, she’s had a shock, but she’s all right.’

‘What is it then?’ His eyes were wide with fear. ‘Why’s the priest here?’

Again Father Minos told his news, awaiting a reaction of horror and disbelief. Yiorgo stood perfectly still, then took a deep breath.

‘Where’s Stelios? Does he know yet?’

Yannis lifted blood shot eyes to his son. ‘He went over to Babbis’s farm and he’s not back yet. Your Mamma has taken it the hardest.’

Yiorgo nodded. ‘She would. He was her favourite – and she was so proud of him. We were all proud of him.’ Yiorgo turned on his heel and left the room. ‘I must see to the donkey,’ he called back over his shoulder by way of an excuse.

Stelios had enjoyed walking over the fields with Babbis. He seemed to know so much about the countryside. Yiorgo only knew about farming the land, Yannis only knew how to find pottery in the soil, but Babbis knew where certain animals and birds lived and fed. He kicked at a stone idly as he walked.

‘Look, there’s uncle Yiorgo’s boat. I wonder what he’s doing here?’ He pointed to the little bay; then took to his heels.

Babbis followed more slowly, hoping he might be able to spend an hour with Maria before returning to his own home.

Stelios rushed through the door shouting. ‘Mamma, Maria, Babbis is here.’ A stony silence met him. ‘What’s the matter?’ He looked from one to the other, his gaze finally resting on his father. ‘What’s happened Pappa?’

Yannis stretched out his hands to his son. ‘We’ve had some bad news. Yannis is ill.’

Stelios looked at the priest. ‘Is he dead?’