YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) (37 page)

‘Put him in,’ ordered the guard.

The man picked up the sack and advanced slowly towards Manolis’s bed.

‘No!’ Spiro jumped forward and barred the way. ‘I won’t let you. He was my friend. He must have a decent burial.’

Men were moving slowly and purposefully towards Manolis’s bed. Instead of pushing Spiro out of the way they formed a silent ring around it. The orderlies looked at each other helplessly, then at the guard who was frowning.

‘Put him in, and be quick about it,’ he shouted.

‘No.’ A chorus of voices answered him.

The guard spoke to the orderlies who moved forward hesitantly. Yannis waited until they were nearly in the centre of the ward.

‘Now!’ he called and launched himself at the nearest orderly. To his surprise the other lepers joined in immediately, grappling the two men to the ground. Panicos took in the scene at a glance and threw himself into the melee. The guard blew his whistle desperately, hoping to be heard by the other guards. His whistle clenched between his teeth he began to lay about indiscriminately with his truncheon, and although he left a trail of cut and bloody heads the numbers did not seem to decrease.

Yannis fought for all he was worth, trying to bring the guard down. Twice the guard lunged at him and missed, but the third attempt found its mark. Blackness invaded Yannis’s brain as he collapsed on to the ground like a rag doll.

Yannis stirred. His head hurt. He tried to lift his hand to it, but found he could not move his arms. He tried to speak, but only a feeble groan came from his dry lips and parched throat. Everything was dark and a smell was clogging his nostrils, making him retch violently. The retching increased the pain in his head, sending stabbing, red-hot knives from his temple to a point above his eyes where they broke into thousands of piercing needles. He sank back, trying to take the shallowest of breaths, lulled back into oblivion by the swaying motion that seemed to be inside his head.

How long he spent drifting in and out of consciousness he had no idea. When he next opened his eyes the pain in his head had subsided a little, it no longer stabbed viciously with every breath he took. He tried again to move his arms, realising they were pinned tightly against his body. He struggled violently, panic sweeping over him, ignoring the pain in his head.

‘Sit still, can’t you.’ A harsh voice came from the side of him.

‘I can’t move my arms,’ croaked Yannis, hardly able to speak the words, his throat was so dry.

‘Nor can any of us.’

Yannis sat still for a while. ‘Why can’t we move?’

‘They put us in straitjackets. Some crazy bastard set about the guards.’ His informant spoke bitterly.

‘Where are we?’

‘How the hell do I know? At sea somewhere.’

Yannis was silent again. Why were they at sea? Were they going to be thrown overboard and drowned? He shivered at the thought. No one would ever know what had become of them. He renewed his struggles, ignoring the protests of his nearest companions until sweat began to pour off him, adding to the vile stench that surrounded them.

‘Save your strength. You may need it later.’ The warning voice was familiar.

‘Spiro? Is that you?’

‘Of course it is.’

‘What are they doing to us now?’

‘I don’t know. They must have been prepared for trouble. They called the army in.’

‘The army!’ Yannis was aghast. ‘What for?’

‘To control us. They made a pretty little speech before they took us out. Told everyone they were removing us to ensure the safety of the other occupants.’

‘Where are they taking us?’

‘They didn’t say. I just hope we arrive fairly soon. We’ve been given nothing to eat or drink.’

‘How many of us are there?’

‘Thirty or so.’

‘All from our ward?’

‘I think so.’

Yannis was thoughtful. It seemed unlikely they would drown such a number. ‘Maybe we’re going to another hospital,’ he suggested hopefully.

‘I don’t care where it is provided we get out of this stink hole soon.’

Fully conscious now Yannis was even more aware of the disgusting smell of unwashed humanity, excreta and vomit. He found he was praying; the same words over and over again were hammering inside his brain. ‘Please let me die, please let me die.’

A violent rocking of the ship threw them against each other, a tramping of feet was heard overhead and a voice shouted instructions. The frightened men sat silently, trying to make some sense out of the different sounds they heard, then the door swung open, almost blinding them as the light flooded in. The four men nearest the door were hauled to their feet and dragged from the hold. The remainder sat motionless, tensely waiting for the door to open again.

As Yannis stumbled out into the sunlight he recoiled in horror. ‘No! Please, God, no. Not here!’

His pleas were ignored as he was manhandled into the waiting boat and rowed the few yards to the quay along with the other occupants. He was dragged out of the boat and dumped unceremoniously onto the hard concrete. He seemed to lie there for hours as the rest of the lepers were disembarked by the same rough method, followed by boxes and sacks. Finally the guards released half a dozen men from their straitjackets and ordered them to release the others, before they rowed swiftly back to the waiting vessel.

Yannis sat up and rubbed his arms to restore the circulation. He blinked in the bright sunlight and looked at the familiar faces around him. Everyone looked bewildered and uncertain. What was expected of them now? One by one the men rose to their feet and stretched their limbs and Spiro walked over to Yannis.

‘Come on, you can’t sit there all day.’

Yannis did not answer.

‘Yannis, come on, move,’ urged Spiro.

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not? Are you hurt?’

‘We’re in hell.’

Spiro placed his hand on Yannis’s head. ‘Are you running a temperature? We’re sitting on quay, out in the open air. We’ve been released.’

Slowly Yannis shook his head. ‘We’re on Spinalonga. There’s no hope for any of us here.’

Spiro frowned and looked around. Across the bay was a village, close enough to see people working in the fields and the fishermen in the harbour. ‘You’re wrong, Yannis. Look across the bay and see for yourself.’

‘I’m not wrong. This is the island I told you about, that’s my village over there.’

‘Then it’s not so bad. You told me they had water sent out to them and the local produce. We ought to find the hospital. At least we’ll get a drink there – and I don’t think I can last much longer without one.’

‘You go then.’

‘I’m not going without you,’ replied Spiro stubbornly. ‘If you’re going to sit on the quay and die from thirst and malnutrition then I will also.’

‘Don’t be so stupid.’

‘You’re the one who’s being stupid! Come with me to the hospital. Most of the others have moved off and we want to get a bed for the night.’

Yannis felt too weak and despondent to argue. He allowed Spiro to help him to his feet and followed him through the stone archway and up a ramp strewn with stones. At the top Spiro hesitated. There was no sign of their companions or anyone else, just a collection of half-ruined houses and a concrete path.

‘Which way?’ asked Spiro.

Yannis shrugged. He did not care which way they went.

Spiro struck off to the left. The path narrowed and the bank rose considerably after a few yards and if a voice had not called to them they would have missed the man. As they turned in the direction of the voice they found themselves looking into the eyes of a legless leper, a large piece of wood clutched in his hand.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

Spiro was the first to regain his composure. ‘We’ve been sent here from Athens. You wouldn’t have any water, would you? We’ve not had a drink for hours.’

The eyes regarded them suspiciously. ‘You’re criminals.’

‘Criminals?’ Spiro could not believe his ears.

‘You were sent here in straitjackets. You must be criminals.’

Spiro laughed mirthlessly. ‘If being a leper is a crime, if asking for better living conditions and respect for the dead is a crime, then we’re criminals. Please, just tell us where we can find some water.’

His eyes never leaving them he groped for a jug that stood nearby and handed it to Spiro who drank noisily before passing it to Yannis.

Spiro breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Can you direct us to the hospital?’

‘Hospital?’ The man chuckled. ‘Ruin, more like.’

‘Where are we expected to live?’

‘Wherever you fancy.’

‘Where do you live?’

‘Here.’ The leper indicated the tiny wooden shelter, open on two sides.

Spiro looked at him doubtfully. ‘What do you do in the winter or when it rains?’

‘Someone usually takes pity on me and carries me to the tunnel or the church.’

‘Why don’t you live in one of the houses?’

‘Most of them aren’t safe. Those that are have people living in them already.’

Spiro took a deep breath. ‘You mean we’re expected to live out in the open? If there’s no hospital what happens to the really sick people?’

‘They die, same as anywhere else.’

‘Please, could I have another drink?’ Yannis spoke for the first time. The jug was handed to him and he drank again greedily. ‘Where’s your water supply?’ he asked, realising he had almost emptied the jug.

‘By the tunnel; there’s an old fountain in the wall.’

‘You wouldn’t have any food, I suppose?’ asked Spiro, his stomach had been growling with hunger for some time. ‘We haven’t eaten for twenty four hours.’

A piece of bread was handed to each of them, followed by a hunk of cheese, which Spiro wolfed down quickly, pleased to see that Yannis was also eating.

‘Where do you get your food from?’

‘You help yourself from the storehouse down by the quay.’

Yannis slumped down beside the bank. ‘I told you this place was hell. You didn’t believe me.’

‘What do you know about it?’ asked the legless leper.

‘I used to live in Plaka.’

‘What’s wrong with you, Yannis? It’s not so bad here. We’ll find somewhere to live,’ Spiro assured him. ‘It can’t be worse than the hospital.’

‘I wish they’d thrown us over-board in our straitjackets. At least it would be over by now. God knows how long we shall survive here and in what misery.’

Spiro shook his head in despair. ‘Well, I’m going to take this jug and find the water fountain. Then I’m going to the storehouse to see what food there is. Are you coming, Yannis?’

‘No. I’ll stay here – if you don’t mind?’ he looked at the man above him.

‘Come on up. There are some steps lower down.’

Yannis climbed the steps and found he was on the catwalk of the old fortress; running down the centre was a low tunnel, which culminated in a square, open chamber.

‘What’s that?’ Spiro heard him ask.

‘It catches the rain. Come and sit by me and tell me about yourself. What’s your name for a start, I’m Kyriakos, Kyriakos the legless.’

Spiro was distinctly worried. For five years he had lived in the close confines of the hospital ward, dirty, un-kempt, ill-fed and bored, but sheltered from the elements and receiving rudimentary medication. How would he and the others fare now? The next few months, if they were lucky, would be tolerable, but what would happen to them when it rained for days on end? How would they keep warm during the winter months? At the entrance to the quay he hesitated, then decided he would fetch the water first. Lining both sides of the path were houses, lacking doors, windows, roofs, some hardly more than a wall with a heap of rubble behind it. In a little knot stood the lepers who had recently arrived, looking frightened, bewildered, hoping someone would come and tell them what they should do or where they should go.

‘Hey, Spiro.’

‘Panicos.’

The two men embraced sombrely. ‘What’s your opinion?’ asked Panicos.

‘There’s nothing here. There’s some water down by the tunnel and food in a room by the quay and that’s it.’

Panicos paled. ‘I thought someone would come and take us to the hospital.’

‘There is no hospital. Yannis and I have been talking to a man further up. He says most of the buildings are dangerous, so they live in the open. When it rains they take shelter in the church or a tunnel.’

‘What are we going to do?’

‘I don’t know.’ Spiro rubbed his knuckles over his forehead. ‘Yannis feels pretty bad.’

‘Ill?’

‘No, I don’t think he’s ill. He just feels responsible for us being sent here. He used to live somewhere nearby and knows the island by reputation.’

Panicos frowned. ‘Where are you off to now?’

‘To fetch some water and food.’

‘I’ll come with you. I think most of us came down this way and found the water. I’m not sure about the food. We’ll pass the word as we go back.’

Spiro agreed readily. He felt uncertain wandering around alone. As they passed people melted into the shadows of the buildings or glared balefully at them from where they were sitting. The waterspout was set into the massive wall of the fortress, which towered above them. A few feet away a dark entrance yawned, whilst opposite a flight of steps cut into the hillside led to the battlements above. Behind them there was a house, which appeared to be in reasonable repair, and they could feel eyes watching them, making their skin prickle. The jug almost full, Spiro manoeuvred it carefully away from the spout and looked towards the house, smiling and waving his hand.

‘What do you think?’

‘Worth a try,’ agreed Panicos.

Together they went to the doorway. ‘Hallo, there,’ called Spiro.

From the dark interior a man enquired their business roughly.

‘We’ve recently arrived and wondered if there was any shelter available.’

The man hesitated, and then limped forward to lean against the doorpost. ‘Are you lepers?’

‘Of course.’

‘You were brought here like criminals.’ The man was suspicious. ‘We don’t want criminals here.’

‘We’re not,’ Spiro assured him. ‘It’s a long story. We had a fight at the hospital, but we’re not criminals.’

‘There’s no room anyway.’ The man spat on the ground. As Spiro’s eyes had become accustomed to the interior gloom he could see the man was speaking the truth. There seemed to be bodies everywhere.