YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) (43 page)

‘The priest wanted to land. He said he wasn’t frightened, but the boatman wouldn’t hear of it.’ Spiro tried to placate him.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Yannis spoke resignedly, ‘once you’re a leper. If only they realised.’

‘Realised what?’

‘That we’re human. Having leprosy doesn’t stop you thinking and feeling the same as anyone else.’

Spiro was silent. He had heard Yannis speak like this before and he had no way of comforting him or distracting his thoughts. It was with relief that he saw Phaedra coming, her arms loaded with food.

‘We ought to help her.’

‘You can. I’m tired.’

Spiro glanced at Yannis crossly. What had he been up to that he was too tired to carry an armful of food for a few yards? For the first time Spiro noticed the stains on Yannis’s clothes and his damaged hands.

‘What have you been doing all day?’

‘Poking around.’ Yannis laid back and closed his eyes.

Yannis slept well that night, but groaned as he sat up. His arms felt as heavy as lead. Yawning, he rose and left his companions still sleeping. He visited the port and helped himself to some food, purloining an old jug that had lost its handle and filled it with water. He carried it carefully to his half built walls and placed it in the shade.

For the first hour Yannis spent his time searching other ruined buildings for items he could use. He had taken a door from its resting place on the ground and as near as he could judge it would fit his opening. Various lengths of timber were lying where they had fallen when their support had collapsed and Yannis hauled them all back painstakingly. The work was arduous and he drove himself to exhaustion point before stopping to rest, determined to fix the window openings.

He sat in the shade he had created and contemplated his achievement so far. Two more walls needed to be brought up to the same height as those he had completed; then the problem of a roof would have to be solved. He tried to think how to fix supports, but was unable to concentrate. Closing his eyes he drifted into a sound sleep. When he awoke the sun was high in the sky and he cursed himself for sleeping for so long. It was unlikely he would be able to finish one wall, far less both of them and the windows as he had planned. To add to his problem he was running out of large, suitable blocks of stone. He moved further afield and began to collect and move the largest he could find, stacking them in an untidy pile. Very weary he finally decided to abandon his project for the day. His craving for a drink had become the most important objective in his life at that moment, he had finished the jug he had brought with him long ago.

Despite the enthusiasm with which Yannis started each day his progress seemed to become slower. Trying to build a row of masonry above the window openings proved impossible until he removed the original timbers and replaced them with longer crosspieces, taking him two days to reconstruct. The roof was the most time consuming and exhausting of all. Having found the longest timbers that were lying in the ruins he had to haul them back and prop them against the completed walls. Piling large blocks of stone at the foot of the wall gave him a narrow and unsteady catwalk and enough height to manoeuvre the unwieldy pieces of wood into position. Try as he might, they would not lie parallel and he just hoped the roof tiles would bridge the wider gaps.

Scrambling up on the catwalk he tiled as far as he could reach on each side, leaving the centre open to the sky. The most testing time of all arrived when he had to place his weight on the half-completed roof and trust the supports would bear him. Feeling his way carefully he placed the tiles, overlapping them carefully.

‘That is fantastic!’

Yannis almost fell off the roof. He twisted his head to see Spiro gazing up at him admiringly. Carefully he climbed back down to the ground.

‘It isn’t very good,’ he said modestly.

‘It’s wonderful! How did you do it?’

Together they sat on a block of stone whilst Yannis described how he had toiled at the building.

‘No wonder you were coming back exhausted each day. We thought you were going through a bad patch and wanted to be left alone. Why didn’t you say? I’d have helped.’

Yannis laughed derisively. ‘After the way you mocked me and said it couldn’t be done! I had to do it on my own to prove to you, prove to all of you, that it was possible.’

Spiro clapped him on the back. ‘You’ve certainly done that.’ He wrinkled his brow. ‘Do you really think it can be done with the others?’

‘I’m sure it can. It’s just a question of convincing people and getting them to help. I can’t repair them all myself.’ Yannis grinned, his exhaustion disappearing as Spiro’s enthusiasm became contagious.

Spiro dragged Yannis to his feet. ‘Come and tell them.’

‘Who?’

‘Anyone who’ll listen, and if they don’t believe you we can bring them up here and show them.’ Spiro began to drag Yannis down the hill.

‘I’d like to tell Antionis first.’

‘If you like. Then we’ll tell Christos.’

Slipping and sliding they hurried downwards and along the path to the square. Yannis went first to the fountain and took a long drink whilst Spiro hammered on the door of Antionis’s house. The old man hobbled to the door.

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s me, Yannis. I’ve something to tell you.’

Antionis allowed Yannis to take his arm and steer him towards a wall where he lowered himself down carefully.

Yannis swallowed. ‘I’ve built a house,’ he mumbled.

‘Say it again. My hearings not so good now.’

‘I’ve built a house,’ Yannis repeated.

A slow smile spread across the old man’s features. ‘I said you could rebuild. I knew you could do it.’ He searched for Yannis’s hand and squeezed it. ‘You’re a good boy, Yannis. You can rebuild.’

Yannis felt a lump come into his throat. ‘I wish you could see it.’

‘It’s enough for me to know you’ve done it. Now they’ll believe you, Yannis. They’ll help you. They believed me once.’ He turned his sightless eyes towards Yannis. ‘I failed them. You won’t. You can rebuild.’

‘I’ll try. I’ll try for you,’ promised Yannis.

‘No,’ Antionis shook his head. ‘It’s too late for me. Do it for them.’

‘If they’ll help me.’

‘I’ll talk to them. You go and rest. Remember, you have to take care. Too much too soon and you’ll suffer. Take it slowly. Pretend you’re old, like me, and take life slowly. When I first came here I couldn’t wait for each day to pass. I saw my friends die and I still lived. Living with nothing to live for! Now I want to live and there is little time left. Take it slowly, Yannis.’ Antionis’s head sank down onto his chest, his last words becoming so faint that it was difficult for Yannis to hear them. He released his hand from the old man’s grasp and stood up.

‘Thank you, my friend.’ As he walked away with Spiro he was not sure whether Antionis called after him or the words ‘you can rebuild’ were ringing inside his head.

‘Do you think Antionis will tell the others and get them to help?’

Yannis smiled to himself. ‘I believe in him.’

‘You’re two of a kind! Idealists.’

‘No.’ Yannis shook his head. ‘Realists. I know that if I have to live here then I have to live with a degree of decency. That decency begins with having somewhere to call my own, where I can shut my door and say this is my home.’

Spiro looked guardedly at Yannis. He had hardly changed since his arrival at the hospital; he obviously suffered more mentally than he did physically.

‘I think you should rest,’ persisted Spiro. ‘You’re far more tired than you realise.’

Yannis smiled at him wearily. ‘You’re probably right.’

Spiro settled him beside Kyriakos, with a jug of water. ‘Now, tell me exactly how you managed it.’

Yannis related how he had heightened the walls and searched for timber and tiles. ‘You know, Spiro, I was so pleased with myself, but it isn’t really very successful.’

‘Why ever not?’ Spiro stared at Yannis in disbelief.

‘I didn’t know how to fix a door or think of a chimney, so you couldn’t have a fire in there.’

‘I don’t think that matters. You’ve proved a house can be built. If the others help we’ll figure out other ways of doing things.’

Yannis closed his eyes. He felt deflated. His grand accomplishment was not really so great. Anyone at all could have managed to construct the hovel. It was meaner than any peasant’s hut on the mainland. Spiro looked at the prone figure and rose silently. He would go and inspect Yannis’s handiwork properly. As he approached the house he was surprised to find quite a gathering there. Christos had managed to haul himself up the slippery path with the help of his crutch and was surveying it critically.

‘Well?’ Spiro grinned. ‘Not bad for an amateur.’

‘I doubt if it will stand up to a mistral. He hasn’t tied his corners in or rebated his rafters deeply enough.’

‘If you’d helped us as we asked it could have been more professional,’ snapped Spiro, unwilling to have Yannis’s work belittled.

Christos shrugged. ‘Did you help him?’

Spiro shook his head. ‘He did it entirely alone.’

‘Are you both going to live up here?’

‘Yannis didn’t mention living in it. He wants to repair some of the others.’

‘Better tell him to take advice or he’ll do more harm than good.’

Spiro took a deep breath. He had an overwhelming urge to drive his fist into the sneering face. ‘Will you advise us?’

‘I might. If it was worth it to me.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I’d want my home done first.’

Spiro nodded. ‘I see. I’ll tell Yannis and let you know what he says.’

Christos slithered back down the path, leaving Spiro to listen to the admiring remarks of the others who had come to inspect the accomplishment. He decided there was no time like the present to try to rally support. Mounting one of the blocks of stone Yannis had used as a catwalk he shouted at the tiny gathering.

‘Listen to me, listen all of you. You’ve seen what Yannis has done here. He did it all alone. No one helped him. Think how many houses could be rebuilt if we all helped. Wouldn’t you like to have somewhere to call your own?’ Spiro jumped down and caught the nearest man by the shoulders, spinning him round to face him. ‘You could shut your door and be alone when you wanted. You could put your books on a shelf, your clothes in your chest and know they would be there the next day. No one could borrow them without knocking on your door and asking your permission.’

‘What door? There is no door.’ The man swung away from Spiro’s grasp.

Spiro looked about him helplessly. The people who had come up to look and gasp in admiration were now dispersing back down the hillside, smiling and tittering about the lack of a door.

‘Fools!’ shouted Spiro after them. ‘I laughed at him and said it couldn’t be done and he proved me wrong. You’ve seen it can be done and still you laugh. Don’t you want a roof over your heads? Do you enjoy living in the open? Please, help us. You don’t do anything all day except sit in the sun.’

‘I’ll help.’

Spiro turned, a smile spreading across his face. Behind him stood a girl, she looked about fourteen, thin and pale, the upper part of her left arm was badly ulcerated and dirty.

‘What could you do to help?’ he asked her gently; she looked hardly strong enough to stand, let alone work.

‘I’d bring water up to you, and food if you wanted it.’ She looked up at him eagerly, hoping her offer would not be ridiculed.

‘You would? It’s a bargain.’ He placed his hand on her shoulder and she beamed with pleasure. ‘I’ve got one volunteer,’ he called after the others. ‘Lazy bastards,’ he growled, as they continued downwards without looking back at him. ‘You ought to keep your arm wrapped.’ He twisted the limb towards him, the ulceration spread from below her elbow almost to her shoulder.

She pulled her arm away. ‘I tried wrapping it, but it didn’t seem to do much good, so now I’m leaving it unwrapped. The sun might help to clear it.’

‘It ought to be wrapped,’ Spiro spoke firmly. You never know when you might get some dirt in it, then it would get a lot worse.’

She shrugged. ‘I’ll wrap it when I’m working. When do we start?’

‘Come back with me and meet Yannis. Where are you sheltering?’

‘There’s a tower further up. It’s small, but it has a roof.’

Spiro was silent. They had passed the small structure on many occasions and never considered it as a place to shelter. The doorway was so low you would have to bend double to enter and it was doubtful that you could lie down once in there.

Yannis was still asleep when they reached the shack, Phaedra sitting beside him. Spiro spoke to her quietly and she helped herself from the sack of clothes that were too large for Yannis bringing out an old shirt. She ripped the side seam open; then with the help of her sharp little teeth she tore it into strips and handed them to Spiro.

‘Hold out your arm,’ he ordered. He dabbed at the raw patches on Flora’s arm with a little clean water on a wad of cloth, ignoring the way she winced and tried to draw away from him. Finally satisfied that it was as clean as possible he wound the makeshift bandage around and tied it securely.

‘At least that will keep it clean.’

‘Is he going to wake up?’ She pointed to Yannis.

Spiro shrugged. ‘He’s tired. He’ll probably be full of ideas when he does wake. Why don’t you help Phaedra get a meal whilst you wait?’

Flora followed Phaedra and after a while Spiro could hear them laughing together. It was the first time he had heard Phaedra laugh. He laid himself down and closed his eyes. It occurred to him that he was sleeping far too much. When it became dark he slept until dawn, then most of the afternoon. He was either more ill than he thought or becoming very lazy.

‘I’ll soon find out,’ he thought. ‘I’ll have to try to keep up with Yannis,’ and grimaced at the idea.

Maria cradled her baby gently in her arms, studying the tiny, wrinkled face with pride. Babbis sat beside her, his arm around her shoulders, smiling fatuously. Kassy bustled around, tidying away the soiled sheets ready for washing, pausing every now and again to have another look at her first grandchild.