The Island (42 page)

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Authors: Victoria Hislop

BOOK: The Island
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Maria shopped and cooked for these end-stage cases. She hardly even noticed their deformities any more, as she served them lunch and, in some cases, helped to feed them. Always in her mind was the thought that her mother might well have been like this. No one had ever really told her, but as she lifted spoons of rice to their lips, she hoped that Eleni had never suffered as these people did. She regarded herself as one of the lucky ones. Whether or not the new drug treatment worked successfully, these people’s broken bodies could never be mended.
 
Most people on the mainland imagined that all lepers were as ravaged by the disease as these extreme cases and the very thought of their proximity repulsed them. They feared for themselves and for their children and had no doubt that the bacillus that had infected the people on this island could be airborne into their own homes. Even in Plaka there were people with such misconceptions. In the past few years, a secondary reason for resenting the colony had brewed. Greatly exaggerated stories of the Athenians’ wealth had whipped people up into a state of increasing rancour, particularly in the poorer hillside communities of Selles and Vrouhas which did not enjoy the reliable income of fishing villages such as Plaka. One minute they feared the idea that they too might end up on Spinalonga; the next they seethed with envy at the idea that the colonists might be living more comfortable lives than they were themselves. Their fears were both ill-founded and deep-rooted.
 
One day in February a rumour began to circulate. It was sparked by the idle comment of one man, and like a forest fire from a single carelessly dropped match it spread with frightening speed and soon rampaged through every nearby village from Elounda in the south to Vilhadia on the northern coast. It was said that the mayor in Selles had taken his ten-year-old son to hospital in Iraklion. He was to have tests for suspected leprosy. Perhaps the disease was spreading from the island to the mainland. Within a day, the storm clouds of crowd overreaction had gathered. A ringleader in each village and the long-incubated feelings of fear and loathing were all it took for anger to boil over, and people began to descend on Plaka, intent on the island’s destruction. Their cause was an irrational one. If Spinalonga was sacked, they reasoned, no further lepers could be sent there and the Greek government would be forced to relocate the colony. They also imagined that once threatened, the influential Athenians would insist on being taken somewhere safer. Either way, it would rid them of this filthy blot on their landscape.
 
The mob planned to take every fishing boat they could lay their hands on and land under cover of darkness. By five o’clock that Wednesday afternoon there was a gathering of two hundred, mostly men, on the Plaka quayside. Giorgis saw the first trucks arrive and heard the commotion as people spilled out of them and made their way down to the quayside. Like the other villagers of Plaka, he was aghast. It was time for him to go over to collect Kyritsis, but first he had to force his way through the crowd to find his boat. As he did so, he caught snatches of conversation.
 
‘How many can we fit into a boat?’
 
‘Who’s got the petrol?’
 
‘Make sure there’s plenty!’
 
One of the ringleaders spotted the old man getting into his boat and addressed him aggressively.
 
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
 
‘I’m going across to collect the doctor,’ he answered.
 
‘What doctor?’
 
‘One of the doctors who works over there,’ answered Giorgis.
 
‘What good can doctors do for lepers?’ the ringleader sneered, playing to the crowd.
 
As the group laughed and jeered, Giorgis pushed his boat away from the quay. His whole body quaked with fear and his hand trembled violently on the tiller. The little boat fought hard against the choppy sea, and never had the journey seemed longer. From some way off he could see the dark silhouette of Kyritsis, and eventually he was bringing the boat close to the stony wall.
 
The doctor did not bother to tie the boat up, but instead climbed straight in. It had been an arduous day and he was eager to get home. In the half-light, he could hardly see Giorgis’s face under his hat, but the old man’s voice was unusually audible.
 
‘Dr Kyritsis,’ he almost choked, ‘there’s a crowd over there. I think they’re planning to attack Spinalonga!’
 
‘What do you mean?’
 
‘Hundreds of them have arrived. I don’t know where from, but they’re getting some boats together and they’ve got cans of petrol. They could be on their way any time now.’
 
Kyritsis was dumbstruck both by the stupidity of these people and by fear for the islanders. There was little time. He had a very swift choice to make. It would be wasting valuable minutes if he went back inside the great walls to warn the lepers. He had to get to the mainland to talk these lunatics out of their plan.
 
‘We need to get back -
fast
,’ he urged Giorgis.
 
Giorgis swung the boat around. This time the wind was behind him, and the caique covered the distance between island and mainland in no time at all. By now the people on the quayside had lit their torches, and as the small boat reached the shore another truckload of men was arriving. There was a ripple of excitement as Giorgis brought the boat in, and when Kyritsis disembarked the crowd parted to make way for a tall, broad-shouldered man who was clearly their spokesman.
 
‘So who are
you
?’ he mocked. ‘Coming and going from the leper colony as freely as you like?’
 
The noisy crowd fell silent to listen to the exchange.
 
‘My name is Dr Kyritsis. I am currently treating a number of patients on the island with new drug therapy. There are signs that this could lead to a cure.’
 
‘Oh!’ the man laughed sarcastically. ‘Listen, everybody! Do you hear that? The lepers are going to get better.’
 
‘There is a very strong chance of it.’
 
‘Well supposing we don’t believe that?’
 
‘It doesn’t matter if
you
don’t believe it.’ Kyritsis was dramatic in his emphasis. He focused on the ringleader. He could see that this bully would be nothing without his mob.
 
‘So why is that then?’ the man said with scorn, surveying the crowd who stood expectantly on the quayside, their faces lit by the flickering torches. Now he was trying to whip them up. He had misjudged this slight man who seemed to command more attention than he would have expected for someone of his stature.
 
‘If you lay so much as a finger on a single one of those lepers out there,’ said Kyritsis, ‘you will find yourself in a prison cell darker and deeper than your worst nightmares. If even
one
of those lepers dies, you will be tried and convicted for murder. I will personally see to it.’
 
There was a stir amongst the crowd and then it fell silent again. The leader could sense that he had lost them. Kyritsis’s firm voice penetrated the silence.
 
‘Now what do you plan to do? Go home quietly or do your worst?’
 
People turned to each other and small huddles formed. One by one, torches were extinguished, plunging the quayside almost into darkness. One by one the crowd walked quietly to their vehicles. All their resolve to destroy Spinalonga had evaporated.
 
As the leader made his way alone back to the main street, he cast a backward glance at the doctor.
 
‘We’ll be looking out for that cure,’ he shouted. ‘And if it doesn’t come, we’ll be back. You mark my words.’
 
Giorgis Petrakis had remained in his boat during this confrontation, watching first with fear and then with admiration as Dr Kyritsis diffused the mob. It had seemed so unlikely that a lone individual could deter the force of this gang of thugs that had appeared hell-bent on destroying the leper colony.
 
Kyritsis had seemed to be completely in control, but inwardly he had feared for his own life. Not just that. He had feared for the life of every leper on the island. Once his heart ceased to feel that it would burst from his chest, he realised there was something specific that had given him the courage to stand up to the crowd: it was the possibility that the woman he loved had been in danger. He could not deny it to himself. It was Maria he had been desperate to save.
 
Chapter Twenty
 
IT DID NOT take long for word to get around Spinalonga that an uprising against the island had been quelled. Everyone soon knew that Dr Kyritsis had single-handedly dispersed a rowdy mob and for that he was the hero of the hour. He returned the following Wednesday as normal, and his anticipation at seeing Maria was more intense than ever. The realisation that he had such strong feelings for her had taken him by surprise, and he had thought of little else all week. She was on the quayside to meet him, a familiar figure in her green coat, and today a broad smile stretched across her face.
 
‘Thank you, Dr Kyritsis,’ she said, before he had even stepped off the boat. ‘My father told me how you stood up to those men and everyone here is so grateful for what you did.’
 
By now Kyritsis was on dry land. Every part of him wanted to take her in his arms and declare his love, but such spontaneous behaviour went against a lifetime of reticence and he knew that he could not do it.
 
‘Anyone would have done the same. It was nothing,’ he said quietly. ‘I did it for you.’
 
Such unguarded words. He knew he should be more careful.
 
‘And for everyone on this island,’ he added hastily.
 
Maria said nothing and Kyritsis had no idea whether she had even heard him. As usual they walked together through the tunnel, their feet crunching on the gravelly surface, and neither of them spoke. There was a silent acknowledgement that Kyritsis would come to her home for coffee before going on to the hospital, but as they reached the bend in the tunnel he saw immediately that today something was different. It was dark at the exit, and the usual view of Spinalonga’s main street was obscured. The reason for this soon became clear. A huge crowd of perhaps two hundred had gathered there. Nearly every inhabitant of the island who was fit enough had made his or her way from home to greet the doctor. Children, young people and the elderly with their sticks and crutches had all turned out that chilly morning, hats on, collars up, to express their gratitude. As Kyritsis emerged, applause broke out all around him and he stopped in his tracks, taken aback to be the centre of attention. As the clapping died down, Papadimitriou stepped forward.
 
‘Dr Kyritsis. On behalf of every inhabitant of this island, I would like to thank you for what you did last week. We understand that you saved us from invasion and in all likelihood from injury or death. Everyone here will be eternally grateful to you for that.’
 
Expectant eyes gazed at him. They wanted to hear his voice.
 
‘You people have as much right to life as anyone on the mainland. As long as I have anything to do with it, no one will destroy this place.’
 
Once again applause broke out, and then the islanders gradually drifted away and went about their daily business. Kyritsis had been overwhelmed by the ovation and was relieved when he was no longer the centre of so much attention. Papadimitriou was now at his side and walking along with him.
 
‘Let me accompany you to the hospital,’ he said, unaware that this deprived the doctor of precious moments with Maria. With the milling crowd Maria already knew that she could not expect Kyritsis to come to her house. It would be entirely inappropriate. She watched his receding figure and returned to her home. Two cups sat in the middle of her small table, and as she filled one and sat down to drink the coffee which had been brewing on her stove she addressed an imaginary figure sitting across the table.
 
‘Well, Dr Kyritsis,’ she said. ‘You’re a hero now.’
 
Meanwhile, Kyritsis thought of Maria. How could he possibly wait until the following Wednesday to see her? Seven days. One hundred and sixty-eight hours. There was, however, plenty to distract him. The hospital was under pressure. Dozens of the lepers were in need of urgent attention, and with only two people running the entire place, Lapakis and Manakis were more relieved than ever to see him.
 
‘Good morning, Nikolaos!’ cried Lapakis teasingly. ‘The finest doctor in Crete, and now the Saint of Spinalonga!’
 
‘Oh come on, Christos,’ replied Kyritsis, slightly abashed. ‘You know you would have done the same.’
 
‘I’m not sure, you know. By all accounts they were pretty rough.’
 
‘Well all that was last week,’ said Kyritsis, brushing the episode to one side. ‘We need to get on with today’s issues. How are our test patients doing?’

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