YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) (13 page)

‘I overslept this morning and missed the bus. I’ve got to be in Heraklion by Monday.’

Costas chuckled. ‘I’m not surprised you overslept the state you were in last night.’ He yawned widely. ‘I’m not going up today. No need.’

‘What can I do?’ asked Mr Pavlakis desperately. ‘Do you know if anyone else is going?’

Costas shrugged. ‘I’m going tomorrow. Early, mind, I can’t wait if you oversleep.’

Mr Pavlakis grabbed the man’s hands and pumped them up and down. ‘I’ll be here at whatever time you say. You’re my saviour.’

‘Be here at six.’

‘Thank you, thank you, my friend. It will be worth your while.’

Costas nodded. ‘Yes.’

Mr Pavlakis took his leave and made his way back to his lodgings. The old woman regarded him balefully. ‘Recovered from your temper?’

‘I’m very sorry. Please forgive me. I must have been disgustingly drunk. I’ve seen Costas and he’s willing to take me to Heraklion tomorrow morning. May I stay an extra night?’

‘You can stay, but you’ll get yourself up. I’m not waking you.’

‘Thank you. I shan’t go out this evening.’

He spent the rest of the day wandering disconsolately around the town. His head still felt like cotton wool and his first glass of wine nauseated him. By the evening, having eaten, he felt considerably better. Not daring to meet his friends and spend the evening drinking in a taverna he returned to the small room he had considered his home for a number of years and tried to write. He could remember his friends acclaiming his theories as brilliant the night before. If only he could remember how he had thought the economy could be improved and the standard of living raised. He tried to put pen to paper, finally giving up the unequal struggle and forcing himself to go to bed.

For the first few hours he tossed restlessly, then fell into a heavy slumber, waking with a start and checking his pocket watch. Five in the morning! He must get up or he might be late meeting Costas. With a sigh he rose and dressed. He checked the cupboard and the chest to make doubly sure he had forgotten nothing, and crept down the stairs. To his surprise his landlady was already in the kitchen and the coffee pot was on the stove.

‘You’re early,’ he remarked.

‘I’m always up early. I like to work before it gets hot; besides, I wanted to see you before you left. You owe me an extra day’s rent.’

Grudgingly Yiorgo had to admit she was right and dug into his pocket. ‘Thank you for looking after me,’ he said sincerely. As he looked at her he saw for the first time the soiled black dress and grubby apron, the lined face and gnarled work-worn hands. He would make sure Louisa did not look like her in a few years.

He bade her farewell in good time to reach the house that Costas shared with his mother. The heavy trunk, which he pulled behind him, hindered his progress and he arrived panting. He knocked vigorously on the door and waited. The driver took his time in answering and Yiorgo was anxiously checking his pocket watch when the door opened a crack.

‘What do you want?’

‘You told me to be here at six. You’re taking me to Heraklion.’

‘I’m not ready yet. You’ll have to wait.’

The door closed and Yiorgo leant against the wall, trying to remain patient. It seemed an age before Costas reappeared and signalled to him to follow as he led the way through the outskirts of the town until they reached a piece of waste ground where an inelegant vehicle was parked.

Costas unlocked the doors and the engine, taking the starting handle from beneath his driving seat and inserting it in the hole beneath the radiator. Costas turned the handle vigorously and the engine spluttered and died. Costas turned, again the engine died, and at a third attempt, after a cough, the engine sprang into life. The handle was removed and stowed beneath the seat. Yiorgo was left to heave his trunk into the back whilst Costas waited for him impatiently.

Once Yiorgo was also inside Costas removed the hand brake, pressed the accelerator and they began to jolt over the stony, uneven ground. The teacher gripped his seat, his knuckles showing white; convinced he would shoot through the windscreen at any moment. The journey did not become any smoother when they reached the road, as Costas appeared to have only a rudimentary knowledge of driving procedure. His foot would press the accelerator almost to the floor until a flock of sheep came into view when it would switch quickly to the brake, bringing the van to a screeching halt, panicking both sheep and shepherd.

Costas did not speak to his companion and Yiorgo gave up any attempt at conversation. At the larger towns they stopped and Costas sat with his hand on the horn. Someone always appeared to hand over a letter or parcel and pass a few coins to Costas. He kept the engine running continually, rather than have to start it again and Yiorgo began to feel quite sick. By mid-morning they had reached Malia and he begged to be allowed to stop long enough to purchase a cup of coffee.

Grudgingly Costas agreed and whilst his passenger was gone he checked his petrol tank, topping it up from a can he carried in the back. He left the engine ticking over and strolled into the taverna. He ordered wine and drank the glass swiftly, staring at Yiorgo as he did so. As soon as the wine was finished Costas made for the door and Yiorgo had no choice but to hurry after him. His hasty coffee had only served to increase his nausea and he wished heartily he had not missed the bus.

The journey seemed to go on forever, the road no more than a cart track in places, as Costas made detours to collect or deliver items. The van rattled, bumped, shook and jolted. Costas appeared to delight in hitting each pothole at speed until Yiorgo was convinced he could have driven equally as well, if not better. He sat in agonised silence until Costas spoke.

‘We’re here.’

Yiorgo sighed with relief as they sped down the hill towards the harbour. Costas drew to a screeching halt and held out his hand. Yiorgo pulled out a selection of coins from his pocket, counted out the same as the bus fare, added a little to it and offered it to Costas.

The driver shook his head. ‘I charge three times the bus fare.’

‘Three times!’

Costas nodded. ‘Or I can take you back for nothing.’

Yiorgo vowed silently that he would never travel with Costas again. He added to the amount of coins, heaved his trunk from the back and bade the man a polite farewell. Costas did not bother to reply, but shot rapidly into a turn and back up the hill. Yiorgo cursed himself for not asking to be dropped at the taverna, and then considered how much more that might have cost him.

Alternately pulling and pushing his trunk Yiorgo trudged towards the taverna. By the time he reached the door he felt exhausted, despite having stopped frequently to rest. As he pushed open the door he could hear a clattering of dishes in the kitchen.

‘Louisa.’

Pavlos’s head appeared round the doorway. He grinned widely. ‘Welcome back. Louisa’s gone shopping and your young friend is upstairs.’

Yiorgo Pavlakis sank into a chair and Pavlos brought a bottle of wine. ‘You look like a man in need.’ He poured a glass for each of them and raised his in salutation.

Yiorgo drank deeply. ‘I’ve had a terrible journey.’

‘You haven’t walked! Why didn’t you come by bus?’

Yiorgo shook his head. ‘I was driven up by a friend. I’d better tell Yannis I’m here. Can you help me up with my trunk at the same time?’

Together they manhandled the cumbersome trunk up the stairs and into the room that was to be the teacher’s. ‘Yannis,’ he called. ‘I’m here.’

Yannis was writing a letter to Annita, telling her about the journey and the little he had seen of Heraklion. Opening the door he almost fell into the arms of Mr Pavlakis.

‘Come down, Yannis, and I’ll tell you my troubles.’

Yannis followed the two men obediently and joined them at the table, a glass of wine being passed to him, which he sipped at slowly, whilst Yiorgo recounted his journey with Costas. Before he had finished Louisa returned and he had to start again. She had no sympathy for him and laughingly told him it was his own fault. A customer entered and was invited to join the group for Yiorgo to tell his story yet again and Yannis excused himself, he had no wish to hear it for a third time.

Yannis returned to his letter writing. He finished the one to Annita and placed it on top of the one to his parents. As he did so he remembered the screw of paper his mother had pressed into his hand as he left. The excitement of the past few days had driven it from his mind, and even when he had unpacked he had hidden it away with the money his father had given him.

He rummaged amongst his socks until he found it and opened it carefully. Inside was a small, blue stone, set in silver, which his mother had always worn on a ribbon around her neck to ward off evil. He sat down on the bed and turned it between his fingers. He would have to buy a chain so he could wear it also. He took some notes from the pile and pushed them deep into his pocket before returning the charm to its hiding place. He picked up his letters and returned downstairs to see if there was any lunch available.

Yiorgo seemed to have recovered his spirits now he was finally in Heraklion and whilst they were eating Yannis asked if he would show him the town that afternoon.

‘I’ve wandered down to the harbour, but I don’t know the way to the High School.’

‘Certainly I will. Maybe Louisa could come with us. She knows her way far better than I. I’ll ask her.’ Yiorgo went into the kitchen, returning a few moments later looking downcast. ‘She says she will be busy this afternoon.’

They walked first down to the port, the teacher pointing out the impressive Venetian fort that guarded the harbour entrance. From a kiosk on the corner Yannis purchased stamps for his letters and when they reached the Square he was able to post them. Together they strolled down the main street, which Yannis recognised from his arrival. They walked through the market at Yannis’s request and he was fascinated by the variety of goods on sale. He resisted the temptation to spend money on novelties he had never seen before, but when they reached the street of the cobblers he insisted on trying a pair of high, shiny boots and purchasing them.

‘What I want now,’ said Yannis, ‘Is a silver chain for my neck.’

Yiorgo looked somewhat surprised, but agreed to take him to a reputable jeweller on their way back to the taverna. The façade of the school left him unimpressed, and he turned away from it after a few minutes, looking around to fix the location in his mind.

‘Look!’

‘What at?’

‘Over there.’ Yannis pointed. ‘The museum. Can we go in?’

‘If you want. I told you I was disappointed, just a jumble of old pottery and faded labels.’

They made their way inside the building and Yannis gazed in bewilderment at the dark glass cases with pottery arranged haphazardly inside and an occasional complete vessel.

‘It’s such a mess,’ said Yannis sadly. ‘Most of it you can’t see properly, and if you can see it there’s no label saying what it is. That piece there is the same as in the previous case. It all needs sorting out.’

‘I’ve seen much better museums in Rome and Turin,’ agreed Yiorgo. ‘The one in Athens is remarkable, but this…’ he shrugged eloquently. ‘Shall we go?’

‘Do we have to? I wanted to look more closely at some of it.’

Yiorgo sighed; he was bored. Taking his pocket watch out he studied it carefully. ‘I think it would be better if you returned another time, if you want to buy that chain tonight.’

Regretfully Yannis agreed and followed his companion out through a dimly lit hall, noticing for the first time the old man sitting on a chair in the corner.

‘Who’s that? Are we supposed to pay him?’

‘I’ve no idea. I’ll give him a coin.’ Yiorgo dropped a lepta into the earthenware pot that stood at the man’s feet. He touched his forehead and looked after them as if wondering where they had come from.

Once outside Yannis stopped abruptly. ‘Where’s the library?’

‘A street away; I’ll show you as we pass.’

‘Can you arrange for me to borrow some books?’

‘I’m sure the High School will arrange that for you.’

‘I want one now,’ Yannis spoke urgently. ‘I want to read about the finds they have in the museum, then when I return I might know what I’m looking at.’

Yiorgo resigned himself to spending at least an hour in the library and was pleasantly surprised when Yannis quickly selected two books and expressed his wish to return to the taverna as soon as he had purchased a chain.

On reaching the taverna Yannis retired to his room. First he fixed the silver charm to the chain and hung it round his neck, he then eased his feet into his new boots. Sitting on his bed, his legs elevated so he could admire his new footwear frequently, he opened the first of his books from the library. He had chosen well, each book contained illustrations of the pottery, which was in the museum, the original location, and the approximate date of manufacture. On more than one occasion he went to the shelf and picked up a piece of his own pottery to compare with a line drawing. His excitement knew no bounds when he finally decided his coin was a tetradrachm and would have been minted around 490 B.C.

During their meal he could not stop talking about the pottery and Louisa and Pavlos were amazed at the change in him. He appeared to have come to life before their eyes, questioning Pavlos about the finds that had been made at Knossos and asking to be taken the following weekend to see the site for himself.

The ringing of the church bells woke Yannis early the following morning and he remembered his promise to his mother to attend services. His hand hesitated on the silver charm. Should he take it off? He decided to leave it and buttoned his shirt so that it would not show. Unlocking the taverna door he crept out quietly and made his way to the main road.

The church was not difficult to find, but after the tiny church in Plaka where he had worshipped and the larger one in Aghios Nikolaos this one was enormous. Over-awed Yannis took a seat at the very back. He concentrated little on the service and spent the time gazing around. He had never seen such magnificence in his life. He bought two candles from the blind man who was sitting on the steps and lit them both to the Virgin Mary before placing his lips reverently on her picture and kneeling to pray. Finally he rose and once outside took deep breaths of the fresh air to clear his head after the smell of incense.