YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) (53 page)

‘Of course not.’

‘So where do you live?’

‘In the houses and the church. The men are gradually rebuilding.’

‘You’re doing it yourselves?’

‘Well, not building, more repairing.’

‘So, if you’re able to build your own house you can live in it, if not you’re condemned to the church.’ Doctor Stavros shuddered.

‘Not at all,’ Phaedra was quick to correct him. ‘Yannis insisted that the first houses were occupied by at least one sick person who needed to be looked after, and the others had to help him with the next houses. Those who are in the church are the recent arrivals. You could go and talk to them, then you could visit the houses with Yannis.’

Doctor Stavros rose; he had eaten sparingly, but shared the jug of water with his companions, wiping the edge carefully with his sleeve before he placed it to his lips. He walked over to the church and pushed open the door. The heavy atmosphere of unwashed bodies, excreta and vomit met him like a wall. The people inside eyed him suspiciously, pulling their few, pathetic possessions towards them protectively.

The truth of the situation suddenly dawned on him. People were not sent here to survive. They were sent in the hope that they would die. His head was spinning and he felt as though it would burst as the full realisation penetrated his throbbing brain. He stumbled out of the door, leaning against the jamb. This was against all humanity, worse than a jail, and these people had done nothing wrong. They were the innocent victims of illness and disease, victims he had sworn by his Hippocratic oath to serve to the best of his ability. As the mist before his eyes cleared he saw Yannis watching him.

‘How long will those people stay in there?’

Yannis shrugged. ‘That depends upon them. If the fittest are willing to help with some repair work it will only be a matter of weeks. If they think we’re going to do it all for them they’ll be there for ever.’

‘It’s a breeding ground for disease.’

‘Tell them. They took no notice of me.’

‘Then I doubt if they’ll listen to me.’ The doctor looked inside the church again. ‘I can’t work in there. If they want to see me they must come outside. In the meantime I’ll visit some houses – if I may,’ he added.

At each house the doctor knocked and waited until he was asked to enter and Yannis had to admit that his preconceived opinion of the man was changing. He seemed genuinely concerned with all he saw, asking for bandages to be unwrapped, probing for the amount of live nerve tissue in a limb, wanting to know if the symptoms had worsened recently. After each discussion he would make notes on the pad that he slipped in and out of his back pocket with regularity. Finally he admitted defeat.

‘I can’t possibly see everyone in one visit. Is there anyone who’s in urgent need of a doctor?’

‘What is the point of you seeing any of us? You’ll go away, write your report, return again next year and ask us if we’re feeling better.’

Doctor Stavros shook his head. ‘You have my word that won’t happen. I’m going to tell the authorities that you need medicine and more. You need a doctor over here permanently, a hospital, proper sanitation. It may take time, but I shan’t let this rest when I return. You are people and the government has to treat you as such.’

A slow smile spread over Yannis’s face. ‘I wish you every success. I doubt very much that any one considers that we’re people. As far as the rest of the world is concerned we no longer exist.’

Doctor Stavros spent three days writing a long and impassioned letter to the authorities, retiring each night exhausted in mind and body, appreciating his soft mattress and warm cover. Inadvertently he thought of those less fortunate on the island. He wondered how they kept themselves warm in the winter when he usually lit his stove or sat before the open fire in the kitchen, and where did they wash and dry their clothes? Questions ran riot in his brain each night until he finally slept, only to awake heavy eyed and tired.

Each time he visited the island he discovered fresh horrors that demanded a further letter of appeal to be sent to the authorities, stressing the need for urgent action. Despairing of ever having a reply he took his letter saying he was responsible for the island to the hospital and confronted the matron who looked at him curiously.

‘The other doctor never had supplies from us. They must have been sent directly to him. We don’t hold any great quantities of anything, in fact we’ve hardly any bandages since the priest bought so many.’

Doctor Stavros frowned. Who was this priest he kept hearing about? ‘Where can I find him?’ he asked.

‘I’ve no idea. He just arrived one day, paid me an enormous sum for bandages and said I was to send to Heraklion for more and keep them until he called again.’

‘You can’t tell me any more about him?’

‘He wasn’t from round here. I think he said his name was Minos.’

Doctor Stavros felt he had come to a dead end. ‘Are you able to let me have anything at all? You can mark it out to me and requisition for more to replace it.’

The matron cast her eyes down the list. ‘I’ve some aspirin and a little morphine. I’m waiting for disinfectant. Would methylated spirits be any use?’

‘Yes, anything that cleanses.’

‘I’ll get the caretaker to get a parcel ready for you. Come back tomorrow.’

With that Doctor Stavros had to be content. He must now decide which day he was going to visit the island each week and make a regular arrangement with Manolis. He sat on the sea wall and looked out across the bay, watching other fishermen return, sort their catch and hang their nets up to dry. There was no sign of Manolis and his boat was missing from its usual mooring place. A priest walked past, his companion not yet ordained and they scanned the boats eagerly.

‘He’s not back yet.’

‘I can’t wait. I’ll have to get back or I’ll be too late to beg for the day off tomorrow.’

Father Minos smiled. ‘I’ll arrange a time with Manolis and see you later.’

Father Minos sat on the wall and waited. There was nothing more he could do. It was far too late to think of going out to the island that day, better to wait for the fisherman to return and make an early start the following morning. The man in the suit who was sitting a few yards away had taken a great interest in their conversation.

‘Good day.’ The man moved closer after Father Minos had greeted him.

‘Good day to you. I couldn’t help overhearing. I understand you are waiting to speak to Manolis, the fisherman?’

‘I am.’

‘Would you, by any chance, be the mysterious priest I keep hearing about? The one who bought bandages from the hospital and who has sent out sand and cement to the island?’

Father Minos smiled. ‘There’s nothing mysterious about me, but I have had some dealings with those unfortunate people.’

Doctor Stavros held out his hand. ‘I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Doctor Stavros. I’ve been placed in charge of the island.’

Father Minos shook the doctor’s hand vigorously. ‘You don’t know how pleased I am to meet you. I went to Doctor Kandakis and he all but threw me out. All I wanted was permission to visit the island.’

‘You’ve been before?’

‘Twice. The first time I held a service from the boat, the second time I went ashore and met the people. They are so brave. My heart went out to them.’ He watched the doctor cautiously. ‘I have a dream, an ambition, but maybe it’s not possible.’

The doctor looked at the priest enquiringly. ‘Do go on.’

‘I want to live with them, as part of their community, helping them with their daily life, giving comfort where I can.’ The priest’s face seemed to glow with an inner resolve.

‘How does the Bishop feel about your ambition?’

‘I’ve not approached him yet, but I intend to do so as soon as I return.’

‘Have the medical authorities given you permission?’

‘I thought I should ask the doctor in charge of the island first.’

Doctor Stavros shrugged. ‘Who am I to say yes or no? If you have the necessary permission from the authorities I’ll not stand in your way. In fact, you could be quite useful to me over there.’

‘Useful? I know nothing about medicine,’ Father Minos hastened to assure him.

‘A priest has the confidence of his people. I’ve only visited the island a few times, and I was appalled at their conditions, but they seem somewhat hostile towards me. I want to do my best for them, but to do that they have to trust me. Maybe you could persuade them?’

‘I could never betray anything told to me during a confession.’

‘I would simply ask you to convince them that I have their welfare at heart.’

A boat rounded the headland and both men sprang to their feet and went to the edge of the quay. Manolis frowned as he moored his craft, expecting trouble.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ replied Doctor Stavros. ‘I merely wished to make a regular arrangement with you to take me to the island every Thursday.’

Manolis shrugged. ‘If you wish.’ He wondered if he dared to ask for an extra drachma each time he took the doctor, although he was being paid to ferry across the goods that Father Minos had ordered. He decided it was a legitimate request, as he would have to await the doctor’s convenience before returning. ‘I’ll have to ask you to pay me for waiting time.’ He flashed his teeth in a cheeky smile.

‘How much?’

‘I’ll take you over and back for nothing, it will be one drachma for waiting for you.’

Doctor Stavros smiled. Manolis could have named a far higher price. He shook his head. ‘I can’t afford that every week. It’s not my money, you understand. I have to account for everything I spend to the authorities and I don’t think they’ve included a travelling allowance.’

Manolis pretended to consider also. ‘It’s my time. I may have to wait all day for you as I did before. Whilst I’m waiting I can’t be earning.’

‘We could arrange a time for you to come back for me. You could then go and fish.’

‘Maybe, but suppose you wished to leave earlier?’

‘I’d just have to wait. Fifty lepta, you drop me and collect me. No need to sit and wait.’

‘Very well.’ Manolis shook hands to seal the bargain. ‘In advance.’

‘In advance,’ agreed the doctor, ‘although where I would run away to I do not know.’

Father Minos was amused at Manolis’s audacity, knowing he was being paid a drachma each time he took out a load of goods, and that left him ample time for fishing.

‘I presume the same fee holds good for me? I’d like you to take me out tomorrow.’

Manolis grinned. He had charged a drachma before and the priest had not demurred. ‘You drive hard bargains,’ he complained. ‘I’m only a poor fisherman.’

‘At this rate you’ll soon be a wealthy fisherman,’ commented the doctor.

‘I’ll see you at seven. My young friend will be with me. Are you going to charge me extra for him?’

For a second Manolis dared to hesitate as if considering. ‘Out of the goodness of my heart I shall pretend I did not see him.’

Father Minos shook his head in assumed despair. ‘Seven,’ he reminded Manolis and began to walk slowly along the quay. Doctor Stavros hurried after him.

‘Please, come back to my house. I should like to talk to you.’

‘Very well.’ Father Minos had nothing more pressing to do and a few hours would have to elapse before he could meet Andreas again. He followed the doctor between the rows of fishermen’s cottages and up the slight rise of the hill.

The island loomed into view, looking deserted as always when one approached, and to Manolis’s surprise Flora was not on the quay to greet them. Father Minos and Andreas stepped ashore and walked through the arch. People looked up as they approached, shouting to each other that the priest was there and someone should tell Yannis.

‘Where is he?’ asked Andreas.

‘Down by the fountain.’

They followed the path down to the square where they found Yannis labouring with a mix of cement, the sweat pouring off him and the muscles in his arms straining. Andreas called to him. ‘Yannis, what are you up to?’

Yannis grinned. ‘What does it look like? I’ll be with you when this mix is ready.’ He continued to labour for a further quarter of an hour before wiping his face with his shirt and throwing himself onto a pile of sacks full of sand. He scanned the building where two men were applying a skin of cement to the stones that made up the side of the house.

‘No, not like that,’ he leapt to his feet. ‘It must be thin.’ He took the trowel from the man’s hand and spread the cement out, covering twice the area, then handed it back. ‘If they put too much on at once I’ll be mixing again in no time.’

‘How’s it going, Yannis?’

‘Slow and tiring. I shan’t be able to make another mix for a couple of hours. You need two hands to work the shovel, so I’m a bit limited in my choice of workers. It’s the same with everything we try. We haven’t got the stamina. So many of them have a useless limb that I can’t ask them to climb a ladder, so most of the harder work falls on the few. But we’re winning. Come and see what we’ve done over here.’

Yannis led the way to a tall house that was still bare masonry interlaced with timber and sticks, the gaps plugged with slivers of stone. The windows were still open and the house unoccupied. Yannis led the way inside.

‘Look,’ he pointed towards the ceiling where joists had been laid to provide an upper floor. Father Minos and Andreas examined the structure. The room had been divided into three small units with the walls providing resting places for the thick timbers.

‘We didn’t have any longer lengths so we thought we’d try doing it this way. When we get some boards we’ll floor it over and there’ll be living quarters for about six.’

Father Minos nodded in appreciation. ‘What made you think of doing that?’

‘I’d been thinking about it for ages, but I didn’t know how to go about it. We’ve just had some new friends arrive and a couple of them are going to be invaluable to us,’ his eyes glowed with enthusiasm.

‘Is that what you call new arrivals? Friends?’ asked Andreas.

‘Why not? We have to call them something. Come and see Panicos. He seems a good deal better since he started having goat’s milk.’