YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) (93 page)

Father Minos wrote to him again and Yannis read the words in disbelief. He sought out Dora and handed her the letter. ‘Read that,’ he said bitterly. ‘I thought that whatever they did to me they would never be able to punish me more than they had in the past.’

‘Is it official?’

Yannis nodded. ‘If Father Minos says so I’m sure it is. The island is to be officially closed once the last few come to the hospital. Those who returned earlier will come with them and be accommodated here.’

‘What about the priest?’

‘He’s going to the monastery at Ierapetra.’

‘What are you going to do?’

Yannis sank his head in his hands. ‘I don’t know. I wanted to go back. I could try petitioning the government, beg them to let us return.’

‘Why, Yannis? What’s the point? You have a home here, and it must be more comfortable than the island. This is a new start for you, to enable you to put all the bad years out of your mind.’

‘I want my independence. I’m just a charity case over here. Looked after, fed, clothed, housed, nothing more than a parasite.’

‘That’s not true. You work in the stores and money is deducted for your living expenses.’ Dora tried to reason with him.

‘I’ve only got that for one more week. Vassilis is well enough to return.’

‘Why don’t you go and visit your sister for a while?’

‘And be a parasite to her and Yiorgo?’

Dora sighed. Whatever she said appeared to be wrong. ‘Maybe they could find you another job in the hospital.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe helping on a ward as I do.’

Yannis shook his head vehemently. ‘I don’t like sick people.’

Dora looked at him in disbelief, finally it dawned on her that he was completely serious and she could contain herself no longer, she began to laugh, her amusement growing until she was quite helpless, the tears rolling down her cheeks.

Yannis looked at her with annoyance. He saw nothing to laugh at. He waited for her mirth to subside, feeling it beginning to affect him, although he still had no idea why she was laughing. He began to smile and then to laugh with her.

‘Oh, Yannis, you are funny.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

‘What did I say?’

Dora began to giggle again. ‘That you don’t like sick people.’

‘It’s true.’

‘But you’ve spent years with them.’

‘That was different. We weren’t ill; we were…’ Yannis’s voice trailed away.

‘Sick?’ prompted Dora, and giggled more than ever. This time she controlled herself more quickly. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laughed.’

‘Laughing never hurt anyone, and that’s the first time I’ve laughed since I’ve been here. Why have they done it to me, Dora?’

‘I don’t think it was meant personally. It isn’t feasible to keep a tiny community supplied at great expense when they can have all they need here.’

‘It’s taking away our liberty. I’ll appeal to the Court of Human Rights.’ Yannis waved the letter in the air.

‘Do you think you would be taken very seriously? Those who wanted to go back had nowhere else to go. Don’t make any rash decisions until you’ve spoken to them again. If they want to return as much as you then it could be worth your while trying to get the decision reversed.’

‘If only there were more of us. I see now why they brought us over a few at a time. They had this planned from the start.’

Yannis waited impatiently for the last of the islanders to arrive at the hospital. Spiro greeted him joyfully. ‘I’ve brought all your belongings, Yannis. Packed them myself.’ He looked round the tiny room. ‘It’s good to be back.’

‘What?’ Yannis was genuinely shocked. ‘You wanted to come back?’

‘We all did. Why? What’s wrong?’

‘I thought I could at least count on you.’ Yannis turned away from his friend, bitterly disappointed.

‘Now be reasonable, Yannis. No one but a fool or a raving mad man would go back and live on that island. Would you go back to a house that was cold and draughty? Having to walk to the top of the hill to get a bucket of water to wash your clothes, wait for a boat to come over before you could decide what you would have for lunch? Besides, it’s so lonely. It’s like living in a morgue. The shops and tavernas are closed down, there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do, hardly anyone to talk to. Even Manolis is in a hurry to get away and has cut his trips to once a week. The island’s dead, a cemetery. Leave it like that, in peace for those who never left. Here we can start again. Have a new life, forget what we suffered and the painful memories.’

Yannis shook his head. ‘How can I forget Phaedra and Anna?’

‘You won’t, but at least you’ll be able to accept it. There won’t be the continual reminders. The geraniums that she and Flora planted, the curtains that she made, the rug.’

‘Didn’t you bring them?’ Yannis looked at Spiro in horror.

‘What was the point? You don’t need them here. I brought all your books and papers. That took up four crates and I don’t know where you think you’ll put them.’

Yannis sighed. ‘Then you won’t back me in trying to get the decision to close the island reversed?’

Spiro looked at his friend levelly. ‘Yannis, I’ve been with you in every one of your crazy schemes from the first time we met in hospital, but not this. Be thankful for the way things have turned out. I am. Everyone else is. Father Minos held a special service just before we left. We wished you’d been there. He thanked God for sending you to the island. Called you our saviour. Had it not been for you we would all have mouldered the rest of our lives away on that lump of rock. You made people remember we were there. You fought for us and for our rights, and now you’re the one who wants to throw them away.’

Colour had suffused Yannis’s cheeks. ‘Am I really being so ungrateful and unreasonable?’

‘You are. Now, let’s forget all about it and go and enjoy ourselves.’

Together they strolled to Amonia Square and selected a table where they could watch the teeming life of the city passing before their eyes. Students, late for lectures hurried by, the flower seller on the corner, offering her rapidly wilting posies to all who passed her, the shoppers, strolling leisurely, the blind beggar, his stick tapping warily as he made slow progress, the scene shifted continually.

‘This is what I missed most.’ Spiro settled back comfortably in his chair. ‘Life.’

Yannis did not reply. He was struggling to come to terms with the inevitable.

For three years Yannis stayed in his room at the hospital, gradually accepting the change. From a day-to-day existence he slowly made plans for the future. He would accept the charity offered him by the hospital, but only for so long as it suited him. He had written to Yiorgo and asked him to send his share of the money left by his father. His weekly pension was used up mostly on writing materials and stamps, keeping in touch with his cousin in Heraklion and Annita and Elias in America. He read the latest medical reports from the periodicals in the hospital library and often wrote replies or comments to the editor, until finally an abridged letter from him was published.

‘Why don’t you write an article and send it to them?’ suggested Spiro.

‘What could I write about?’

‘Life on an island.’

‘The government would love that!’

‘Not if you slanted it the right way, saying how bad the old days were and how good everything is now.’

Yannis had laughed, but the idea had taken root in his mind. He began to jot down incidents as they occurred to him, making them tragic or humorous as the occasion demanded until he began to spend more and more time sitting at his table with a sheaf of papers before him, correcting and polishing each piece of writing until he was satisfied it could be no better. Finally he posted it, almost asking for its return as the stamps were stuck on and it was tossed into a sack.

The reply he was waiting for was disappointing. The editor had returned his pages saying they were unsuitable for publication in the medical periodical, but suggesting he sent them to one of the largest publishing houses in Athens, where he thought they might show some interest. Yannis pushed them aside. Postage was expensive. Spiro and Dora urged him to send them.

‘You’ve nothing to lose, Yannis.’

‘My postage,’ he replied. ‘I’m trying to save money.’

‘What for?’ Spiro was curious.

‘I’m leaving the hospital.’

Dora’s face blanched. ‘Where are you going? To your sister’s?’

‘I’ve decided I’ve been here long enough in this tiny, cramped room. I’m for ever falling over books, so I’m going to buy an apartment.’

Spiro whistled. ‘Yannis, that takes money.’

‘I have money. My father left me a small amount and I invested it. Provided I’m fairly careful I should be able to afford a modest apartment.’

‘All the more reason to send those articles away. Think of the money you could make if they’re accepted and published.’

‘And think of the money I’ll waste by continually sending them and having them returned to me. No, they’re just rubbish.’ Yannis dropped the parcel into his bin. ‘Come with me and buy a paper and I’ll start looking for somewhere to live.’

Dora followed him to the door. Spiro hesitated; then scooped the parcel from the rubbish bin. ‘I’ll just get a pullover and I’ll be with you.’ He hurried down the passage to his own room, pushing the parcel out of sight under his bed.

The newspaper proved something of a disappointment. There were few apartments advertised and the prices being asked were ridiculously high. He could just about afford to buy one of them, but there was no way he could afford to live in it.

‘I’ll just have to wait a little longer. When I thought of this idea property was far more reasonable. Maybe it will go down in a few months.’

For the rest of the day and most of the night he turned the problem over in his mind, falling into a deep sleep in the early hours of the morning. When he awoke he found he had missed breakfast at the cafeteria and cursed again the fact that he had to live in the hospital and not be able to do exactly as he pleased. He began to shave carefully, studying the face that looked back at him. He was fifty-one, although he looked a good ten years older, his hair was so white. He had twenty, maybe thirty years ahead of him and he had to do something during that time. Maybe he should try to send his papers to another publisher as had been suggested. His face half lathered he returned to the bed-sitting room and reached into the rubbish bin. Empty. It could not be true. He had only put them in there late yesterday afternoon and the rubbish bin was never emptied until the next day. Surely he would have woken had they entered his room earlier. He towelled his face off hurriedly and rushed to Spiro, bursting in without a preliminary knock.

Spiro looked up in surprise. ‘What’s wrong? Why weren’t you at breakfast?’

‘My papers! Where are they?’

Spiro pulled the parcel from under his bed. ‘I’ve got them. I thought you might have a change of heart.’

Yannis slumped down on a chair. ‘You might have told me.’

‘The mood you were in yesterday you would have thrown them into the incinerator. You’re going to send them, then?’

Yannis nodded. ‘I’ll try. If I could sell them I could add the money to the little I’ve already got. I’m determined to get out of here somehow.’ Yannis cradled the package in his arms. ‘Thank you, Spiro. I’ll see you when I’ve been to the post office.’

Walking to the post office Yannis turned over the problem of his finances in his mind. So engrossed was he that he bumped into a priest hurrying in the opposite direction. The priest reminded him of Andreas. He stopped and returned hurriedly to the hospital, rushing into Spiro’s room as unceremoniously as before.

‘I’ve got it. I’ve got the answer.’

Spiro looked at Yannis patiently. ‘What answer?’

‘To the apartment. Andreas has the money.’

Spiro frowned. ‘I know I’m not as quick as you, but what are you talking about?’

‘Don’t you remember? After the government were shot the doctor went to Andreas. Before he committed suicide he handed over all the money he’d kept back from the hospital patients. Andreas put it in the bank until it was decided how to share it out. It must still be there. There’s so few of us left it could be a small fortune.’

‘Yannis, I do believe you have something there.’

‘I’ll write to Andreas today.’

‘How many of you are left to share it?’

‘Three, but I think it would be fairer if we all had a share, if there’s enough, of course. I’m going to write to Andreas then I’ll go to the post office with the letter and the parcel.’

‘You’ve still not had a coffee.’

‘I’ll have it later. This is more important.’

Yannis banged the door shut and Spiro smiled to himself. Yannis was getting better, gradually forgetting that his one desire had been to return to the island. It seemed he was only truly happy when tackling what appeared to be impossible.

The financial news from Andreas was good, better than Yannis had dared to hope. The whole transaction would have to be done through solicitors and a considerable time would have to elapse to allow any relatives to come forward and their claim be investigated. Yannis replied that he would leave the details to Andreas and trust him to place the whole affair in the hands of a reputable firm, asking only that an interim payment be made to him as soon as possible with the balance to follow when the solicitors were satisfied that all claimants had been recompensed.

He began to study advertisements for apartments with renewed interest, eventually whittling his choice down to a particular area of the city where he would be reasonably close to the hospital, yet away from the fumes and noise. The area had been developed tastefully after the war with small blocks of flats set in broad roads. He spoke to Spiro, asking him to visit with him, and waited for his reaction.

‘Very nice; you should be quite comfortable here.’

‘What about you? There’s another going next door. I thought you might like to take that?’

Spiro shook his head. ‘I’m content where I am. Why should I bother to buy an apartment and furnish it when I can live well enough at the hospital? Besides, I’d have to go back to doing my own cooking and cleaning and it just doesn’t appeal to me any longer. You should think about it seriously, Yannis.’