YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1)

by Beryl Darby

  Yannis remembered his conversation with his father. ‘You might meet someone. One of your sick people that you want to look after.’

  ‘Yannis don’t joke.’

  ‘I’m not joking. I’ve heard that people can become very fond of others who are dependent upon them. Maybe when you’ve done some training here you could come to Heraklion?’

  Annita shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly, Yannis. If we said we wanted to be in Heraklion together they would certainly say no. All the time they think we are just friends with no ideas for the future we can do as we please. The moment they think we have other ideas someone will always be with us, watching what we do. Look at Maria and Babbis. The village watches them as they walk down the street. You or I were supposed to be with them if they went anywhere. I don’t want it to be like that.’

  Yannis took her hands. ‘I wish now that I was staying here longer.’ He pulled his cousin towards him and kissed her very gently, revelling in the novelty of the sensations she aroused in him. ‘We should go down. Your Mamma will be wondering what’s happened to us. Come with me to find Mr Pavlakis. You can say you want to tell him your news.’

  ‘Don’t be long, Yannis. I want you to help me with some fishing for a couple of hours,’ called Yiorgo.

  Yannis sighed. He had not expected to have to go fishing on his last evening in Aghios Nikolaos.

  Once outside Yannis hesitated. ‘I expect he’s at the taverna, saying goodbye to his friends.’

  Yannis was right. At the taverna Mr Pavlakis was surrounded by his acquaintances, empty bottles and glasses stood around and toasts to his future success were being drunk. Mr Pavlakis waved them in to join him.

  ‘You can’t go in there,’ Yannis decided. ‘Wait here. I won’t be long.’

  He pushed his way forward to where his teacher was standing unsteadily with his glass raised. ‘What time does the bus go tomorrow, please?’

  ‘The bus?’ Mr Pavlakis looked puzzled.

  ‘Tomorrow we’re catching the bus to Heraklion. What time does it leave, please?’

  ‘Oh, tomorrow! Tomorrow I shall see Louisa again. Drink, my friends, drink to Louisa. The most beautiful girl in the world.’

  A glass was thrust into Yannis’s hand and he had no choice but to drink the rough wine. ‘What time does the bus go?’ he tried again.

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Come and enjoy yourself.’ Mr Pavlakis splashed more wine into Yannis’s glass. ‘Drink. Drink to Louisa.’

  Yannis raised his glass in salutation, then placed it on the table and slipped back through the little gathering to the door where Annita was waiting. She raised her eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘He’s drunk. I couldn’t get any sense out of him. Let’s go to the bus station.’ Yannis took her hand and they strolled along the almost deserted streets together. Once they reached the main part of the town they released hands and walked side by side until they arrived at an area of rough ground where the bus, which ran from Aghios Nikolaos to Heraklion, was parked when not in use. From the wooden shack, which sold sweets, cigarettes, lottery tickets and a weekly newspaper, information about the time of the bus was given and tickets could be bought.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  The man dragged his eyes from a three-day-old newspaper.

  ‘Can you tell me what time the bus for Heraklion leaves tomorrow morning, please?’

  ‘Ten.’ He dropped his eyes again to the newspaper.

  ‘Thank you.’ Yannis turned to Annita. ‘I hope he’s told me correctly. Come on, we’d best get back. Your Pappa will be waiting for me.’

  ‘There is Pappa,’ said Annita in surprise and pointed across the road to where her father was speaking to a small boy who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘He must be looking for us.’ Together they strolled across the street. ‘I’m not late, am I?’ asked Yannis.

  Yiorgo shook his head. ‘No, I was looking for Andreas. I’ve seen most of his friends and they don’t know where he is. I wondered if he’d wandered over this side of town. He seems to disappear without anyone knowing where he goes. Have you seen him?’

  Both Yannis and Annita shook their heads. ‘He used to do the same when we were at Plaka, he always turned up again, though.’ Yannis felt guilty that he had never enquired into his cousin’s whereabouts.

  ‘Shall we help you look?’ asked Annita.

  ‘No,’ Yiorgo sighed. ‘He’ll doubtless turn up when he’s hungry. You two go on. I’m going for a glass of wine.’

  Yiorgo sat in morose silence as he toyed with his glass. He realised for the first time that he hardly knew his son. A vague feeling of concern assailed him, which his common sense told him was stupid. Andreas was a naturally quiet, self-disciplined boy, who kept his own council. He could be relied upon not to have done anything foolish. Yiorgo sighed deeply, placed a few coins on the table and left. He walked down the hill until he reached the church and there he saw Andreas standing on the steps talking to the priest. Yiorgo stopped in surprise and waited until Andreas saw him and walked over.

  ‘Hello, Pappa.’

  ‘Have you been naughty, Andreas?’

  ‘No, Pappa.’

  ‘Why did you need to see the priest?’

  ‘I wanted to tell him I was staying home this evening as Yannis is here, so I couldn’t come for instruction.’

  Yiorgo looked at his son. ‘What instruction?’

  ‘The instruction Father Dhakanalis gives me.’ Andreas was being evasive.

  ‘Don’t you understand the services?’

  ‘Of course I understand, Pappa.’

  ‘Then why do you go for instruction?’

  Andreas took a deep breath. ‘I want to be a priest.’

  ‘You want to…?’ Yiorgo could not believe his ears.

  ‘I want to be a priest,’ Andreas repeated.

  Yiorgo walked a few steps in silence. Pride and sadness fought inside him. ‘You’re sure? It means a life spent bound by rigid laws, no wife, no children, continually putting the welfare of others before your own.’

  ‘I know, Pappa, but that’s what I want.’

  ‘Have you told your mother?’

  ‘I’ve told no one. People might laugh at me.’

  ‘Why should they laugh? It’s a good, honourable profession.’

  Andreas shrugged. ‘Some people wouldn’t understand how I feel. To me it’s the only thing worth doing.’

  Yiorgo looked at his son in disbelief. ‘You won’t make any money as a priest.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. I just want to help people.’

  ‘If that’s how you really feel.’ Yiorgo shrugged. Who was he to insist that his son became a fisherman if he had been called to the church? As they entered the house Yiorgo shouted to his wife. ‘Elena, Andreas has some news for you.’

  ‘What is it?’

  Andreas grinned a little sheepishly. ‘I want to be a priest, Mamma.’

  ‘A priest!’ She was incredulous. ‘My son a priest!’

  ‘If I’m clever enough; I’ll have to pass exams.’

  ‘You’ll pass them,’ said Elena with confidence. ‘You’re a clever boy. A good boy. I’m so proud, so pleased.’ She sank into a chair and fanned herself with her apron

  Andreas winced. He hated to be called good. ‘Please don’t tell anyone, not even Annita and Yannis.’

  ‘Why ever not? They’ll be pleased for you.’ Elena was surprised by his request.

  ‘They might tell people who would whisper and laugh at me.’

  ‘They wouldn’t dare!’ Elena was indignant.

  ‘They wouldn’t understand. Please, Mamma, promise me.’

  ‘We must do as he asks, Elena. Suppose he changes his mind? If we’ve told everyone he has a vocation for the priesthood he would certainly be laughed at then.’

  Elena was disappointed. She had immediately planned to tell her neighbours, but Andreas was still young to make such a
decision.

  ‘I have to go,’ Yiorgo reached for his jacket. ‘Where’s Yannis? Have he and Annita come back yet?’

  ‘They’re upstairs. Go and call them, Andreas. Tell them Pappa’s waiting.’

  Andreas mounted the stairs quietly and pushed open the bedroom door. ‘Oh!’ He stopped, blushing with embarrassment as the two sprung apart. He closed the door behind him. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea.’

  Yannis squeezed Annita gently to him. ‘We had no idea either, until today.’

  ‘Are Mamma and Pappa pleased?’

  ‘We haven’t told them yet. You won’t say anything; will you, Andreas? You know how it is once parents think a couple are courting. They never have a minute alone.’ Annita turned beseeching eyes upon her brother.

  ‘I shan’t tell them. Yannis goes away tomorrow, so they couldn’t chaperone you anyway.’

  ‘Mamma would want to tell everyone,’ persisted Annita.

  ‘I know!’ Andreas’s comment was heartfelt. ‘Actually I came up to tell Yannis that Pappa is ready to leave. I’ll tell him you’re just getting a pullover.’ He slipped out of the room, leaving them for a last few moments alone.

  The tide was exactly as Yiorgo had known it would be when he slipped the mooring rope and headed towards the open sea.

  ‘Which way?’ asked Yannis.

  ‘Lobster pots,’ Yiorgo answered briefly. ‘I laid them on my way to meet you.’

  Yannis nodded. At least this work would be pleasant. He hated hauling in the net, full of wet, slippery fish, which had to be sorted and made you smell like a fish yourself. Pulling in pots, removing lobsters or crabs and tying their claws was clean, easy work by comparison. Yiorgo steered near to a rocky headland and the two boys leant over the side, attaching a rope to the loop on each pot.

  ‘How many?’ called Andreas.

  ‘Fifteen,’ answered Yiorgo, intent on avoiding a sharp reef that he knew lay just beneath the surface.

  The roping of the pots completed Yiorgo relinquished the oars to the boys, who made a half circle turn out towards the open sea, then rowed back slowly, giving Yiorgo time to hoist each pot aboard.

  Once back on the quay they removed the lobsters from the pots, tying their claws and placing them in a galvanised bath with some old netting at the bottom. It made Yannis feel unaccountably sad to see them, their antennae searching for a way of escape, whilst their legs became more deeply entangled in the net.

  ‘I would hate to be a lobster,’ he remarked as he began to check the pots for damage. ‘One minute you’re crawling along the sand looking for lunch and the next you’re whisked up through the water, trussed up and sent off to be cooked for lunch. It’s a good job they don’t know what’s in store for them.’

  ‘Do we?’ asked Andreas.

  Yannis stared at him thoughtfully. ‘I suppose not, but at least we know we’re not going to be captured and cooked. Hurry up. There are only a couple of pots to mend. I’m hungry.’

  The pots repaired they hurried back up the hill and were greeted by the savoury smell of lobster. ‘I don’t believe it. It isn’t a name day.’

  Andreas said nothing. He knew his father had captured two lobsters the day before and set them aside for Yannis’s last meal with them. Taking Yannis out fishing had been an excuse to get him from the house whilst they were being finally prepared.

  ‘I am honoured,’ mumbled Yannis with embarrassment. ‘You always said you only had them on special occasions like Elena’s birthday.’

  ‘This is a special occasion.’ Yiorgo raised his glass. ‘This is to wish you success and good fortune, Yannis. We will miss you. Just remember you always have a home here.’

  Beneath the table Yannis squeezed Annita’s hand. He rose with his glass held aloft. ‘I should just like to say thank you. Without you giving me a home none of this would have been possible. I promise I’ll work very hard and hope you’ll never regret having had me for this last year.’

  Throughout the evening neighbours and school friends would knock the door, staying for a glass of wine to toast Yannis on his way. Yannis’s head was beginning to spin and the buzzing in his ears was disconcerting. He sidled over to his uncle.

  ‘Can I go to bed? I know everyone means well, but I’ve had more than enough to drink, and I’m tired.’

  Yiorgo grinned. ‘Wait until you come back from Heraklion. You’ll be used to drinking half the night by then and think nothing of it. Off you go. I’ll tell people you have to rise early.’

  Thankfully Yannis slipped away up the stairs. Once in his bed he knew no more until the room lightened. He tried to raise his head from the pillow and groaned.

  ‘What is it?’ Andreas paused in the act of buttoning his shirt.’

  ‘My head. It feels as though it will burst.’

  Andreas grinned at him. ‘You probably had too much to drink. I’ll go down and get some coffee on. You’ll soon be all right.’

  Yannis tried again to struggle up into a sitting position. The room seemed to sway slightly. Cautiously he placed his feet on the floor and an overwhelming desire to be sick overtook him, all weaknesses forgotten, he rushed down the stairs and out to the yard. Feeling a little better he staggered into the kitchen where Andreas regarded him with amusement.

  ‘I’ve made your coffee. I suggest you drink two or three cups. I’ll get your trousers.’

  Yannis looked down at his bare legs. ‘Please, and a pullover, I’m freezing.’ He sipped at the scalding coffee. His head began to clear a little and he remembered he had a bus to catch. He emitted a groan and sipped again at the coffee.

  Annita entered, ‘You’re early,’ she commented; then giggled at the sight of Yannis’s bare legs. ‘No wonder you’re early, you’ve forgotten to dress.’

  ‘Stop it, Annita. I feel terrible.’

  Immediately Annita became all concern. ‘What is it? Are you ill?’

  ‘No.’ Yannis tried to shake his head and emitted another loud groan.

  ‘Have you got a pain somewhere?’

  ‘I drank too much last night.’ Yannis sipped again at the coffee.

  ‘You’ll soon feel better. Drink more coffee. I’ll get your trousers.’ Annita had often seen her father in far worse condition after a night of merry making.

  ‘Andreas is getting them. I do feel terrible. I think I might be sick again.’

  ‘Serves you right.’ Annita helped herself to a cup of coffee. Now that she knew Yannis was suffering from nothing more serious than a hangover she had no sympathy for him.

  Yannis made another dash for the yard as Andreas returned with his clothes. He dumped them on the chair and shrugged his shoulders at his sister. ‘It’s probably a good thing he’s feeling ill. He’ll be far less inclined to drink too much in Heraklion.’

  On shaky legs Yannis returned to the kitchen, sitting down to put his feet into his trousers and holding onto the table to keep his balance whilst he pulled them up. ‘I’ll never drink again,’ he vowed.

  ‘Yes you will. You’ll forget after a while. I’ve heard Pappa say that so many times, and I expect your Pappa has said the same. Everyone does when they feel ill.’

  Yannis groaned again and held his head in his hands.

  ‘You’d better eat.’ Annita pushed a roll across the table to him. ‘When you’ve had that you can go back up and sleep for a while. I’ll wake you in plenty of time for the bus.’

  Miserably Yannis did as he was bid and clawed his way back up the stairs and lay on his bed. It seemed only a matter of moments before Annita was shaking him awake. To his relief he felt better and was able to stand without his head spinning. He appeared downstairs and grinned sheepishly at his aunt and uncle.

  ‘I’m sorry. Your farewell party was a little too much for me.’

  Yiorgo nodded sympathetically. ‘Elena’s made you some lunch to take with you. Collect your bags. We should be off.’

  Yannis splashed his face under the tap, che
cked that his precious bundle of money was safely packed away and followed his relatives from the house. The bus was standing on the waste ground and Yannis purchased the necessary ticket. He embraced Elena, shook hands with Yiorgo and Andreas and kissed them formally on both cheeks. Lastly he turned to Annita, her eyes moist with unshed tears. Taking her in his arms he kissed her cheeks.

  ‘Don’t cry,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll be back soon. Write to me and tell me all about your sick people. You’ve got my address, haven’t you?’

  Annita attempted a watery smile. ‘If you don’t write back to me I’ll come looking for you.’

  He gave Annita a last quick kiss. ‘I have to go.’ He jumped up the steps onto the bus, pushed his bundles under the seat and waved from the window to the little group as the bus revved its engine and moved forward slowly.

  Bumping and rocking the bus made its way ponderously over the waste ground until it reached the dirt road and began to climb the hill towards the square, hooting to warn pedestrians that it was on its way. They coasted down the other side towards the pool and Yannis clapped his hand to his head.

  ‘Oh, no! I’ve forgotten Mr Pavlakis.’ Yannis rose from his seat and walked down the bus.

  ‘Sit down,’ called the driver. ‘You’re not allowed to walk around.’

  ‘I want you to stop,’ called back Yannis. The other passengers craned their necks to see what the interruption was.

  ‘Why? Are you ill?’

  ‘No. A friend of mine should be on this bus. Can you wait whilst I go and fetch him?’

  ‘Sit down! I can let you off, but I’m not waiting.’

  Yannis sat down miserably in his seat. It was hot and stuffy on the bus and Yannis pressed his head against the glass to try to cool his forehead. The journey to Heraklion seemed endless. For a while the bus travelled through countryside, dipping down to Neapolis, before returning to the coast where the sea threatened to lap at the tyres at any moment. After a run on level ground they began to climb and Yannis looked at the drop below the dirt road with some trepidation. The driver seemed totally unconcerned, chatting to his companion, or bringing the bus to a screeching halt to pick up a stray traveller. Yannis continued to look out of the window until a larger town than he had ever imagined loomed into view and the bus began to thread its way through narrow streets, hooting loudly at each corner. Slowly it crawled up one hill and down the next, finally halting beside a small wooden hut. The engine was cut and the driver climbed out.