YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1)

by Beryl Darby

  ‘We’re here.’

  Yannis gathered his bundles and left the bus. He looked around, feeling very nervous and approached the driver. ‘Can you help me, please? I have to go to this address.’ He dug the piece of paper from his pocket and showed it to the man.

  The driver read it and called to his friend. ‘Look where he’s going!’

  His friend looked at the scrawled address and sniggered. ‘Why don’t we all go?’

  ‘My wife would kill me! Walk up the hill there, boy, until you come to Eleftherias Square. You want the main road, Konstantinou, follow it down until it becomes Kalokerinou. Ask again round there. Anyone will be able to direct you. I just hope you can afford it.’

  ‘Thank you. My father has already paid.’ The two men doubled up with laughter that bewildered Yannis.

  The sun struck Yannis with full force as he made his way up the deserted road towards the Square. To his relief when he reached the top of the hill there were a number of small tavernas and he was able to enter a gloomy interior and sit in the welcome coolness with a cup of coffee. He opened the package Elena had prepared for him, but re-wrapped it when he saw the taverna owner watching him. He ordered another coffee and lingered as long as he dared before returning to the hot sunshine.

  The main road was easy to find and he gazed entranced at the shops, one after another they stretched as far as he could see. He wished his mother could see all the craft and embroidery shops; she would have a ready market for her work. He almost made a detour into the market, which was bright, noisy and enticing on the other side of the road, but his cumbersome bundles deterred him. He decided to squat in a welcome patch of shade and eat whatever the cloth held in the way of food. No one took the slightest notice of him and he realised how very alone he was for the first time in his life.

  The realisation destroyed his appetite. Pushing the remains of the roll and cheese back into the cloth he rose and dusted the crumbs from his trousers. He must find the taverna. They were expecting him and they would be company, albeit they were strangers.

  He had no difficulty in finding where the road became Kalokerinou and Yannis asked at the first shop for directions. The man in the gift shop regarded him curiously, but told him the simplest way to find his destination. Yannis turned into a maze of side streets and walked far further than necessary before reaching the correct street. He was walking on the opposite side of the road and regarded the taverna with interest. It looked clean, despite being in need of a coat of paint, also, to his dismay, it looked deserted. He crossed the road and tried the door, but it did not yield. He knocked, then again more loudly. He dumped his bundles on the step and leaned against the wall. He would just have to wait. He returned to the shaded side of the road and sat down on a doorstep feeling thoroughly miserable. He had expected to arrive in Heraklion with Mr Pavlakis and be welcomed, not be alone and locked out from the only address he had.

  It seemed an age before he saw a young woman open the door of the taverna and disappear inside. He waited a few moments, gathered his possessions, crossed the road and knocked hard on the door, opening it as he did so. The woman had her back to him and she turned with a smile as she heard the door.

  ‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Yannis. Are you Louisa?’

  She nodded, a small frown playing between her eyes. ‘Yannis?’

  ‘I’m with Mr Pavlakis, but he’s been delayed. He’ll catch a later bus.’

  ‘I see. Why was Yiorgo delayed?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Would it be all right to go to my room? I’m sick of carrying these bundles.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Yannis followed the girl up the wooden stairs to the two rooms he and Mr Pavlakis were to occupy and placed his belongings thankfully on the floor.

  ‘Is there somewhere I can wash? I feel filthy after that long bus ride.’

  Louisa nodded and led him back down the stairs to the kitchen where she showed him the tap let into the wall, underneath stood an earthenware pot.

  ‘If you want hot water it has to be heated on the stove.’

  ‘I’m used to cold. May I take some to my room?’

  ‘As you please. Come back down when you’ve unpacked. My brother will be back shortly.’

  Yannis carried a heavy jug of water back to his room. He removed all his belongings from his bags and placed them carefully inside the chest. His books and precious pieces of pottery, along with his coin, he placed on a shelf, then he removed his shirt and washed the dust and sweat from his body. He was beginning to feel distinctly better, but very tired. He loosened his boots and lay back on the bed, hoping he would not roll off when he was asleep. He had only ever slept on a mattress on the floor before.

  An insistent tapping awaked him. He rose and flung the door open, expecting to see Mr Pavlakis. A stranger stood there, who held out his hand and smiled. ‘Welcome to Heraklion. I’m Pavlos. Louisa told me you’d arrived.’

  Yannis shook Pavlos’s hand and smiled back. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’

  ‘I hear Yiorgo has been delayed, but never mind. Come down and see what Louisa has prepared for our supper.’

  Yannis followed Pavlos into the taverna. There were a few young men seated at a table who stared at the boy curiously. Pavlos motioned him to a seat and called to his sister to bring them some wine and their meal. Yannis looked at the men, then at Pavlos. They all wore black trousers that buttoned at the front and white shirts, beneath the table their boots shone.

  ‘Does everyone wear clothes like this in town?’

  Pavlos looked at Yannis’s traditional baggy trousers, then at the men and shrugged. ‘Usually.’

  ‘I’ll have to get some. Pappa was right when he told me to buy my new clothes when I arrived and saw the fashions.’

  ‘You don’t have clothes like this at home?’

  ‘Oh, yes, but they’re not very practical when you’re working on a farm or a boat. I gave my best clothes to my younger brother, as they were getting too small for me. He’ll wear them on Sundays as I used to do.’

  Pavlos nodded understandingly, wishing Yiorgo Pavlakis were there. What did one talk about to a country boy?

  Yiorgo Pavlakis awoke, his head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton wool. He tried to rise and fell back, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight. He opened them again as his memory jolted him back to reality.

  ‘The bus!’ he exclaimed.

  He rose from the narrow bed as quickly as he was able, swaying slightly and feeling nauseous as he stood and splashed his face with cold water. A glance at his pocket watch told him he had missed the bus and he sank back onto the bed with a groan. Why had his landlady not woken him as he had asked? He groped his way down the dark stairway to where he could hear the woman at work in her kitchen. She looked at him in disgust as he entered.

  ‘Awake at last, are you? Have you got a civil tongue in your head now?’

  ‘Why didn’t you call me? I’ve overslept and missed the bus, you stupid old woman.’

  ‘Stupid, am I? Not as stupid as those who drink themselves senseless. Have to be brought home by their friends and put to bed!’

  ‘You didn’t call me,’ shouted Mr Pavlakis.

  ‘I called you three times. I even shook you to wake you up. What was I supposed to do? Carry you to the bus? After the way you shouted at me and told me to leave you alone!’ She snorted and turned away to continue her cleaning.

  Yiorgo sank into a chair. ‘You didn’t call me,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve missed the bus. How am I supposed to get to Heraklion now?’

  ‘Catch the next one.’

  ‘The next one is Monday and I have to be there by Monday morning.’

  ‘You could walk.’

  ‘I could, but my trunk cannot.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask Costas? He may be willing to take your trunk next time he goes.’

  ‘Of course.’ Mr Pavlakis sprang to his feet. ‘Maybe he’s going up today.’<
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  He rushed from the house and through the streets to the home of the van driver. He was a drinking acquaintance, but could hardly be called a friend. On reaching the house Mr Pavlakis pounded on the door until it was finally opened a crack.

  ‘What do you want? Oh, it’s you.’

  ‘Costas, are you going to Heraklion today? I’ve missed the bus and I have to be in Heraklion by Monday.’

  Costas opened the door wider. ‘You’d better come in.’ Mr Pavlakis followed him to the kitchen where he was invited to sit and a cup of coffee was placed before him. ‘Now what’s all this about Heraklion? I’ve only just woken up.’

  ‘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.