by Beryl Darby
Andreas waited until she had shuffled away; then produced the dog-eared piece of paper again. ‘Please can you tell me how to get to this address?’
‘What does it say?’ The orange seller peered at it.
Andreas read the address out to the man who shrugged. ‘Could be anywhere. Who runs it?’
‘A brother and sister.’
‘Sounds like Louisa’s place. Turn down there.’ A grubby finger pointed to a narrow alley. ‘About half way along turn right, then turn left at the end of the road and sharp right again. If you get lost ask for Louisa’s. Everyone knows her place.’
Thanking him Andreas started off down the alley and took the appropriate turns. After the bustle of the main streets the area appeared deserted. At the far end of the street an old woman, dressed in the habitual black of a widow, was sitting in her doorway.
‘Excuse me, ma’am, can you tell me the way to Louisa’s please?’
Rheumy eyes looked at him. ‘Round the corner. She’s not there now, though.’
Andreas thanked her and hurried round the corner where he could see the taverna. He pushed at the door, which did not yield, then hammered on it, standing back to see if anyone had heard him.
‘What do you want?’ A voice called from the opposite side of the road.
He spun round gratefully. ‘Is this Louisa’s?’
She nodded. ‘You’re at the right place, but there’s no one in. Pavlos has gone to work. He’ll be back this evening. His sister’s away.’
Andreas felt deflated. ‘Thank you, I’ll come back later.’
He wandered down the narrow street and to his surprise found he was close to the harbour. He gazed at the fishing boats in delight. He would surely find a fisherman who knew his father and would be willing to give him a bed for the night. As he neared them he was surprised. Not a single fisherman was mending a net or swilling down his deck. Andreas was puzzled. At home there was always a certain amount of activity. Further out in the sheltered bay was a large ship, a white flag with a red cross fluttering from the mast. By screwing up his eyes Andreas could see there were people aboard, moving slowly about their business.
Losing interest, he walked on, admiring the fort that stood guarding the harbour entrance, wondering if Yannis had visited it. Vaguely he wondered where the museum was and if Yannis was there. As the thought struck him he cursed himself for being foolish. Of course Yannis would be there. He hurried along to the waste ground where the bus had deposited him and back up the hill to the Square, entering the first taverna he saw. Breathlessly he asked for directions to the museum.
‘Over there.’
He walked over to the dingy building. The door was locked. Of course, it was Monday. Museums and libraries were always closed on a Monday. He leaned against the wall and took stock of his surroundings. He might as well explore the town. The road curved, following the contours of the massive stone wall that ran as far as he could see. He guessed it was the old boundary wall of the city so he was hardly likely to walk far from the centre. The further he went the poorer the area seemed to be, the houses more neglected, the occupants gazing at him curiously, children running after him and begging for a coin, young women leaned from their doorways and smiled and beckoned to him. He looked around wildly as he quickened his stride; there seemed nowhere he could go to avoid the undesirable neighbourhood without turning back. A priest left a house a few doors away and Andreas called to him, panic in his voice. ‘Father. Please, Father, wait for me.’
The priest turned, expecting to see one of his parishioners and to his surprise a young boy who was a total stranger to him stood there. ‘Did you want me?’
‘Please may I walk with you? I’m a stranger here and I’ve wandered away from the centre and lost myself.’
‘Certainly you may walk part of the way with me, then I’ll direct you.’
Andreas breathed a sigh of relief and walked in silence beside the man who called out a greeting or waved to many of the people as they passed. A bell in the distance began to toll mournfully and the priest quickened his pace. Andreas kept up with him, noticing people were following behind them. The priest hurried into a side road where the street widened to form a small square. Drawn up outside the double doors of a building was a large, open cart, half loaded with boxes. The bell seemed to be ringing inside Andreas’s head and he realised it was placed on the roof of the building.
‘What is it? What’s happening?’ Andreas turned to the priest for enlightenment.
The priest had sunk to his knees. ‘They’re moving the lepers.’
Andreas gazed in fascination, tinged with fear, as the men came out in single file and climbed into the cart. They none of them looked particularly ill, just somewhat shabby and apprehensive.
Andreas felt the blood freeze in his veins. His head swam in disbelief as he clutched at the priest’s sleeve. The crowd, which had gathered, were hissing and hurling whatever missile they could lay their hands on. The last man to climb into the cart looked around, unable to believe the sight before him. For a split second his eyes and those of Andreas met.
‘Yannis!’ The exclamation came from the priest and Andreas at the same time. Recognition reached Yannis’s brain as the rock thrown from the crowd hit him on the temple and he fell unconscious amongst the occupants of the cart.
Father Minos was the first to recover. ‘You know him?’
‘He’s my cousin.’ Andreas almost choked on the words.
‘May God forgive me.’ Father Minos crossed himself. ‘The poor boy! All this time.’
‘Where are they taking him?’ Andreas was wild eyed.
‘To the ship. They’ll take them to Athens.’
‘We must stop them.’ Dragging the priest by the arm Andreas began to follow the cart.
Father Minos resisted. ‘I’ve no power to stop them. You must understand that. They’re going to the hospital over there.’
‘I must speak to him. There must be some mistake.’
‘We’ll go to the harbour. Follow me.’
Father Minos gathered his robes in his hand and began to hasten away from the hospital, Andreas following him, his breath coming in panting sobs. They reached the quay as the cart drew up. Father Minos started forward.
‘I wish to speak to one of the men. He was a parishioner of mine.’
The crowd had grown and it seemed to Andreas that the whole population of Heraklion must be at the harbour. Father Minos pushed his way through to where Yannis had been placed on the ground and knelt beside him.
‘Yannis, can you hear me? It’s Father Minos. I didn’t get your message. Yannis, can you hear?’
The inert figure made no response. Andreas bit back his sobs. ‘He’s dead. They’ve killed him.’
Father Minos shook his head. ‘He’s not dead, just stunned.’ He turned to the guard. ‘May I take this man? I’ll look after him and be responsible for him. I believe there may have been a mistake.’
The guard shook his head. ‘There’s no mistake. He’s to go to Athens with the others.’
Andreas tried to lift Yannis’s head. A hail of stones surprised him and he lay across Yannis’s face to try to prevent further injury. Father Minos pulled him back.
‘I told you there was nothing I could do. You must look to yourself. They’ll send you as well if you’re not careful.’
Andreas realised the truth of the priest’s words as those nearest to him began to draw back and whisper “leper”. The priest pulled the boy into a kneeling position and began to pray, Andreas joining him fervently.
As the boat drew away the people began to disperse and Andreas looked around furtively. He waited until Father Minos rose and followed suit. The priest looked at him anxiously.
‘I think you should come back to my house for a while. We can get to know each other and I’d like to hear more about Yannis.’ Not waiting for a reply he led the way up the hill and away from the port. Andreas followed h
im obediently. Once inside the priest’s house he sank down gratefully in a chair whilst Father Minos opened a cupboard and returned with two glasses of brandy.
‘Drink this,’ he ordered. ‘It will make you feel better. It was most unfortunate that you had to witness that ugly scene.’
Andreas sipped at his glass and screwed up his face. ‘That’s horrible.’
‘It’s brandy – for medicinal purposes,’ smiled Father Minos as he emptied his glass. ‘Sip it slowly. It will calm your nerves. Tell me, is that young man really your cousin?’
Andreas nodded. ‘I came here to look for him. He wrote to my sister to say he had returned safely and we’ve not heard a word since.’
Father Minos looked at the boy speculatively. ‘Do your parents know you are in Heraklion?’
Andreas flushed. ‘No one knows I’m here except Annita. She’s betrothed to Yannis. I promised her I’d come if we hadn’t heard from Yannis by Easter. He always stayed with us before going on to Plaka. What’s happened to him?’
Father Minos spread his hands. ‘I don’t know all the facts. I met him when he’d just returned to Heraklion and was rather worried about a letter he’d received from the hospital. We spent a day together. I feel I know you all so well.’ Father Minos poured himself another brandy. ‘I failed him. I shall never forgive myself.’
‘You failed him?’ There was curiosity in Andreas’s tone.
Father Minos nodded. ‘He agreed to come to tell me what had happened at the hospital. I wasn’t in when he arrived and my housekeeper muddled his message and gave it to me a week later. I should have enquired at the hospital.’ He drained his glass a second time.
‘What will happen to him now?’
‘He’ll go to Athens for specialised treatment.’
‘How long will it take?’
‘I’ve no idea. I’m not a doctor. Had you no idea he was sick?’
Andreas shook his head. ‘We just thought he was busy catching up on his studies. I was going to the taverna this evening to see if I could find him. There was no one in earlier.’
‘Strange that they should not have contacted his family,’ observed the priest. ‘His schoolteacher lived there also, I believe. He must have known why Yannis left.’
‘I don’t know. I may have been at the wrong taverna anyway.’ Once again Andreas pulled the scrap of paper from his pocket and handed it to Father Minos.
‘We’ll go along together.’
‘I couldn’t think of anywhere else to go for information.’
‘Why didn’t you go to the museum? Yannis said he spent most of his spare time there.’
‘I did, but it’s closed today.’
‘Monday, of course it’s closed. Do you feel sufficiently recovered to go to the taverna now?’
Andreas nodded; then looked round the room. ‘My bundle? Where is it? I dropped it when they were stoning Yannis.’
‘I expect they loaded it with the boxes. What was in there?’
‘My clothes. I’ll have to tell Mamma where I’ve been and what has happened. Once I’ve done that I doubt she’ll be very worried about a few shirts.’
‘You’re probably right. Have you eaten since breakfast?’
Andreas shook his head. ‘I’ve had a coffee.’
‘We’ll see what they’re serving at that taverna.’
They left together, Andreas wishing he could linger in the church for a while. ‘When do you take a service?’
‘Later this evening. This is really my day off. I only take two services then, one in the early morning and the other in the late evening.’
Andreas nodded, determining to return for the evening service. They walked through mean, narrow streets until they arrived at the taverna Andreas had seen earlier in the day. Pavlos greeted them impersonally and brought the bottle of wine that Father Minos requested.
‘I should like to talk to you for a short while. Please, have a drink with us.’
Pavlos accepted and perched on the edge of a chair.
‘I’d like to talk to you about Yannis. He lived here I believe.’
Pavlos nodded. ‘Until Christmas, then he went home.’
‘Didn’t he return?’
‘Arrived on the Friday and left on the Monday. He left a note saying we could let his room. He went back home.’
‘I understand his teacher lived here with him. Didn’t he say goodbye to him?’
Pavlos wrinkled his forehead. ‘Not that I know of. Yiorgo seemed as puzzled by his sudden departure as I was. He didn’t even ask for his father’s money back.’
‘Do you still have the money?’
Pavlos shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He wished he had not mentioned the money. ‘Not all of it. My sister was married last week.’
‘It’s not important.’ Father Minos looked at Pavlos. ‘I have to tell you that we saw Yannis this afternoon. He was being sent to Athens on the hospital ship.’
The glass Pavlos had been holding slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor. His face became ashen and although his mouth worked no words came. There was only one reason why people were sent to Athens on the hospital ship.
‘I had no idea.’ Pavlos looked at them with terror in his eyes.
‘Did your sister know?’
‘I’m sure she didn’t. She would have told me. We would never have let him a room.’
Father Minos sighed. ‘Yet before you knew of his affliction you were quite happy to take his money?’
‘Please, understand,’ Pavlos defended himself, ‘a leper living in a taverna! No customer would ever go there again.’ His eyes swivelled round the empty tables. ‘We would be ruined. Just as we were getting back on our feet! Please, I beg you, tell no one that he stayed here.’
‘Your sister must be told, and his teacher.’
‘Yes, of course,’ agreed Pavlos. ‘But no one else; please tell no one else. I’ll return his father’s money. I had to give my sister a dowry, you understand. We’ll work hard when my sister returns.’ Suddenly craft took the place of fear in Pavlos’s eyes. ‘If word should get around we would be quite unable to pay anything. We’d have to keep it as compensation for our ruined business.’
Father Minos looked at the young man with contempt. ‘You don’t think Yannis’s father might need compensation for the loss of a son! Come, Andreas.’
They left the taverna, Pavlos still pleading with them for secrecy, walking in silence until they turned the corner. Father Minos placed a hand under Andreas’s elbow to steady his swaying gait.
‘You need some food, but I thought it better not to eat there after all.’
They threaded their way through the dark streets until they reached a taverna by the harbour. ‘They serve a reasonable meal here,’ he remarked. ‘Not a great selection, but wholesome.’ He held up two fingers to the waiter who nodded and began to prepare a salad.
Having eaten moussaka with salad and three hunks of bread Andreas felt considerably better. Father Minos regarded the boy’s healthy appetite with something approaching amusement. He leaned across the table towards him.
‘Now you’re feeling better I think we should have a talk. Where do your parents think you are?’ Father Minos did not want a runaway on his hands.
‘At Ierapetra.’
‘What should you be doing there?’
‘I asked if I could stay at the monastery for a week.’
Father Minos raised his eyebrows. ‘A strange request.’
Andreas shook his head. ‘I want to enter the church,’ he felt the colour flooding his face. ‘I’ve wanted to do so for some years now. I have instruction from my local priest, but I wanted to spend some time living in seclusion before I decided.’
‘Decided on what?’
‘Which I should finally become, a priest or a monk.’
Father Minos nodded understandingly. ‘So your parents will not be worrying about you?’
‘No, b
ut I think I should go back tomorrow, not wait until the end of the week.’
‘Of course; do you feel capable of telling them?’
Andreas looked at the priest in surprise. ‘Capable? I hadn’t thought about it. They have to be told, so do Yannis’s parents. Someone has to do it and I’m the only one who knows.’
‘It’s a great responsibility for one as young as you. Would you care for me to come with you?’ As soon as the words were out Father Minos regretted them. His responsibilities lay here in his parish, not miles away with a family he did not know. The look of relief, which flooded Andreas’s face, was thanks enough for him.
‘Would you be able to come? What about your duties here?’
‘I can ask a colleague to take over for a few days. I feel that I failed your cousin in his hour of need, I don’t wish to fail you in yours.’
Andreas felt as though a weight had been lifted from him. He had accepted the fact that he had to be the bearer of bad news to his own family and his cousin’s, but he had been dreading the moment. ‘I shall be forever in your debt. They will probably,’ he searched for the right word, ‘Understand better if it comes from you.’
Father Minos knew exactly what the boy was thinking. Priests were trusted and whatever they said the people believed. He rose and paid their bill, hoping as he did so that he would have enough money in his box at home for the journey to Aghios Nikolaos and back. He shrugged, the Lord would provide, he always had in some miraculous way.
Andreas studied the congregation whilst his friend took the service. Everyone looked poor, far poorer than a farmer or fisherman at home and he wondered why that should be. He had always thought that people who lived in the town would be wealthy. He wondered how Father Minos managed to live if the poverty of the people was reflected in the amount of money they gave to the church. It was well known that the pittance allowed them by the government would have left them to starve and ‘borrowing’ from the collection frequently paid outstanding bills.