YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1)

by Beryl Darby

  ‘I expect Manolis is also in there,’ remarked the doctor grimly. He strode through the doorway and waited until his eyes became accustomed to the dim light. Removing his jacket and rolling his sleeves up above the elbows he knelt down on the earth floor and unwrapped Flora’s arm. Spiro continued to sponge her forehead and Manolis was holding her other hand. Father Minos rose, signalled to Andreas and left the house for deep breaths of the fresher air outside.

  ‘I can’t see a thing,’ complained Doctor Stavros. ‘We’ll have to carry her outside.’

  Half dragging, half carrying the girl on the mattress they manoeuvred their burden through the doorway and deposited it on the ground outside. Examining the offensive arm in the sunlight the doctor was appalled that such neglect had been allowed to continue for so long. He looked around helplessly. Never before had he been confronted with such a situation. He walked over to where Yannis stood with Father Minos and Andreas.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ he asked.

  Yannis looked puzzled. ‘Don’t you know what to do? You’re supposed to be a doctor.’

  Doctor Stavros regarded him steadily. ‘I know what to do, medically speaking. I can’t guarantee she’ll survive.’

  ‘And if you leave her?’

  ‘Maybe a week.’

  Yannis rubbed his cement-caked hands down his trousers and looked at the priest, then to Manolis who was kneeling beside Flora, talking to her softly, although it was doubtful if she could hear him. Yannis swallowed hard.

  ‘If it was me I’d like you to take the risk.’

  The doctor nodded briefly and turned back to his patient. He lifted Flora’s arm and she moaned in her delirium. The blackness of the dead flesh had spread above the elbow and down to her wrist. The discolouration giving way to a greenish bruising streaked with red.

  ‘I shall need hot water, plenty of it.’

  ‘I’ll get Ritsa to help me. It will take some time.’

  ‘Get it started,’ the doctor answered Phaedra tersely. He opened the box that Yannis had carried up from the quay and sucked in his breath. Only one bottle of morphine! He would need at least two for the operation. He examined the rest of the contents, two bottles of methylated spirits, six rolls of bandages, two bottle of iodine and a dozen bottles of aspirin.

  ‘Has anyone any medication on this island?’

  Yannis shook his head and the doctor sighed, wishing he had a bottle of raki with him. ‘Go and wash, all of you,’ he included Andreas in his directive. ‘I shall need help.’

  Doctor Stavros walked over to Father Minos. ‘Father, tell me I’m doing the right thing.’

  ‘My son, it’s always right to try to save a life. You are the judge of your own capabilities, but God will guide you. The poor little girl is in His hands.’

  ‘Pray for her.’

  ‘I’ve done nothing else since we sent for you.’

  The two men sat and waited until those who had gone to wash returned. Finally Phaedra returned with a shallow bowl of water.

  ‘I need more than that, much more.’

  ‘There’s more coming. We haven’t any large containers.’

  ‘I need a stick, about that big, or a fork, that would be better.’

  ‘I’ll get one.’ Phaedra re-entered the house and emerged holding a fork with a missing prong. The doctor eyed it suspiciously. It would have to do. Flora moaned and Doctor Stavros looked at her warily. Was her system strong enough to withstand the shock? He gazed at the concerned faces before him. A short distance away a crowd was gathering. Word had spread that the doctor was going to save Flora and everyone wanted to witness the miracle.

  ‘Father, take the people lower down and conduct a service, anything, just keep them away from here, Manolis also.’

  The priest nodded, relieved. He had no wish to witness the operation that was about to take place. He had a sneaking feeling that his stomach would betray him. Andreas made to follow him, but the doctor called him back.

  ‘I need your help, and you two,’ he pointed to Yannis and Spiro. He waited until Phaedra had deposited two more bowls of water and was out of hearing before he continued. ‘I’m going to amputate her arm. There’s no other way. I don’t know if I’ll be successful, but it’s her only chance.’ He held up the bottle of morphine. ‘I’ve only one bottle. It’s not enough.’ He looked at the three men, trying to sum up their strengths. ‘You’ll have to hold her.’ His eyes rested on each of them in turn, their eyes looking back showing the fear they felt. ‘You must do exactly as I say when I say. It isn’t going to be easy.’

  He received no answer, just three pairs of eyes gazing steadily back at him. Through the fear there was now determination showing. Doctor Stavros rolled up his coat and knelt on it, he then opened his bag and began to lie out an assortment of implements. Finally satisfied that all was ready he washed his hands in the boiled water.

  ‘You,’ he spoke to Spiro, ‘at her head. You,’ he pointed to Yannis, ‘on that side and hold on tight, both hands. You,’ he pointed to Andreas, ‘hold her legs. If she really starts to buck you’ll have to lay across her.’ Silently the three men moved into the positions allocated to them. ‘You’ll do the morphine,’ the doctor pointed to Spiro. ‘Like this.’ He gave a demonstration, then passed the bottle over. ‘Start now and count to ten each time.’

  Deftly the doctor tied a tourniquet around Flora’s arm and inserted the fork. From his implements he selected a small surgical saw, holding it in the water along with a knife, reminding Yannis of a butcher. Calmly the doctor sliced through the skin on the upper arm, turning the fork swiftly as the blood welled to the surface. At the first cut Flora had stiffened and Spiro rapidly administered more morphine.

  Doctor Stavros examined the raw flesh and shook his head. He placed the tourniquet higher up and re-inserted the fork. Again he cut into Flora’s arm and examined the edges of the wound. This time he appeared satisfied and continued to cut more deeply. Despite the tourniquet the arm was bleeding freely and Doctor Stavros bit his lip. He should have had someone else to help.

  ‘Hold that,’ he ordered Yannis, who stretched his arm obediently across. He cut again, this time through muscle and sinew that was tougher than he had expected. Precious minutes were being wasted.

  ‘How much is left?’ he asked of Spiro.

  ‘About half.’

  Doctor Stavros nodded. As he had thought, it would not be enough. Reaching the bone he placed the knife in the bowl and took up the saw. The rasp of the blade set Yannis’s teeth on edge and the effort brought out beads of sweat on the doctor’s forehead which he wiped away impatiently with his arm. The grating noise continued and Yannis head began to throb in rhythm with the sound. Flora moaned and Spiro shook the bottle.

  ‘That’s it,’ he announced.

  ‘Hold her,’ commanded the doctor.

  He cut as swiftly as he could through the mass of pulpy flesh. Flora screamed. An ear-splitting, shattering, inhuman scream and it took all their strength to hold her. Each time she tried to wrench herself away the doctor had to stop and wait until she had calmed herself a little. Yannis was talking to her, he appeared to be telling her about his childhood, but the doctor was not really listening. With a sigh of relief he sliced away the last remnant of skin and tossed the limb aside. Liberally he applied methylated spirits to the raw area, which diluted the red blood, making it trickle away in pale pink rivers. Pinching together the open ends of the artery and veins he inserted stitches to keep them closed.

  Between each stitch Flora sobbed and each time the needle was inserted she screamed and tried to drag herself away from the burning pain. Releasing the tourniquet Doctor Stavros watched carefully to see how much blood she was likely to lose, thankful to see very little seeping through. Once again he doused the wound with methylated spirits, pulled the ragged edges of skin together and sewed as rapidly as he was able. He removed the tourniquet completely and watched for any sign of bleeding. Sati
sfied that there would be very little blood loss he made a pad from a bandage, soaked it in iodine and placed it over the stump, bandaging it firmly into place.

  As he finished he was suddenly conscious of eyes watching him and he looked up to see that he was ringed by silent lepers, Father Minos had been unable to keep them away from the scene any longer. Doctor Stavros rose to his feet.

  ‘That’s it. Ask one of the girls to give her a wash, then we’ll take her back inside.’

  Andreas moved slowly from his position at her legs, he felt stiff and cramped, thankful the ordeal was finally over. Yannis was finding it impossible to leave; Flora was holding his hand so tightly he could not release himself. Manolis came to his aid, prising the girl’s fingers up, releasing Yannis and taking his place. Yannis rose, staggered to the side of the path, pushed his way through the silent watchers and was violently sick. He leant his head against the building, clutching his stomach and sweating.

  Doctor Stavros picked up his jacket from the ground and looked at it ruefully. It was completely ruined, creased and covered in blood. He looked at his shirt and trousers. They were in the same state and would have to be thrown away; no amount of sponging would get the stains out. The throng of watchers still stood silently.

  ‘Say something,’ Father Minos hissed in his ear. ‘They’re uncertain of you.’

  Doctor Stavros felt an insane desire to laugh rising up in him. They were uncertain of him! He took a deep breath to quell his hysteria. What could he say? What did they want from him? ‘My friends,’ his voice sounded weak and shaky. ‘I have done my best.’

  The crowd murmured sympathetically, then Christos’s voice could be heard.

  ‘Cut her up like a piece of meat on a butcher’s slab.’

  Doctor Stavros went white. ‘I did what I had to do.’

  ‘Poor little devil! I heard her scream. A butcher, that’s what you are.’

  Helplessly Doctor Stavros stood as people moved away from him and Christos, leaving them facing each other. Doctor Stavros dropped his eyes. He did not have the energy left for a confrontation.

  ‘You don’t deny it, then, butcher?’ Christos limped forward.

  ‘I did my best with what I had,’ the doctor defended himself.

  ‘Did your best,’ sneered Christos. ‘You cut off her arm whilst she was conscious and say that’s your best! Why didn’t you go back and get more morphine? Why didn’t you take her back to the hospital with you, where she could have been treated properly?’

  Doctor Stavros ran a trembling hand across his forehead. He lifted his head and looked at the menacing figure before him. ‘I couldn’t get any more morphine, that was all the hospital could spare.’

  ‘Why didn’t you take her back for proper treatment?’

  ‘They would not have admitted her. Please, I’m very tired.’

  ‘How would you like your arm cut off?’

  ‘There’s no need.’ The doctor wished he had put away his knife and saw. He would be helpless in their hands. The grin on Christos’s face and that of his cronies was most unpleasant. The doctor took a step backwards and felt a hand on his arm. He wheeled round to find himself looking at Spiro.

  ‘Leave him to me.’

  Doctor Stavros watched in horror as he saw Spiro advance, the knife that had been used earlier to sever the girl’s arm in his hand. He waved it in Christos’s face.

  ‘Go home. Go home, or I’ll cut your arm off and when I’ve done that I’ll cut off your leg. You won’t get any morphine, not a drop. By the time I’ve finished with you, you’ll be pleading with me to cut your throat!’

  Christos held up his hand. ‘Hold on, now. I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘Then apologise.’

  Christos looked round for his friends, they had moved further back as Spiro approached. Spiro ran his deformed thumb along the blade.

  ‘Apologise.’

  By way of an answer Christos spat at Spiro’s feet, turned and began to hobble away. In a flash Spiro had darted forward and kicked the crutch away from under Christos’s arm, sending him sprawling. A string of obscenities came from his mouth as he struggled to rise and a ripple of amusement went through the watching people, removing the tension from the scene. Spiro walked back to Doctor Stavros and handed him the knife.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll see to Flora now, then you’d better tell me what I have to do for her each day until you can come back.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Doctor Stavros was visibly unnerved by the recent scene. He looked down at his hands, still stained with blood. ‘I’d like to wash.’

  ‘Come with me.’

  Yannis joined them. He had hurried down to the port as Christos had limped away and rinsed his hands and face in the sea. He removed his shirt, still covered in blood, and threw it to one side, sitting down beside the doctor.

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ he apologised. ‘I should have warned you that I haven’t a very strong stomach.’

  Doctor Stavros looked at him puzzled and Yannis went on to explain. ‘I was sick.’

  ‘There’s no shame in that. I was sick the first time I saw an operation.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t think it affected doctors that way.’

  ‘It’s far worse to watch. When you’re doing it you’re concentrating and haven’t time to think what it looks like. I doubt if I could have held her whilst you operated.’

  ‘Will she recover?’

  ‘I can’t say. She won’t die from gangrene, but she could easily die from shock. She was very brave.’

  ‘She was conscious once the morphine ran out. She must have suffered agonies.’

  ‘What were you talking to her about?’

  Yannis frowned. ‘I’ve no idea. I was just talking. I was probably trying to calm myself as much as her.’

  ‘I have to apologise also.’

  The doctor looked at Father Minos. ‘Whatever for?’

  ‘I couldn’t keep them. As soon as she screamed they left me.’

  ‘Human nature,’ smiled Doctor Stavros.

  ‘What are we going to do about Manolis?’ Father Minos looked first at the doctor, then at Yannis.

  ‘Who’s Manolis?’ asked Yannis, pursing his lips and looking up at the sky.

  ‘Oh, you mean the boatman who went off fishing.’ Doctor Stavros spoke very deliberately.

  Father Minos sighed with relief. ‘I’m so glad he spent his time profitably.’

  ‘What would happen if the authorities knew?’ asked Yannis.

  ‘I’ve no idea. I shall send them a full report, telling them how Manolis came for me and then waited until I was ready to return.’ Doctor Stavros rose. ‘I’ll look at my patient; then I’d like to return to the mainland. I do have other patients over there that I need to visit.’

  Yannis rose with him. ‘We do appreciate you coming so quickly – and what you did.’

  Doctor Stavros smiled. ‘That’s what I’m for. Just don’t make too much of a habit of it. Save your problems for a Thursday, please.’

  On his subsequent visits to the island Flora was his main concern. For ten days she had lain in a state of shock from which she appeared unlikely to recover, then she had murmured her first words to Phaedra, who had hardly left her side.

  ‘My arm hurts.’

  ‘It will a little, just at first.’

  Phaedra was not sure if Flora had understood as she closed her eyes and appeared to be asleep. The next time she woke it was to complain of the pain in her fingers and Phaedra was seriously worried. The girl had no fingers to give her pain. When Doctor Stavros arrived that week he removed the dressing gently. The skin, pink and puckered, appeared healthy. He spoke to Flora gently.

  ‘Can you hear me, Flora? Are you awake?’

  Her eyelids fluttered open. ‘It hurts,’ she whispered.

  ‘It will hurt, my dear, for another week at least, but the hurt will get less and the pain will go away as y
ou get well.’

  ‘What did you do? It hurt so much?’

  ‘Your arm was badly infected. I had to remove the infection.’

  Flora appeared to accept the explanation and closed her eyes again whilst her stump was re-bandaged. Doctor Stavros left the house with a feeling of accomplishment. The amputation had been successful and all the signs were that the girl would make a complete recovery from her ordeal.

  Despite the fact that he had been successful in his treatment of Flora, two other women died, the disease creeping into their lungs until they could no longer breathe. Doctor Stavros could not get the incidents out of his mind. He had witnessed both deaths and their subsequent disposal and for him it had been a horror that far surpassed anything else he had seen so far on the island. He wished he could talk to Father Minos, but the priest had returned to Heraklion, not mentioning again his desire to live on the island.

  Flora continued to progress slowly and she had become something of a celebrity. Manolis sneaked onto the island to visit her whenever he could, ignoring her missing arm and assuring her she looked healthier than she had before. He brought her little presents, a scarf, handkerchief, a comb for her hair or a bunch of wild flowers. She thanked him for each one, delighting in his attentions, but the flowers enraptured her.

  ‘They’re beautiful,’ she exclaimed, burying her nose deep into the posy. ‘I hadn’t realised how much I miss flowers.’

  ‘Why don’t you grow some?’ suggested Manolis.

  ‘Where would you grow flowers? There’s nowhere on this rock that you could plant a seed and expect it to grow.’

  ‘I’ll bring you some every week,’ Manolis promised. An idea had taken hold of his mind. He knew the other fishermen would laugh when they saw, but he would ignore that if he could bring pleasure to the crippled girl.

  The sacks of sand and cement were no longer being sent over. Yannis had called a halt as the winter was approaching, not wishing to risk damaging his precious building materials, instead he had sent a message to Andreas to ask if more mattresses and blankets could be sent out. He inspected the houses thoroughly and declared himself satisfied that they should be watertight during the worst of the rain.