by Beryl Darby
‘Probably in his house if he has any sense. You know where it is.’
Father Minos nodded and led the way to the tiny house that Yannis still shared with Spiro and Kyriakos. He knocked on the door and Yannis appeared, a look of disbelief on his face when he saw his former teacher and friend. Having been assured that Yiorgo was only visiting, he apologised for the spartan interior and offered Yiorgo a place on his mattress, whilst Father Minos went to visit the islanders.
‘This is a pleasure. I never thought to see you again. How are you – and Louisa?’
‘We’re fine.’ Yiorgo sat down gingerly on the mattress. ‘How are you?’
Yannis shrugged. ‘As well as can be expected.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us?’
‘How could I? I could hardly believe it myself. I didn’t want anyone to know. I was so ashamed and frightened. Why have you come?’
‘I’ve been talking to the priest and he suggested I might be able to help you. I carry some weight in political circles now.’
‘Me personally, or all of us?’
‘All of you.’
Yannis smiled. ‘I’m glad of that. I couldn’t accept help just for myself. We’re like a family here, most of us. We try to share what we have and help each other.’
For a few minutes the two men looked at each other in silence. Yiorgo noticing the blemishes and nodules that stretched from ear to brow of his ex-pupil where the disease was spreading unchecked, Yannis saw little difference in Yiorgo, a few grey hairs, but apart from those he was unchanged.
‘What kind of help do you have in mind?’
‘I need you to tell me that.’
Yannis turned to Spiro. ‘Any ideas?’
Spiro joined them on the bed. ‘I think we need a few more details. Do you have any money at your disposal? Do you have any sway with the medical authorities?’
Yiorgo shook his head. ‘The answer is no to both those questions. As a politician I can approach the medical authorities and suggest, possibly even pressurize a little, but I’ve no power at all. What I have in mind is a project of some sort that would find favour with the ordinary people so I could squeeze some money from the treasury.’
‘What kind of figure are we talking about?’
‘I can’t tell you that. It would depend upon what you wanted. It would be no good asking for too much, I’d be turned down out of hand.’
‘Let’s list the things we most need; then you can take your pick. Visits from our family and friends would be first on my list.’
Yiorgo shook his head. ‘I can’t see me being able to do anything about that for you. What about those who come from Greece? Who would pay for them to visit a relative or friend? Besides, you said you wanted something everyone could share or benefit from. Some people might not have any relatives.’
‘I haven’t.’ Kyriakos spoke for the first time.
‘What about books?’ suggested Yiorgo.
‘Some people can’t read,’ Yannis pointed out.
‘New clothes?’
‘That could be difficult. We’re all different sizes. Some of us need trousers, others pullovers. If we asked for clothes they’d probably send dresses for the women and nothing for the men.’
‘We could ask a boatman to buy them for us from the mainland,’ Spiro pursued the idea.
‘What are we going to buy them with?’ asked Yannis. ‘You know what it’s like to get money back from the government. They would have to wait months before they were sent any money, by that time we’d probably need something else.’
‘That’s it.’ Yiorgo slapped his knee and pushed back the lock of hair from his eyes. ‘Money. I ask the government to give you a sum of money.’
Yannis and Spiro looked at him puzzled, whilst Kyriakos muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath.
‘They’d never agree. There are about four hundred of us here. What kind of sum are you thinking of? Even five drachmas each would come to an enormous amount – and five drachmas wouldn’t go very far.’
Yiorgo shook his head. ‘I’m not talking about that kind of money. I’m talking about a regular amount, every month, that you could spend or save as you wanted.’
The three men sat and considered the idea. ‘It sounds good,’ Yannis agreed cautiously. ‘How would you go about it?’
‘I haven’t worked out the details. I’ll need time to think and plan.’
‘Are we sure everyone would want it?’ asked Spiro.
‘Why not? It’s the best idea we’ve come up with and it would benefit everyone.’
‘I think we ought to give it more thought, maybe ask some of the others.’
‘No, it’s Yiorgo’s idea and I think we should leave it at that. If we start to ask everyone we’ll never get anywhere. I don’t think we should even tell them until we hear that it’s definite. It would only raise their hopes and cause unrest. Think what it could mean to us. We’d be able to ask the boatmen to buy us what we wanted, or we could save it, or even gamble, but it would be ours to do just as we pleased with.’
‘Yannis is right,’ agreed Kyriakos. ‘I hate beans. Think how many times I have to eat them because nothing different is sent. I’d be able to buy courgettes.’
‘I shall need some facts. How many of you are living here, your names and ages, probably which hospital you came from originally.’
‘That should be easy enough. Send a message to my cousin when you want them, he’ll pass it on to Manolis who’ll bring it to us. We could make a start and have the information ready for you.’
Yiorgo nodded. ‘I can’t promise anything, you realise that, but I’ll do my best. Has the weather improved at all? We should be getting back.’
‘I doubt if either of them will be ready yet. Father Minos always sees everyone, if only for a moment, and Manolis would stay for ever.’
‘Why?’
‘Well, Father Minos feels it’s his duty and having made the journey he wants to feel it was worth his while I suppose.’
‘No, I mean, the boatman. Why should he want to stay?’
‘He’s somewhat keen on one of the women,’ smiled Yannis.
‘A leper woman!’ exclaimed Yiorgo in horror.
‘Why not?’
‘Well, it’s not right.’
‘Why shouldn’t it be? If she had anything else wrong with her you’d admire him for ignoring her disability. Tell me about Heraklion,’ said Yannis, more from a desire to change the subject than from any true interest. Heraklion seemed so far removed from him that it could have been the other side of the world.
Yiorgo launched upon a description of his latest political ideas for the betterment of the community until Yannis regretted ever asking his original question.
‘How’s Louisa?’ he managed to ask at last.
‘Louisa? Oh, Louisa’s fine. She is so beautiful. Each time I look at her…’
‘And your baby?’
‘She is as beautiful as her mother. The same nose and eyes. I can’t wait for her to get a little older. I plan to teach her to read and write. I’m sure by the time she is old enough they will be accepting girls at the University. She will not only be beautiful, but well educated also.’
‘How old is she now?’
‘Old? Oh, five, I think. I’m not very good on things like that. Her mother reminds me when it’s her birthday. Now, as I was saying…’
‘Please, Yiorgo, don’t talk to me about politics. I never did follow them and we’re so cut off here that they’re no longer relevant. Talk to me about Knossos, or the museum or school. Things I can relate to.’
Yiorgo looked at him puzzled. ‘I haven’t had time to go to Knossos or the museum. There’s nothing of interest to talk about regarding the school.’
‘What about the friends I had when I was there? Do you ever see any of them? What are they doing now?’
‘I’ve no idea.’ Yiorgo was unhelpful and beginning to fee
l uncomfortable without his cushion of politics upon which he depended for conversation. ‘Do you think we should find the priest? Maybe he’s ready.’
Yannis smiled. ‘I’m sorry, Yiorgo. It’s just that life over here is so – so –’ he searched for the right word, ‘isolated, self-contained. We’re far more concerned about a new eruption on our skin than we would be about the fall of a government. One affects us, the other doesn’t.’
‘No, no, it’s my fault. I tend to become so absorbed and I forget that not everyone else has the same interest.’ Yiorgo’s eyes roved around the small building. ‘Do you all live in houses like this?’
‘No. Most of us live in the old Turkish or Venetian ones that we’ve patched up. I just happen to have this one.’
‘Yannis built it himself.’ Spiro grinned with pride in his friend.
‘You built it? Whatever for if there are others?’
‘It was to prove a point.’ Yannis was embarrassed and frowned at Spiro who ignored him.
‘Yannis built it to prove that we were a lazy, idle lot of ruffians and also that it could be done. He’s far too modest. He’s gone so far as to say that he will live here until the last man and woman has a house of their own.’
‘I know which one I want eventually. It has great potential. I’ll show it to you as we look for Father Minos.’
Yiorgo rose. That was all he had wanted to hear for over an hour. ‘I’d like that.’
‘This way,’ Yannis directed.
‘The priest is up there,’ Yiorgo indicated the dark robed figure.
‘I was going to show you the house I’m interested in.’
Yiorgo stopped, but did not follow Yannis. ‘Which one?’
‘That one,’ Yannis pointed.
‘Very nice,’ murmured Yiorgo. ‘Very nice, I’m sure.’
Yannis felt deflated. From where Yiorgo stood he could hardly see the house. Silently he led the way to where the priest was standing, surrounded by people, despite the rain and the cold wind that blew gustily. Yiorgo pulled the collar of his overcoat closer to his neck.
‘Why don’t they put their coats on?’ he asked. ‘They’ll catch their deaths if they stay out in this for long.’
‘They don’t have coats.’ Yannis looked Yiorgo straight in the eyes as he made his statement. ‘And some of them would probably be quite pleased to go to their deaths.’
Yiorgo shifted uncomfortably. ‘We should go,’ he muttered. ‘It could be too rough to make the return journey soon.’
Yannis nodded. At least Yiorgo was right about that. ‘Stay here. I’ll find Manolis.’
Manolis was not difficult to find. He was with Flora, talking to her urgently whilst she bit at her lip in indecision. Yannis cleared his throat.
‘The weather’s worsening, Manolis. You ought to leave whilst you can still get back.’
With a resigned shrug of his shoulders Manolis rose, bent and kissed Flora’s hand. ‘I’ll talk to you the next time I come over,’ he promised.
He called Father Minos to join him, pointing to the sea and sky by way of explanation. Yannis watched as they made their way over to the shelter of the mainland, the tiny boat being tossed like a cork as the wind caught her sails until Manolis finally lowered them and began to row. Involuntarily Yannis shivered. He would never forget the first time he had been caught in a storm with his uncle, how sick and knotted his stomach had been with fear. He turned to see Phaedra waiting by the steps and walked towards her.
‘Who was that man?’
‘The schoolteacher I shared lodgings with. We were good friends, could talk for hours about history. Now all he can think about is politics. Even when I asked about his wife and baby he was hardly interested.’
‘So what did he want?’
‘I’m not sure. He said he wanted to help us, but I felt there was more to it than that, something he wasn’t telling me. I probably imagined it.’ Yannis put his arm round Phaedra and squeezed her. ‘He’s laid a ghost for me. I’d kidded myself that one day I would be able to return and everything would be just the same. Now I know it wouldn’t be, and I’m not so sure about wanting to return.’
‘You ought to go in and get dry,’ Phaedra warned him, wanting to distract him from a dangerously depressing train of thought.
Yiorgo Pavlakis sat at his desk in the schoolroom and scowled at the children. It seemed hardly any time at all since Yannis had been an eager face amongst such a crowd. Yiorgo had been proud of him for gaining the scholarship, so delighted to be the bearer of such good news to his family, and now the brilliant scholar sat in a make-shift hut on a wind swept island, shunned by all except his fellow sufferers. He pushed his hair back and wiped his hand down his trousers.
He found it difficult to keep his mind on the lesson he was giving. His thoughts continually reverted to the island and he shuddered inwardly. Whatever he managed to do for them he never wanted to visit that island again. By the time he had finished teaching for the day, eaten and made his way to the Town Hall where the meeting was to be held, he had a plan clearly in his mind. It would need all his cunning to get his fellows to agree to his proposals before the full implication of his plan was realised. He shuffled his papers and cleared his throat nervously.
‘Fellow councillors,’ he began, ‘Some most disquieting information has come to me, something which is in our power to rectify immediately, and in rectifying it we shall earn the respect of our fellow men for ever more.’ He pushed the lock of hair from his eyes. ‘I should like you to imagine for one moment that your wife, your son or your daughter was declared an incurable. What would be their fate? As it is unlikely that this terrible illness has ever crossed your path you will not know.’ Yiorgo glanced round his audience, noting those who were avoiding his eyes or biting their lips in concern.
‘I would never have known myself, had it not been for a priest who is well-known in this town for his merciful deeds. Father Minos came to me, not to beg for the unfortunate or the destitute, he came to ask me if I could persuade you to give him permission to live on Spinalonga.’ Each and every man drew in his breath. ‘He has permission from the medical authorities to visit whenever he wishes and I suggested that he moved to Aghios Nikolaos and visited daily. It was not the simple solution I had thought. The only income he has is from his parish, so he could not afford to live away from it. I suggested his friends on the island contributed to his keep, but that again is not possible.’ Yiorgo paused to gauge the effect his words were having. ‘He told me those who had been sent to the island do not have a lepta between them. Their food is sent over from the villages, paid for by the government, and that is all. I found it hard to believe, thinking Father Minos was trying to gain my sympathy, but it is true. I have seen with my own eyes the way these sick and suffering people live.’
Yiorgo raised his voice. ‘I visited the island, in the company of the priest, and I was appalled.’ He spread his arms wide. ‘It was wet and windy. I had on my overcoat. I asked why those people were not wearing theirs and I was told they do not have any. They do not have an overcoat! Think about that. It is as cold and wet there as it is here, yet they do not have a coat!’
His audience shifted uncomfortably. They did not want to be reminded that a group of people had been virtually abandoned for the misfortune of falling prey to a disease. Yiorgo held up his hand.
‘Now, I’m not asking you to send them all overcoats. I am asking something far simpler. When these unfortunate people were admitted to hospital, either here or in Athens, or Thessalonica or wherever, they handed over all the money they possessed, borrowed from relatives, lent to them by friends, or saved diligently during their healthy, working years, to pay for their hospital treatment. When they were sent to the island that money was not sent with them!’ Yiorgo leant across the table and looked at the assembly of men. ‘What I am asking is, if that money was not sent with them, where is it now?’
He waited for his words to take effec
t. ‘I know where it should be. It should be in the hospital safe, the amount duly recorded and the amount taken for expenses during the patient’s stay also recorded, but it is not. All the money was taken by the government to pay for sending food to the island. Some of those admitted handed over vast sums, far in excess of their needs, and where is it now? Distributed amongst various accounts that bear no relevance at all to the sufferers. Used by the government to balance their accounts wherever there was a shortage. This is a criminal misuse of hospital funds and I feel sure that if it reached the ears of some people there could be an outcry that would topple the government both here and in Athens. I suggest that we act before such a disaster occurs. I do not want to use this money to buy all those on the island an overcoat. I have a far better idea. The money should be placed in a bank account where it will gain interest over the years, and from that money I want to send each of these destitute people a small remittance for the rest of their lifetime. They will be able to buy their own overcoats!’ Yiorgo resumed his seat and waited.
‘How much money is there?’
‘We would never be able to get it back.’
‘If there is any to get back!’
‘How can we find out?’
‘We can ask to examine the hospital account books. We are within our rights to do so.’
‘The medical authorities will claim they’re owed money for treatment. We’ll never get a lepta from them.’
Yiorgo rose to his feet again. ‘I agree with you. I am sure that the books will balance and requesting an examination would only cause trouble for us. What I am suggesting is that we run a lottery. We advertise that it is to provide comforts for the incurables and also appeal for anonymous donations. I’m sure people would give a little if they knew it would help a member of their family and there was no risk of their name being mentioned. We can then present it as a gift from the government.’
The men around the table murmured together, some making little calculations on the notepads before them, until one finally looked up.
‘I propose that we accept this suggestion, but before we decide how much we are able to give to each person, we would need to know the numbers involved. We can’t make promises until we have all the facts. I also propose that we only distribute so much per month. In that way the capital can stay in the bank earning interest.’