by Beryl Darby
‘As if I could forget anything as important as our anniversary.’ He pulled the box from his pocket. ‘Close your eyes.’ He slipped the ring onto her finger.
‘Oh, Yannis, it’s beautiful.’ She turned her head from side to side, admiring the slim gold band.
‘Doctor Stavros had it engraved with our names and wedding date.’ He held her hand and admired it with her.
‘Have your present, Yannis.’
‘What is it?’
‘Open it and see.’
Phaedra watched as he did so. She knew what he had dreamt of having for so long and she had made Manolis promise that if Yannis asked him to buy him a watch he would delay the purchase with excuses. Yannis handled it reverently, listening to it tick and showing Phaedra how the hands moved around to show what time of day it was. He could see by her puzzled frown that the mysteries of telling the time by a small mechanism were beyond her, but she was delighted at his pleasure.
Yannis sat with Spiro and Father Minos, waiting for their reaction to the idea he had placed before them.
‘I don’t know how people will feel about being charged for things they’ve always had given in the past.’
‘I think it would be good for them. It would give them a modicum of self-respect,’ argued Yannis.
‘But what do we have to sell?’ asked Father Minos.
‘That’s part of the challenge. Those who have a trade, like a barber and a carpenter, could charge for their services. We could grow our own vegetables and herbs, buy some more goats and sell the milk. Someone could open up a taverna and we could meet there in the evenings. Once you start to think about it the list is endless.’
‘What about those who are in hospital?’ asked Spiro.
‘They have a pension, the same as the rest of us. From a given date they’ll be asked to pay you for being looked after. From that money you keep a little for yourself, and pay those who help you with the work.’
Spiro scratched his head. ‘Suppose some of them don’t want to do anything?’
‘They wouldn’t have to. It will be entirely up to the individual.’
Father Minos leaned forward. ‘What kind of prices do you have in mind, Yannis, and, more important, where would the money come from?’
‘I’m talking about a few lepta. You go for a hair cut and pay two lepta, the barber goes to the taverna and buys a glass of wine. The next day he fancies an egg so he goes to whoever keeps chickens and buys one. It’s a circular motion. All we have to do is ask Manolis to bring some money over with him.’
‘Would the government allow it?’ asked Spiro.
‘Are you going to ask them? I’m not. I think it would give us some pride, even our pension is a form of charity.’
‘I think you have something there, Yannis, but it would have to be carefully planned. We couldn’t just rush into this. There would have to be a limit to the number of barbers or tavernas opening.’
‘That’s where people like Orestis come in. If you wanted to open a business you’d have to pay him to draw up a proper agreement, giving you the right to trade.’ Yannis’s eyes began to glow with enthusiasm.
‘What I suggest,’ Father Minos looked at the two men, ‘Is a discussion with Orestis. If he can’t find anything against the idea then I’ll call a meeting and put it to everyone else.’
Doctor Stavros was delighted. The change that had come about in the last few weeks was remarkable. Patients who had claimed his attention each week were feeling considerably better now they had an incentive. Discussions and meetings were taking place in every house; arguments were frequent until an agreement could be reached. Everywhere he went he was told about plans the person had for earning a small amount of money to supplement their pension.
Takkis had gathered a small group together and they were to become the official builders, Antonis had laid first claim to being a barber, whilst Vassilis and Stathis were arguing which of them was to open the first taverna. Louisa had a notice in her window saying she was a dressmaker, and Elena was ordering lengths of material through Manolis. Phillipos had been asked to make furniture for the taverna and refused, saying it would take him too long and would be easier bought from the mainland. He had agreed to take two men as apprentices for a small weekly sum, mainly to make cupboards and counter tops for those who planned to open shops. Father Minos had sent for more candles from the mainland, hoping by the end of the year to have made enough money to purchase a bell to hang in the tower of the church, and everywhere there was an air of purpose and excitement.
Phaedra was elated by the idea of earning money. ‘I’ve never had any money before. When I bought your watch it wasn’t like having money. I just asked Manolis to get it and then I had to sign my name for him – and I did it right,’ she added.
‘Of course you did.’ Yannis smiled proudly at her.
‘Some of them couldn’t’
‘Not write their names?’
Phaedra shook her head. ‘They couldn’t, truly.’
‘Well I’m glad you can.’
‘Only because you taught me.’
Yannis nodded slowly. ‘How many do you think can’t write their names?’
Phaedra shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There were four when I was there.’
‘I’ll have a word with the book-keepers.’
‘What for?’
‘It could make a little job for me. How would you like a school master for a husband?’
Phaedra looked at him in amazement. ‘A teacher?
‘You said yourself some of them can’t write their names. I could teach them, and how to read and write properly.’
Phaedra shrugged. ‘What’s so important about reading and writing anyway? You read things from the newspaper to me and I can write my name.’
‘Wouldn’t you like to read the paper for yourself? Am I reading things that interest you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Exactly. If you could read for yourself you would know. Everyone should be able to read. I’m going to see Father Minos. I’ll be back later.’
‘But your lunch is ready,’ protested Phaedra.
‘It will keep. This may not.’ Without stopping to pick up his jacket Yannis left the house, ignoring Phaedra calling after him.
Father Minos was enthusiastic. ‘It’s a good idea, Yannis. I’ll try to encourage them. It will be confidence they need at first. Once they find out it’s not as difficult as they’d thought I’m sure they’ll enjoy it.’
‘I wonder if I will!’
‘Not getting cold feet, are you, Yannis?’
Yannis grinned. ‘No, just thinking how we treated poor old Yiorgo Pavlakis when he taught us.’
Andreas opened another letter from Father Minos. They arrived regularly, each one asking for something from the government, which Andreas was supposed to be able to procure immediately. He felt irritated by the continual demands. He had enough to do in the parish, set in the worst area of Heraklion. Each day he walked the mean streets, talking to the young girls who solicited unashamedly from their doorways, trying to persuade them to change their occupation. So far he had met with little success, they agreed with him that their life was degrading, but nothing he could say could make them leave the streets. His services were always well attended, and after his mid-day devotions there was always bread and cheese for the unfortunate. It never failed to amaze him how many unfortunate families there appeared to be in that part of the city.
His housekeeper, inherited from Father Minos, grumbled, but she could not stop him continuing with the charity. Two afternoons were regularly spent at the hospital, talking to the sick, and then he had various house calls to fit in and the occasional wedding, baptism and funeral. Sometimes he would spend an hour or more whilst someone poured out their problems. On top of this he was supposed to spend long hours persuading Yiorgo Pavlakis that the demands from the island were essential improvements and necessary to the occupants’
health and conditions.
He read the latest letter from the priest again. Permission was being asked for relatives to visit them. Andreas sighed. He could well imagine the scene this would cause. Yiorgo Pavlakis would argue that such a thing was out of the question due to public health regulations. He would have to insist it was their right and minimise the possibility of infection. He wished he could pass the irksome task on to someone else.
When Yiorgo saw him waiting patiently outside the school he frowned. Almost every week the man was there. He was both an embarrassment and a nuisance. He tried not to let his annoyance show.
‘Good afternoon, Father. I can guess what’s brought you here. Shall we find a quiet taverna?’ Yiorgo led the way a few doors along the road and chose a table towards the back. ‘What do they want this time?’
Without answering Father Andreas handed the letter over, watching Yiorgo’s face redden as he read it. Silently he handed the letter back, pushed the hair out of his eyes and lit a cigarette, drawing on it deeply. ‘It’s out of the question, of course.’
‘Why?’
Yiorgo shrugged. ‘It’s obvious. Carrying infection. If we allow them to have visitors they’ll be asking to visit their homes on the mainland and before we know it everyone will be contaminated.’
Father Andreas shook his head. ‘I disagree. There’s no evidence to show how the disease is transmitted. I find it hard to believe that it can be caught like measles or mumps. If that was the case whole families would be living over there by now.’
‘Then how do you suggest it’s caught?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not a doctor, and even doctors don’t appear to know.’
‘All the more reason for keeping them isolated.’
‘None of the boatmen who deliver there have caught it.’
‘They don’t go near the occupants.’ Yiorgo smiled triumphantly.
‘Father Minos hasn’t caught it.’
‘There are always exceptions.’
‘I haven’t caught it, and I spent a year sharing a mattress with Yannis. You, also, spent a good deal of time with Yannis, yet you show no signs.’
Yiorgo Pavlakis crossed himself hurriedly. ‘I did not kiss and hug him!’ He leaned forward. ‘Imagine the scene – a boat arrives, out steps a mother, sister, wife, arms are thrown about each other’s necks, their tears are mingling between their kisses, without doubt they’d bring it back with them.’
‘I think you’re exaggerating the possible danger. If it spreads as you suggest I’m amazed that we’re not all suffering from it. I visit the hospital regularly and if there are lepers waiting to be moved to the island I mix with them freely.’
Yiorgo shrugged somewhat sulkily. ‘I disapprove of the idea.’
Andreas smiled. This was the time to appear to accept defeat and press for something else instead. ‘So you’re not prepared to suggest such a move to the government?’
‘Certainly not.’
Andreas sighed. ‘At least, if you’ll not let them see each other, give them permission to write to their families and have a letter sent back to them.’ Andreas watched Yiorgo purse his lips. ‘There can be no cause for concern there. Letters leaving the island can be sterilised. The doctor is sure to have a machine and he could do that before posting them. It would be so simple and such a comfort to those who are so far from their relatives.’
Slowly Yiorgo nodded. ‘If it was strictly controlled, every letter would have to bear a stamp to say it had been sterilised.’
‘Of course,’ Andreas beamed. ‘I’ll write today and say they can use the postal system. Now, do you remember the other letter I had, asking for better equipment in the hospital?’
Yiorgo nodded. ‘I put it before the government and they agreed the doctor could order almost anything he wanted. All he had to do was to send us a list and the cost before he bought anything.’
‘And he sent you a list and you agreed to every item he’d asked for. You were incredibly generous. Doctor Stavros wrote to me and said how very grateful they were. I understand some of the goods have started to arrive now.’
‘Good, good.’ Yiorgo was wondering where this sudden show of gratification was leading.
‘There’s only one problem. Some of the equipment that has been sent has to be run by electricity, and, of course, they don’t have a supply.’
Yiorgo let the words sink in slowly. What a fool he had been not to realise that ‘arc lamps for operating’ would need a power source. ‘Then why were they foolish enough to ask for such equipment?’
‘They thought when you passed the items that you were going to supply them with a generator.’ Andreas spread his hands. ‘I know they should have asked for that before the lights, but,’ he shrugged eloquently. ‘there is also the X-ray machine. I know the doctor thinks it essential to find out how much of the bone in a limb is infected before he considers amputation, but again he can’t use it at present.’
‘They’ve managed without until now.’
‘Very true, but you promised them better conditions. Such equipment would help their treatment considerably. If they don’t have it their conditions can hardly be said to have been bettered.’ Andreas smiled gently.
‘So are you suggesting that I ask the government to pass an order for a generator? Have you any idea of the cost?’
Andreas nodded. ‘Without a generator the expensive items dispatched to the island are useless – a terrible waste of money. Why not just add the generator to the top of the list?’
‘It’s a question of cost. I’m sure the government can afford the equipment, but a generator!’
‘Can the government afford not to provide a generator?’ queried Andreas. ‘They would be a laughing stock once it became known that a good deal of money had been spent on items that are totally useless.’
Yiorgo slammed his glass down on the table and rose angrily to his feet. ‘You’ve tricked me. You and those scheming lepers.’
Andreas rose with him. ‘It was a misunderstanding.’
‘I still say you tricked me. It won’t happen again.’ Yiorgo walked away, leaving the wine half finished on the table.
Father Andreas had hardly expected his triumph over the generator to be so easy. He had not mentioned that a generator would have to be fixed and wired by trained electricians and they would have to come from the mainland. Once that hurdle had been overcome he would re-open the question of visitors to the island.
Stelios sealed the letter he had written to his family. He smiled to himself. They had every reason to be proud of him. He had finished University and obtained good grades, good enough for him to be accepted into the army as a trainee clerical officer, where he had worked hard, gaining experience and the respect of his fellows. Now he had been given a promotion and by the time the letter reached Plaka he would be installed in an office in Athens, independent of his family forever
Louisa pushed the cutlery into the tray and wiped her hands on her apron. She was tired. Yiorgo had spent until the early hours of the morning arguing and drinking with three companions from the government, whilst she had run back and forth with bottles of wine and providing mezedes. She heard the taverna door open and looked out from the kitchen.
‘Can I help you?’
‘I am looking for Louisa.’
‘I’m Louisa.’
A smile spread across the good-looking, fair face. ‘I was told you run the best taverna in town.’ He examined her with cold, blue eyes.
Louisa shrugged. ‘This taverna is popular. Whether it is the best…’
‘Maybe I could sample some of the delights I am told you offer, then I could judge for myself.’
‘If you please.’
The man nodded. ‘I do please.’
Louisa removed her apron and locked the taverna door
‘Why don’t you Greek girls do something with yourselves?’
‘Do something?’
‘Yes,
dress your hair, wear colours instead of the continual black of which you seem so fond.’
‘Black is a very serviceable colour. If you don’t like Greek girls why do you bother to seek us out?’
‘When sent to a country you have very little choice of companionship. We are wasting time. Bring a bottle of wine with you.’
He pushed open the door that led to the upper floor of the taverna and walked noisily up the wooden stairs, waiting at the top for her to join him. ‘Which room?’
Louisa pointed and he opened the door with a flourish, standing back for her to enter. He gazed around the whitewashed walls, noting the full-length mirror, the cheap brush and comb on the table along with the water jug and bowl and shuddered.
‘It is understandable that you all wear black if you all live like this. Where is your comfort?’ He looked disdainfully at the rag rug that covered a portion of the floor, then walked to the bed and pulled back the cover. ‘At least it’s clean.’
Louisa stood, uncertain, holding the bottle and two glasses.
‘Well, come on, girl, pour it out.’
He removed his clothes and sprawled back across the bed. Louisa handed him a glass and he sipped and grimaced. ‘Poison, absolute poison.’
He sipped again as Louisa stood hesitantly beside him. He reached out his hand and ran it from her breast to her thigh. ‘Undress,’ he commanded.
Louisa placed her own untouched glass on the table and untied the drawstring of her blouse. ‘Do you wish to help me?’ she asked.
‘No.’
Louisa pulled her blouse over her head and then let her skirt drop to the floor so she stood naked before him. Still he lay on the bed unmoving.
‘Move the mirror.’
‘Where to?’
‘Closer to the bed.’ Louisa pulled first at one side, then the other. ‘Closer, turn it slightly. That’s right; now stand in front of it. Turn round.’
Slowly she turned round; then faced him again.
‘Stand there and brush your hair.’
The knuckles of her hand stood out white as she gripped the handle of the brush and began to apply it slowly down the length of her hair.