by Nike Azoros
Lepers were not permitted to send letters. Somehow the authorities had come to the conclusion that the disease would find a way to seep into the ink and poison the message or maybe it would settle into the folds of the paper and spring out when opened by the innocent reader to infect them too. No, lepers did not get or send letters.
‘Do we go to the island now or do I take you all to Elounda first?’ the boatman asked democratically. All eyes on board turned to look at Nikos. They studied him as if he were a museum exhibit. He still looked normal, no disfigurements yet. He looked better than any of them.
‘I’m in no hurry.’
A woman interjected. ‘Go to the island first.’ She looked over at the young man. ‘Forgive me stranger but you know your fate. We do not. We have children and spouses who need us, our fields must be tilled, and our animals must be fed. We have the responsibilities of life therefore we must value our own.’
Another woman leaned forward in her seat, ‘How old are you?’
‘What a coincidence you should ask, I am 22, today.’
‘May you reach one hundred.’ Then she corrected herself. ‘Oh I am sorry.’
Nikos shrugged it off. It was the polite and the most common thing to say at anybody’s birthday. The woman spoke out of habitual practice. Wishing someone reached the age of one hundred was good manners and almost expected. Not to say it was often considered an insult, it meant you did not wish for them to have a long and healthy life. One of the men noticed the books peeping out of the bag on the deck.
‘I can read,’ he announced proudly. ‘I liked Menander the best because his verses were easy to remember, the one I liked was, ‘In adversity man is saved by hope.’ The woman placed the basket she had been carrying on the floor and kicked it towards him. ‘I made cheese yesterday, it’s good. There are olives too and good bread and some nice pickles, cabbage and peppers. Everyone deserves to celebrate their birthday. You will make new friends shortly, share this food with them.’ Nikos thanked her as he halted the basket slide with his foot as a goalkeeper would a lazy ball. He had been studying the island. It was, like most Greek islands, a crag of rock rising out of the sea. He spotted a couple of olive trees and a few caper bushes and nothing else. He was glad he had spent days studying the island from the shore once he knew it was to be his home for the rest of his life.
‘If any more of you have food with you give it to me now.’
‘Ah you ungrateful one, this is the thanks you give us for our kindness? We are poor. We have our own battles to fight every day.’
‘Forgive my suddenness but take another look at this island of tears. Do you see anywhere for a sheep to graze? Look at it! Where shall I plant a lemon tree or an onion patch? Is there even anywhere on that rock for a chicken to scratch?’
There were murmurs of agreement as they stopped looking at the rock island as an intriguing mystery and looked at it from the point of view of the food producers that they were. There wasn’t really anywhere to string a grapevine without a lot of work. It was possible if able bodied people tackled it but a man made weak from lack of food and a terrible disease stood no chance of making anything grow on that island, other than dread.
‘You can all find an egg to boil, or stew an eggplant you have grown in your sunny courtyards but I don’t even see a twig of thyme on Spinalonga.’
He looked directly at them for the first time. ‘I thank you for your wishes of hope and your kind gift of food but I ask you to spare a little more so I can share your kindness with the other wretched souls already there who are probably so hungry they lick the rocks to taste a little salt.’ He then delivered his coup de grace. He coughed. Every scrap of food on board was slid over to him. Kapetan Charon smiled to himself as he guided his boat alongside the rocky pier. ‘This one knows how to make things happen. He is going to keep me busy.’ He was already picturing the fine new suit he would buy with the extra fares he would soon be making.
Nikos tilted his head slightly. He had heard a sound and was subconsciously trying to tune in so as to hear it more clearly. It was like a fast wind but it couldn’t be, the breeze was gentle. Nikos decided to ignore it. Maybe it had been his imagination, or his anxiety. Life as he knew it had changed forever, it was only natural that he was feeling anxious but the sound was not going away, it was becoming louder. The sound now was like a whistle, like something was plunging down at great speed. He looked at the other passengers, they didn’t seem to notice anything, and they were too busy looking at the island.
The sound was coming from above them. Nikos looked up just in time to see a great eagle plummeting from the heavens and heading straight for the hare-fur hat. With its wings pulled back, its proud head aimed straight at its target, and its high speed it had all the power of one of the bullets from the hat wearer’s new carbine. Nikos’ first thought was to lunge at the man to bring him down onto the deck so the eagle wouldn’t break open his skull but he held himself back so as not to give the man double grief. Instead he shouted, ‘Down! Get down quick!’ The man ducked just in time and the eagle took a perplexed look at him before swooping up, extending its wings out and flying away.
‘The eagle thought you were a hare and all this time I have been calling you an old goat,’ said the boatman to much laughter from all. But the man was shaken, ‘You saved me young man. Thank you.’
Nikos too, was shaken. He just waved his acknowledgment and sat in silence. The eagle incident had churned up the repressed pain of the loss of Alikhan as well as the realization that he had left behind his most treasured belonging and he would never see it again. He was so dejected he had become exhausted. The negative thoughts had sapped all his strength so he just sat back and waited to reach the shores of Spinalonga.
The Mediterranean in July is like a sapphire set in diamonds, a brilliant light, vivid with intense colour. A source of life energy that has inspired and enchanted the world since before Homer, all except for the little part of it around Spinalonga. The air hung heavy, the few trees grew away from the rocks as if preparing to jump off, even the waves didn’t seem to want to lap at its shores but just lay listless. It held about as much welcome as a gallows. The base of the island was lined with thick, high stone walls revealing its origins as a fortress. Directly behind the stone jetty was a large arched entrance gate. ‘Dante’s Gate’ the boatman said. ‘Who is this Dante? Is he Greek?’ asked one of the women,
‘I don’t know, I just know they call this Dante’s Gate.’
‘Dante is not a Greek name, sounds Italian.’
‘Bah! Those Italians, always trying to be Greek.’
Nikos knew it must be a reference to Dante’s Inferno, the epic poem on Hell, but right now he was trying to imagine what he would find beyond the gate. His mind was working hard to stay clear but all their noise was interfering. He wanted them to shut up so he could focus. He coughed again and everybody closed their mouths. That did the trick.
Nikos noted the architecture of the entrance, it was not of the graceful classical style but more squat and utilitarian. It was the words etched above the arch that made everyone gasp, Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.
A small shadow slid through the arched gate, two larger ones lumbered behind. As the boat got closer its passengers could see the shadows seemed to be wearing death masks with the mouths turned down in exaggerated manner like the ancient Greek masks of tragedy, all were draped in tattered rags. The three stood side by side and extended out their arms in ghastly welcome. When the boat bumped into the jetty Nikos was close enough to recognise the small shadow and he too extended out his arms. ‘It’s my sister, Maria!’
Their crucifixion poses made silhouettes against the walls that turned Spinalonga into Golgotha with three crosses, the central one bearing an innocent flanked by the two criminals, Dysmas and Gestas. The boat moored against the stone jetty and the people in the boat could see them up close. They were barely more than skeletons.
Chapter 2: Dante’s Gate
> Nikos could at last embrace someone. He and his sister stood on the stone jetty and held each other but neither could cry. Maria had hardened, like her skin. Her first words to him were the same first words every new resident hears when they first arrive on Spinalonga,
‘Welcome but not well come.’
But for the moment they just held each other and rocked to and fro together in time with the little waves that skipped around the jetty, they too were happy to finally see some emotion on the shores of Spinalonga. The people on the boat were moved, not just at the sight of the siblings reunited in body and united in their fate but at the sight of the two helpers who looked like walking ancient olive trees. They stood and took in the sight of healthy people. They did not know how terrible they looked, there were no mirrors where they were and they were immune to the sight of each other. They wouldn’t have cared anyway, despair has no vanity. The man with the new carbine felt his throat dry up. One of the lepers was looking straight at him. He shuffled a little closer to the edge of the jetty to bend down a little so as to get a better look. His recognition of him came out as a haunting moan. He no longer had clear speech, his trachea was on the verge of collapse, but he recognized his cousin.
The man in the boat stood up to look around him but seeing nothing reached into his pockets and fumbled around to see what he had in there, he pulled out a handkerchief and a comb then reached over and placed them onto the stony jetty. The leper swayed over him like a tree about to topple over. He moaned again and pointed to his cousin’s hare-fur hat. He whisked it off and threw it to him but he didn’t move away, he stayed there and kept looking at him with his terrible dead eyes. Next he pointed to his belt. The man whipped it off and cast it over onto the jetty as well. The leper soughed his thank you as he placed the fluffy, furry hat at a jaunty angle onto his grotesque head. He pocketed the rest of his bounty, picked up the bags of Nikos and lumbered away.
Nikos turned to wave at the boat. The boatman and all on the boat waved their goodbyes because they didn’t know what to say. Every Greek saying of greeting and parting carried significance of health or well being so the dilemma of what to say kept them silent. But one woman did call out one word, ‘Courage!’
The helper lepers walked ahead of them and Nikos and Maria followed them through Dante’s gate. It led them into a long arched tunnel and for the slightest of moments he felt fresh and cooled from the protection the tunnel offered from the glaring sun. He almost felt like an athlete about to enter a stadium. The curve of the tunnel hid the end view from his sight for a while allowing him to conjure up visions of what he might find. Maybe it would be a picturesque village with houses and shops? The image was destroyed quickly when he walked into a mass of decay. It had clearly once been a town. There were the familiar narrow cobbled streets and high, narrow, balconied houses common to European living. They must have once been charming but everything looked as if it too had leprosy. There was a street sign hanging high on one of the buildings, The Street of Pain. Shutters were sagging from pane less windows and many of the walls had large holes in them. Piles of rags lay in all corners of the streets.
Maria led him into one of the houses, it had a dirt floor and a large crack in its ceiling so the sky was visible. ‘You can share my room brother or you can find a space of your own. There are many empty houses to choose from. None of them are much good inside but there are plenty of them. I would like you stay nearby though. The men often come and take women for their own pleasure. They have not gotten to me yet and there is no one here I want so I must continue to take caution.’ She spoke with pragmatism.
‘Maria, what are you saying? Does the island have no law? How dare these animals do such things? Having an illness is not permission to break the law.’ Nikos put his arms around her to hold her close, Maria indulged him for a while but she’d had to learn fast how to cope without having a big brother on hand and after a moment she gave him those little pats on the back that signify ‘Enough.’
‘No Nikos. There is no judgment on Spinalonga because there is no law. There is just survival. We fight to eat, to sleep, we fight each other. You can implement other laws, you will soon find out there is much need for them but do not interfere in their personal passions. It is the only pleasure left to them. You will see things you have never seen before. The Street of Pain could be renamed the Street of Porn, such are the goings on here.’ Nikos was more shocked with his sister’s new wisdom of the streets attitude than he was with her terrible appearance. They were walking around as they spoke, as if on cue as they turned the corner they were met with the sight of man pinning a woman against a wall and roughly pulling her tattered skirts up to reveal her nakedness. The man hooked his arm under her leg to bring it up to around his waist. He loosened his tatty trousers to free his urgency and pushed himself into the woman and the two engaged in a mutual humping for a mere moment until he groaned into her shoulder and staggered away from her. He tied up his trousers and slunk off, leaving her slumped against the wall. Maria had ignored the whole thing, immune to it, Nikos was stunned into shock.
‘I am trying to remain open minded sister but to molest a woman like that on the street; is there no protection for the women?’
‘Well brother first of all, no, there is no protection for us women but second, I ask you, did you see her fighting him off? No. she liked it. It is a way to forget pain.’
‘Well couldn’t they have gone to their own beds to meet their urges?’
‘We have no beds.’
The shock of what he just saw was wearing off but the new shock of the reality that he no longer had a even a bed to sleep on was worse. To take his mind off the misery of the situation Nikos focused on his reunion with his sister. He was part pleased, part perplexed, not at the liberal lusts of lepers but with the sophisticated attitudes of his sister. When she had departed for the island she was trembling with terror. She had never spent a night away from home but his chaste little sister who couldn’t look at the nude statues of the Greek gods was now blasé about public sex.
‘Maria, where are we?’
‘We are in hell brother. Hell is here.’
They walked back to her dwelling and went inside. She leaned in close to him and whispered, ‘Did you bring any food?’ What really mattered was food, not two desperate adults uniting to indulge in something to take away their desperation, if only for a short while.
‘Of course. Here in these bags. Some from Mama and some from the people on the boat.’ Maria raised her finger to her dry lips to make him keep his voice low. ‘We must eat first and quickly before the others sniff the food. Once they do they will swoop down on us like the eagles you told me about, the ones with eyesight so strong they can see a fish in the boat of the fisherman and swoop down and pick it up right off the deck of the boat.’
‘You remembered all those things Maria?’
‘There is nothing else to do here but remember. Now eat something before they come and take it away. They will you know and before you have time to scratch yourself all the food will be gone. Oh but try not to scratch yourself, that sort of thing is discouraged here.’
He couldn’t help but laugh at her macabre sense of humor and acceptance of her fate. Before his arrival, thinking about what he would find on Spinalonga made his head spin so he had decided to simply take things one day at a time. Now he realized it would be more like one minute at a time.
‘Come on sister I have brought a lot of food, see these baskets are full of food. We must share.’
Maria quickly lifted up some loose floorboards and shoved one of the baskets into the space then quickly covered it up again. She grabbed one of the pies and shoved it down the front of her dress then grabbed another one and tore into it with her teeth like a wolf to a chicken. Nikos had just taken a bite of one as well when something knocked him to the ground.
The piles of rags that had been clogging up the corners had sprung to life and came running at them at high speed then launched into
a lunge that toppled Nikos over. More lumps of what he had thought had been filthy rags became animated and streamed into the squalid room like a septic overflow. They screeched like the Furies as they clawed and grabbed at Nikos and his basket of food until there was nothing left, not a crumb. One of the rag wearers even grabbed Nikos’ face with filthy black hands and his grimy fingers plucked the piece of cheese pie right out of Nikos’ mouth. Then they were gone and a loud silence settled around them.
Nikos was shaken but stored the shock within so he could maintain the rage of the sheer inhumane conditions to which he had been sentenced. He needed the anger to keep him motivated because already he could see the danger of allowing the hopelessness to overwhelm every positive thought he had. It was Maria who acted as calm as if what just happened was a normal event. She dusted herself off and straightened her hair, ‘I need to sleep now my brother. I can’t walk too far anymore and tomorrow a new battle waits. Soon it will be dark, we have no power here so everything becomes black, then at least most of them calm down and we can get some rest.’ She began to spread out some old rags that were once blankets.
Nikos shook himself out of the shock and took Maria’s lead in keeping calm and just getting on with it, ‘Maria before you sleep, tell me about these houses?’
‘They are little more than ruins now. The Turks lived here for safety when they saw we were winning the struggle for independence. They refused to leave so the government said ok you can stay but we will send the lepers there too. So the Turks left, but not before destroying as many of the residences as they could. They sent us here to these ruins and no-one has touched them since. We have no power, no furniture, no nothing. No one has any money to fix them. If we had comfortable homes at least we could feel human. This is worse than a prison, at least in prison they feed you.’
The houses were a source of hope no matter how small. They provided basic shelter but with a lot of effort they could become real homes. There was work to be done, lots of it.
