by Nike Azoros
He fasted every day instead of only Wednesdays and Fridays but his soul was not settling. He tried to do more offerings of charity to ease the inner torment. He used up all his diocese allowance to provide lunches for his parish, made with the help of the ladies auxiliary of course. The meals were wonderful such as tender cuttlefish braised with spinach and artichokes Byzantine style. He still made yoghurt every week, so thick it could be cut with a knife, but he now gave it away to the village elders who could no longer chew. He even stopped accepting the complimentary shots of tsikoudia he was offered every time he went to the taverna for a chat with the townsmen.
‘Why don’t you drink with us Pater?’ the council clerk asked him after Manoussos declined yet another offer of a shot of tsikoudia. ‘The next thing you’ll tell me is you prefer ouzo like a soft mainlander.’
‘I don’t know. I am unsettled. I just need to have this uneasiness pass. Maybe I am getting old.’
‘You are younger than me Father and if you weren’t a priest I could suggest some very effective ways that I use to help me feel, shall we say, settled.’ The waiter brought plates of Dakos and Kalitsounia but Manoussos waved for him to take them away. Christos the clerk waved them back again. ‘Now I know something is wrong, these are your very favourite foods and don’t think you can fool me because you are wearing your rassos. I can see that under those black robes you have become half the man you were. Don’t you eat anymore?’
‘I can only manage to eat wild greens, some thistle root. On some Sundays I boil an egg, sometimes I can eat half of it. There is mint everywhere so I just sip tea.’ Christos bit into the Dakos and involuntarily sighed in delight of the flavour explosion on his tongue. Even looking at it was a joy. He let the mouthful sit on his tongue for the barley rusk base to dissolve and allow the hit of the tangle of tomato and soft salty cheese threaded with oregano and fruity olive oil.
‘This has to be the best meze. Come on take a bite.’ Christos swung back a slug of tsikoudia and eyed the traditional soft cheese pastries, the Kalitsounia, ‘Ah praised be God for the hands of Cretan women, these treats belong in Paradise.’ He bit into one and chewed as he spoke.
‘Remember Maria Lambrakis? She could make Kalitsounia that could make you lie down like a lamb. I had to kill her brother Nikos off too, just recently. What misfortune on one house, two children and both lepers, therefore both dead to the world. It tore my heart in two but what could I do?’
At the sound of Nikos’ name the lungs of Manoussos tightened. Manoussos recalled how Nikos’s sister Maria had brought trays of her melt in the mouth pastries to the Church to be served at memorial days.
‘Now that I come to think of it Father that is when I noticed the change in you. It has been since her brother’s funeral and departure. He was born to be great but the Fates had other ideas. You see Father no one can take anything for granted. Ach! Their poor mother worked so hard in the fields and with the needle to educate him and now she is left all alone by tragedy. My eagle, she used to call him’ Manoussos sat up from his slump. ‘I haven’t seen their mother for a while.’
‘Of course not, she wouldn’t dare show her face anymore. She is the mother of two lepers she would be treated like a leper herself.’ Father Manoussos winced at those words. Theodora Lambrakis had been a devoted member of his congregation, always helping others, just like her son. It pained him that such a good soul was now shunned by society.
He had gone to find her a couple of weeks earlier but without success. He didn’t even know how he got to be outside her house but his unease had become so intense he simply followed his soul. She wasn’t home or if she was she did not come to the door.
He leaned in closer to Christos, ‘This morning when I sat down to write out the weekly church program an ikon fell off its shelf. When I turned it over to check if the glass had broken I saw it was the ikon of Saint Nikolas. Is that a coincidence?’
‘That is not a coincidence. Maybe Nikos or his mother Theodora is calling for you and God is making sure you listen.’
‘Kyrie elaison’ shouted Manoussos. ‘What kind of priest am I? And I call myself a man of God, I am nothing but a fool. A buffoon like you can see it yet I walk around with my eyes closed.’ Christos the clerk was about to take another bite of the Dakos but the priest’s words just registered, ‘buffoon?’ Father Manoussos beckoned the waiter over to the table. ‘Put all this food in a basket for me along with some bread, olives, some salami and I saw the cook rolling up some dolmades earlier, put some of those in there too.’ Christos the clerk protested the disappearance of his lunch, ‘Hey, I’m still eating.’
‘Well stop, you need to lose weight.’
Father Manoussos ran straight to the house of Mrs. Theodora Lambrakis. Now he knew why there was a thorn in his heart. It had been lodged there by the last words spoken to him by Nikos Lambrakis.
‘The only way God will ever come to Spinalonga is if you bring him yourself.’
The house of the widow Lambrakis had all its blue shutters closed. He was relieved to see there were a few chickens strutting around within a little corral and two goats grazed under a lemon tree. He was more relieved to see she had a vegetable garden with zucchini, spinach and tomatoes growing. At least she had some food. He called out to her in the warmest, friendliest tone he could manage, ‘Kali Mera Mrs. Lambrakis.’ He spoke out so she could hear someone was looking for her company. If he had just knocked on the door he doubted she would have opened it. She would have ignored it until the visitor gave up and went away, just as she had been doing up till now. She appeared at her side gate. Theodora Lambrakis was still a striking woman. She wore the dull, shapeless black garb of the Cretan woman in mourning but her firm shape showed through. Her skin was smooth and her hair, held down as it was by her black headscarf, still shone like a glossy chestnut but her eyes had a tortured look in them. Manoussos was sure she never even looked in the mirror anymore.
‘What do you want here Father?’ Her voice was no longer soft. He extended out his hand to offer the basket to her, he held his hand out just long enough to allow her to decide if she wanted to bow and kiss it to receive the blessing and to show that he did not fear being near her. She did not kiss it but stood upright and unfathomable like a sphinx.
‘I’ve brought you some food.’
She was brusque and grabbed the basket out of his hands without even looking in it, ‘I accept this food and you can bring more if you want. The people here are all hungry but why have you brought it and why now?’ He could see where Nikos got his sharpness from. ‘I have enough food to eat Father, just, but I don’t need much. What appetite do you think I have with both my children dead but walking, buried but above ground? I can never hold them again. I will never see them again. I will never know grandchildren.’ Manoussos reached out to touch her shoulder to offer comfort but she pulled away.
‘If you have come to persuade me to come to church again by handing me a basket of food you are wasting your time. Any God that won’t watch over my children at Spinalonga can’t do anything for me either.’
She looked in the basket and nodded her approval. She pulled out a few olives and some bread. Father Manoussos knew this was a neighborhood in need but in order to keep the majority of his parishioners at ease he had not visited, the neighborhood was now considered the breeding ground of lepers. No one knew how it happened and no one bothered to try to find out the source of infection. They were too scared to come close. Theodora Lambrakis brought him up to date.
‘There is wretchedness everywhere. Over there is the house of a man whose wife was sent to Spinalonga, she left behind three little ones and a strong husband. He could no longer take his boat out to go catch fish because of his little ones so I offered to watch them while he tries to make enough money to keep them in shoes. Then no one would buy his fish for fear they would get the disease too. They are clean and they have had the tests to prove it but people treat us all like lepers too. No school will take his children
so I teach them what I know. At least they will be able to write their names and know how to count how many drachmas they have, not that they have many. I can teach the girl to cook and sew and the boys will learn how to shoot and fish so they will survive. The others have no one. Society has failed us. The church has failed us.’
The priest bowed before her and kissed her hand as the laymen should do whenever they meet a priest. He fell to his knees, ‘Forgive me. Forgive my blindness to all the suffering. I was consumed with thoughts of protecting the community.’
‘The only thing my children and the other poor souls did wrong was to get sick.’ Manoussos ached for them as she spoke. ‘Theodora the day your son Nikos left here he said something to me and it hasn’t given me any peace since. Now I know what I have to do. I must help these people and let them know we have not forgotten them.’
She softened slightly, ‘Very well and just how are you going to do that?’
‘Theodora the last words of your son are still ringing in my ears. I hear nothing but them over and over. He said to me, God does not go to Spinalonga. I will take Him there. God goes to everyone.’
‘You have been called?’
‘Yes, I have been called.’
‘When do you go?’
‘As soon as I can but I will need a few days to arrange the ecclesiastical matters. I came here to bring you this food and to ask your forgiveness for my having abandoned you and the others here. I will atone by serving those who have true need.’
He left, but returned a few days later.
‘What about the people of this parish?’
‘A new priest has already arrived.’
Manoussos explained how he had sent a letter to the bishop of Crete to request a transfer and for assistance with food programs and charity drives. It would be difficult work because Greece was already trying to recover from the hardships caused by the Balkan wars. It seemed wars were unceasing. As soon as one was over a new battle would commence. It brought him to understand why Greeks were so inexplicably passionate. Every day had been a fight to stay alive.
The bishop of Crete got the letter and believing Manoussos needed help in his parish sent a young priest monk fresh out of Mount Athos and full of hope and charity. Manoussos knew this error was God working in one of His mysterious ways. It meant he could train him to get to know the entire parish and then it would be even easier for him to leave. Manoussos was about to leave when Theodora gripped his hand.
‘Take me too.’
‘No Theodora. Do not risk your own life you have so much to do for the others.’
‘I want to be with my children no matter what the risk.’
‘Theodora, stay here and continue the work you are doing and the work you must do with the new priest. If God wants you to be on Spinalonga it will happen when He wants it.’ Her face fell but she knew he was right. Even though she needed her children they now had a new community but the community she was in needed her badly. ‘Very well, I will stay here and help here and assist the new priest.’ She escorted him to the door.
‘Thank you Theodora.’
Father Stavros, the new priest, was learning fast and Manoussos decided to test him. They were carrying out their regular daily duties when Manoussos said to the young priest,
‘I want to make confession to you.’ He had to know how the priest felt about the diseased ones. Was he a true man of God who loved all equally or did he show preference to the healthy and shun the sick?
‘But Father you are senior to me, it is not right.’
‘Do your job Father.’
‘Very well.’ The young priest could not disobey the command of his superior. The two men took their positions before the great screen of the church where Manoussos knelt before the great ikon of Christ. The young priest stood and draped the epitrachelion over his own shoulders and began reciting prayers over the head of Manoussos. He then looked down at the kneeling senior priest and asked,
‘What troubles your soul?’
‘Disease has struck some of our people but instead of us showing them love and sympathy we treated them worse than demons. We claim to be in health but in truth we carry the worst ailment of all. We are the diseased ones, we are spiritually diseased.’ The young priest struggled to find a response of guidance for the troubled man and allowed his discipline to guide his speech, ‘Father we are guided to do so by our Bible.
We are told in Leviticus 13: 46 He shall remain unclean all the days during which he has the infection; he is unclean. He shall live alone; his dwelling shall be outside the camp.’
‘I know very well what the Old Testament says, but we are Christians, we follow the teachings of Christ. You recalled the verse in Leviticus well. Do you not then recall?
Luke17:12-14
‘Then as He entered a certain village, there met Him ten men who were lepers, who stood afar off. And they lifted up their voices and said, ‘Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!’ So when He saw them, He said to them, ‘Go, show yourselves to the priests.’ And so it was that as they went, they were cleansed.’
‘Our Savior gave the lepers hope and their faith cured them. It was His command that they come to see us, the priests. He sent them to the temples, yet we not only drive them away, we also kill them off while they still breathe.’ The young priest hung his head, he was humbled and moved. He removed the epitrachelion from around his neck and draped the embroidered cloth over the head of his confessant as the tradition dictated, then recited the prayer of forgiveness over Manoussos.
Afterwards the two priests embraced and gave each other kisses on each cheek. Manoussos could feel the relief pumping in his veins. His choice to leave had been the answer to the burning ache within his viscera that nothing had been able to ease, nothing that is until he had made his decision.
The bishop of Crete was visiting the Lasithi prefecture and had invited all of the local priests to meet for a council. Manoussos would have attended anyway but this was the perfect opportunity to speak personally with the bishop about why he had not received any word about the transfer he requested.
After the general council meeting Manoussos took his place in the line up to receive a personal blessing from the bishop. It did not take long for his name to be called. The two Holy men greeted each other with the traditional embrace and kiss on both cheeks as well as each other’s hand.
‘Tell me your news of Lasithi my brother Manoussos. I have received many glowing reports of your love and dedication to the people of your parish.’
‘Thank you Your Grace and I thank you for sending me Father Stavros, he is well received and well liked.’ Manoussos was not his usual calm self and the bishop could sense it.
‘Any other news for me?’
‘Yes your Grace, a request actually.’
The bishop nodded for Manoussos to keep talking. ‘I requested a transfer away but have not yet heard your decision. Father Stavros has been made familiar with all of the parochial matters and I feel confident he will do well.’
‘A transfer? Yes I did receive your letter but I thought you were suggesting you were tired and were in need of assistance, so I sent Father Stavros. So tell me where is it you wish to go Manoussos?’
‘Your Grace, it is not my wish but that of the Almighty. I have been Called. I seek advice from you if you know if there are any churches where I seek to go and if not, would the Patriarch see fit to send me to build one?’
The bishop had already asked his question and would not repeat it, to him wasted words were as bad as wasted food, a sin. He arched an eyebrow, looked at the priest and drummed his fingers on the arms of the bishop’s throne. Manoussos gulped and then blurted out the words he had been aching to speak for so long.
‘I have been called to Spinalonga, the fallen there have great need, they believe God has abandoned them, this must not be permitted to continue, no soul should feel God does not want them.’
The Bishop stopped drumming. He leaned forward sharply, ‘Manousso
s do you know what you ask? It is a complete slum there for the most wretched of humanity.’ The bishop rubbed his forehead and shook his head. ‘And as for any church, I do know well that there is one there but it has fallen into ruin. We almost sent a cleric to deconsecrate it but then we decided we would not take the risk.’
Manoussos spoke quietly, ‘I do not consider the residents to be wretched humanity. They are souls in need, and as for the church being in ruins, I will rebuild it. The souls there will need a place to pray. Please your Grace, give your approval to my request for a transfer to Spinalonga?’
The bishop waved a damask enclosed arm at him in dismissal. ‘I must decline your request Manoussos. The residents of Spinalonga have been pronounced dead by the state and church. You know full well the mysteries cannot be given to the dead, it is a sin. They have no further need of any ecclesiastical services.’
‘Your Grace, The Church was mistaken to do so and the practice must cease immediately. These people are ill not dead. How is it possible to carry out a burial service on a person who is standing, then walks out of the church of their own accord?’
‘Enough!’ The bishop roared. ‘The answer is No! Now go back to your church Father Manoussos.’
Manoussos stayed still and calm. ‘Is that how our Lord treated the lepers? Your Grace, with all due respect, I do not accept your decision. I will travel to see His All-Holiness, The Ecumenical Patriarch in Constantinople if necessary. But before I do so perhaps you might take a moment to reconsider.’
The bishop was moved by the passion and resolve pouring out of this slight man who asked for nothing for himself except to be permitted to do the work of God at the risk of a death sentence. When he spoke again it was in a quieter voice, ‘Father Manoussos, please exit this space and allow me a few moments to meditate on this matter as well as to meet my other appointments.’ Manoussos left the room but waited at the door. It took four hours for the door to open again. The bishop was sitting on his throne and beckoned him over. If the bishop had not taken up holy orders he could have become a wrestler. His presence not only filled the throne he was sitting in but the entire room. In his opulent Byzantine attire he was a splendid yet awesome sight. Even so Manoussos would not have been deterred by the decision if was negative.
