YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1)

by Beryl Darby

  Annita hugged him back. ‘I’m so pleased for you. Wait ‘til we tell Mamma and Pappa!’

  ‘That’s not all, Mr Pavlakis is going to Heraklion,’ he flushed in mortification. ‘That’s supposed to be confidential, so don’t tell anyone, please. He’s going to find us rooms together.’

  ‘Do you want to live with him?’ Annita was surprised at Yannis’s pleasure.

  ‘It will be better than being on my own in a strange town, and I do enjoy talking to him.’

  Annita disentangled herself from Yannis’s embrace and the wet sheet. ‘What will your parents say?’

  ‘I expect they’ll be pleased that there will be someone with me. It seems strange to think that I won’t be coming back here.’ He gazed around the kitchen as if he were seeing it for the first time.

  ‘I must put the washing out.’ Annita went out to the yard so that Yannis did not see her eyes were full of tears. She would miss him so much.

  Yiorgo had agreed to take the children to Plaka by boat, using the canal at Olous as a short cut. It would be more work for him, as the sail would have to be lowered so they could pass beneath the concrete bridge, but it would save the children a long walk in the blazing sun.

  ‘A special treat for Yannis,’ he grinned. ‘He’ll be able to see the houses.’

  Yannis smiled contentedly. He had tried in vain to see the remains of the village that had been lost beneath the sea whenever his uncle had sailed in that direction, but never managed to catch more than a glimpse. Yiorgo and Yannis rowed strongly over the smooth water, whilst Andreas sat at the tiller. At Yiorgo’s instruction they shipped their oars and allowed the boat to glide gently over the clear, blue-green water.

  ‘Look, Yannis,’ he called and pointed into the sea. The three children hung over the side.

  ‘They’re just blocks of stone,’ said Andreas in disgust.

  ‘Could be anything,’ added Annita.

  Yannis shook his head. ‘No, look. There’s the outline of a wall. See that large stone over there? That’s where the door would have been. You can see another wall going that way. Please, Yiorgo, move on a bit.’

  Yiorgo did as he was asked, Yannis pointing out where the walls were until even Annita and Andreas became interested. Finally the water deepened until it was impossible to see the weed-encrusted blocks and Yannis sat up

  They began to negotiate the tiny canal. There was just enough room for a boat to pass beneath the low concrete bridge with the mast down. The water looked so shallow that Yannis held his breath; sure they would be grounded. They passed through safely into the bay and Yannis’s heart skipped a beat as Spinalonga came into sight. He hoped Yiorgo would not sail too close.

  Annita and Andreas began to look for lepers, but saw no one until they rounded the island and were nearing Plaka. At the quay was a boat and a quantity of barrels had been off-loaded. As the boat began to row away lepers appeared through the archway and began to manhandle the barrels away from the quay.Yannis watched, horrified and fascinated. The men who were collecting the barrels looked like any other villager.

  ‘I feel so sorry for them,’ said Annita quietly. ‘They’ve done no harm, and yet they’re treated like criminals.’

  ‘No harm! They infect people with their terrible disease. An island is a good place for them.’ Yannis shivered despite the warmth of the sun.

  ‘They don’t infect people deliberately, and they couldn’t help getting the disease. It’s like having measles,’ reasoned Annita.

  ‘Don’t they frighten you?’ asked Yannis

  Annita shook her head. ‘No, I just feel sorry for them and sort of helpless.’

  Yannis looked at her with disbelief written all over his face. ‘We’re here,’ he said, announcing the obvious to change the subject.

  His family were waiting at the tiny jetty to welcome him. The children jumped ashore and Yannis found himself in his mother’s arms. To his surprise he found he was considerably taller than she was. He knew he had grown by the way his arms had been poking out from his shirts and the gap there was between his trouser legs and his shoes, but he had not realised by how much.

  His brothers and sisters hung back; shy of their cousins and also of their older brother whom they had not seen since Christmas. Yannis threw his arms round all of them in turn, and then introduced them to Annita and Andreas.

  As soon as they arrived at the farmhouse Yannis wanted to see the new donkey his father had purchased. Aga seemed to know him and looked at him with sad, old eyes that wrenched at Yannis’s heart. The younger donkey eyed him uneasily and shifted away. Yannis ignored her; there would be time to get to know her later. He talked softly to old Aga and she responded to his voice by twitching her ears and nuzzling close to him. Eventually Maria came to find him.

  ‘Are you coming? Mamma has lunch ready.’

  Yannis nodded. ‘Poor old Aga.’

  Maria took his arm. ‘She has a good life. Pappa still takes her with him and lets her graze. She never works now, the young one does it all.’

  ‘It will be nice to be in the fields again, to smell the earth instead of fish.’

  They laughed together. ‘It’s good to have you back, Yannis. I wish you were going to stay.’

  ‘I couldn’t do that.’

  ‘Do you prefer to live in a town – and smell of fish?’

  ‘No,’ Yannis smiled. ‘Do I still smell?’ He sniffed at his shirt.

  ‘Will you ever come back?’

  ‘I don’t think I will ever live here again, but I’ll always come back to visit.’

  The fields fascinated Annita and Andreas. The vines, planted in such straight rows and the earth around them turned regularly to keep the weeds at bay, the olive trees which were planted irregularly with the grass for the donkeys being allowed to grow as it wished between them.

  Annita lay on her back in the shade of a carob tree. ‘This is lovely. So peaceful. It can be peaceful at sea, but you always have to be ready for trouble there. Here you can just lay and relax.’

  Yannis poked her with his toe. ‘I thought you were supposed to be working. You might marry a farmer and you’d look silly not knowing what to do.’

  ‘He could teach me,’ answered Annita nonchalantly, ‘besides, your mother doesn’t work in the fields.’

  ‘She used to,’ Yannis assured her. ‘Now she plants herbs and vegetables and looks after the chickens.’

  Annita sighed. She would have to get up. Yannis showed her how to dig around the roots of the vines to aerate them, but not to damage the young shoots. He also explained how to look for parasites that could blight a crop overnight, or moulds that would make the plant whither and die.

  ‘I don’t think I want to marry a farmer,’ she groaned as she straightened up. ‘Yannis, what are you doing?’

  ‘I found this.’

  ‘It’s only a broken pot. I expect someone threw it away.’

  Yannis ignored her and stuffed the pieces into his pocket. He began to look for more shards until Annita lost interest and walked away. Yannis searched around the area, but no more pieces came to light. He straightened up and decided to search systematically along each row, bending to examine more closely the small stones, which were mixed with the red-brown earth. He was on the verge of giving up when he saw another piece sticking out of the ground, far larger than anything he had found earlier. He tried to pull it out, but met with resistance. With eager fingers he scraped away at the soil and tugged again. He wriggled it in the earth and dug a little deeper. The shard gave, and to his surprise the piece he had been pulling at was the base of a pot, with at least half of one side still attached. The boy fingered it curiously, brushing away the earth and rubbing it against his trousers. He looked into the hole it had left and found another small slither.

  ‘Have you lost your bone?’ Maria’s voice sounded behind him.

  He looked up and smiled. ‘I’ve found some pottery.’

  ‘I sh
ould think Pappa would be quite pleased to have his fields cleared. You could take the stones as well.’

  ‘Don’t you find it interesting?’

  Maria shook her head. ‘It’s just useless pieces of a broken pot. No good to anyone, so they’ve been thrown away.’

  ‘You’re probably right,’ admitted her brother. ‘What have you been doing?’

  Maria produced a pad of paper. ‘Drawing.’

  Yannis took the proffered pad. ‘Maria, these are good.’ There was surprise and respect in his voice as he looked at the sketches of the family working or resting and finally one of him, walking, his head bent as he examined the ground. ‘When did you do that?’

  ‘I was sitting higher up the hill and could see you. It isn’t very good.’

  Yannis examined the drawings with their bold lines again. ‘I think they’re marvellous, so life-like. How do you do it?’

  ‘They’re easy. You just copy people. Come on, we ought to go. Pappa has packed up and the others are going with him.’ Maria retrieved her pad from Yannis and they began to walk down the hill, Yannis cradling his precious pieces of pottery.

  ‘Do you like Annita and Andreas?’ Yannis asked his elder sister.

  ‘I like Annita. I’m not sure about Andreas. Is he always so quiet, or is he just a bit shy at the moment?’

  Yannis grinned. ‘He’s the same in Aghios Nikolaos. Annita and I talk and argue, but Andreas just sits and doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t even seem to be listening.’

  ‘What does Mr Pavlakis say about him? Is he clever?’

  ‘He’s never mentioned him to me. We only talk about people in history. What about you? Does Father Theodorakis think you’re clever?’

  Maria shrugged. ‘I can read and write now, but I don’t think he likes me.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I drew a picture of him and he saw it. He said I should be doing my lessons, not wasting my time drawing pictures.’

  ‘Was it rude?’

  Maria shook her head indignantly. ‘No, it just showed what a little, fat man he is, with his glasses perched on the end of his nose and the wart on his chin.’

  Yannis laughed uproariously. ‘No wonder he doesn’t like you!’

  The days passed happily for the children. Having helped with the work in the fields, Maria would sit and draw, whilst Annita chattered to her and Yannis wandered off to search for pieces of pottery. His collection was growing, and he found himself fascinated by their different textures and thickness. Babbis from the neighbouring farm was a frequent visitor, but his attention appeared to be on Maria. The younger children would play together, although Andreas was often missing or would be seen sitting under a tree deep in thought.

  Annita was puzzled by her brother’s behaviour. He had always been quiet, but now he seemed to have withdrawn into himself. It crossed her mind that he might be missing their mother and decided to ask him.

  He smiled gently at her. ‘Of course I miss Mamma, but I’m not unhappy. I’ll see her again very soon. I just enjoy sitting quietly and thinking.’

  ‘You’re not ill?’ Annita asked anxiously.

  ‘Not a bit,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘I’m happier sitting here than I would be if I were chasing around. I wish these holidays could go on for ever.’

  Annita studied him. He certainly looked well and did not appear to be miserable. She decided he always behaved like this and it was only noticeable because of the energy of his cousins. It occurred to her that although she sat and worked at her embroidery most evenings, Andreas was nearly always out.

  ‘What do you think about?’

  ‘Many things,’ Andreas evaded the question.

  Annita realised her brother was going to tell her nothing. She shrugged and wandered away to find Yannis and Maria, finally running them to earth in the stable with Aga. She was lying in the straw, her breathing laboured and her eyes glazed.

  ‘Go and fetch Pappa,’ ordered Yannis.

  Annita fled back to the house, bursting into the living room. ‘Aga’s sick, maybe dying.’

  Yannis senior jumped to his feet and followed the girl back to the stable. Maria was sobbing, burying her face into the donkey’s soft neck. Yannis was talking softly to Aga, the twitching of her ears showing she was conscious. The farmer took one look and turned to Annita. ‘Go back to the house and ask Maria for my shot-gun.’

  ‘No, Pappa.’ Both Maria and Yannis looked up at him in horror.

  ‘It’s kinder to shoot her. She’s old and won’t recover. Her time’s come and I’d rather shoot her than see her suffer.’

  Yannis could feel hot tears pricking behind his eyelids. He loved Aga, he had ridden her to and from the fields since before he could walk and to him she was part of the family.

  Annita returned with the gun and handed it to her uncle. ‘I’ll hold her,’ she said calmly and pushed Maria gently out of the way.

  ‘There’s no need. Say goodbye to her, then all of you outside.’

  Annita put her arm around Maria and pulled Yannis by the sleeve. Once outside the stable Yannis buried his face in his hands, waiting for the shot. For what seemed like an age they stood and no sound came. Yannis came out from the stable.

  ‘She’s dead,’ he announced. ‘As I lifted the gun she died,’ he said simply.

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t shoot her, Pappa.’ Maria slipped her hand into his and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘I’m glad too. Now, Annita, take the gun back in. We’ll have to dig a grave for her.’ Solemnly the children followed Yannis to the olive grove.

  ‘Where are you going to bury her?’ asked Annita.

  ‘By the wall. The soil won’t wash off her down here.’

  The three children helped Yannis dig. It was a long and arduous task and before the hole was deep enough it had become dark.

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Yannis, leaning on his spade. ‘We’ll finish it tomorrow.’

  ‘Why do we have to dig it so deep?’ asked Maria.

  ‘For a number of reasons,’ explained her father. ‘As the carcass rots it will smell if it’s near the surface. The smell would be most unpleasant to us when we worked here and also attract animals that would dig it up for food. Bits of her would then be left exposed to the sun and soon there would be a swarm of flies followed by maggots and in no time we should all be suffering from a disease.’

  ‘Is that how people become ill, really ill?’ asked Annita.

  ‘Sometimes, but there can be many causes of illness. Only a doctor can say what kind of illness you’re suffering from and how to cure it.’

  ‘The Widow Segouri knows,’ said Yannis.

  ‘The Widow knows some things,’ admitted his father. ‘She trained as a nurse for a while before she married and the rest of her knowledge comes from experience.’

  ‘Where does she live?’ asked Annita curiously.

  ‘At the end house,’ replied Yannis, heaving his shovel onto his shoulder. He was feeling deathly tired now, but proud that he had managed to keep up with his father, not needing to stop for frequent rests as the girls had. The sad procession made their way back to the house, Yannis pointing out where the Widow Segouri lived on the way. The rest of the family were waiting for them, Anna had obviously been crying.

  ‘I’ll clean the spades,’ Yannis muttered and slipped back out to the yard.

  He rubbed off the cloying earth with a piece of rag and took them to the outhouse; then he returned to the stable. Aga was lying where he had last seen her. He stroked her nose gently. There was no response, no flick of the ears, no nuzzling in his hand. Yannis thought his heart would break; sobs racked his body as he expressed his grief over the dead animal. He did not hear his father enter the stable and walk over to him.

  ‘Yannis, do you feel better now?’

  The boy nodded dumbly.

  ‘It was sad, but she didn’t have a bad life. I looked after her, made sure she had enough to eat, never
beat her, and she hadn’t earned her keep for a long time.’

  ‘I know, Pappa. It’s just that I loved Aga and I think she loved me. I know you kept her when you could have sold her for the price of her skin.’

  Yannis senior’s voice was gruff. ‘I don’t regret keeping her. You mustn’t grieve. Come inside and have a glass of wine. It will help you sleep.’

  Yannis took a last look at Aga and followed his father from the stable, automatically latching the door behind him.

  Yannis senior finally declared the pit they had dug was deep enough and the cart bearing the animal was manoeuvred into position. Together they tilted it and the dead donkey slid slowly into the deep hole, landing in an ungainly heap.

  ‘Fill it in,’ ordered Yannis. He did not want the children to stand and look for too long.

  Filling in the hole was much quicker and easier than digging it and they had nearly finished before the girls asked for a rest. Yannis took the opportunity to pull out some pottery he had spotted and place it to one side.

  ‘Come on, let’s finish the job.’ Yannis senior was not prepared to lose a day’s work over a donkey. When the last of the earth had been shovelled in he stamped it down hard whilst Yannis continued his search for pottery in the remaining clods.

  Anna looked at her father. ‘Shouldn’t we say prayers for her, like they do in church?’ she asked solemnly.

  Her father smiled at her. ‘You can say a prayer if you wish.’

  ‘I’ll say one,’ said Andreas suddenly. ‘Come and stand by the grave, all of you.’

  Surprised, the children did as he bade them. Andreas drew himself up to his full height, clasped his hands together and spoke in a clear, quiet voice.

  ‘Dear God, in your mercy, please look after this donkey who has entered your Heavenly Kingdom. She carried heavy burdens in her lifetime on earth; please lighten her load now that she is in your care. Amen.’

  Yannis senior looked at the boy in amazement. He had said the words so confidently, yet they were unrehearsed and came from the heart. They turned from the grave and Anna picked a few flowers that she scattered onto the stamped earth. The action brought a lump to her father’s throat and he spoke gruffly.