by Beryl Darby
He followed Yiorgo and Andreas along the dusty road until they stopped at the door of the farmhouse and after knocking they entered unannounced. Maria sat in her chair, a rug over her knees. She extended her hand to her cousin and slurred words of greeting came from her lips. Anna appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, the smile of welcome freezing on her lips as she saw the priest.
‘I’ll fetch Pappa.’
‘There’s no need.’ Father Minos laid a hand on her arm. ‘I’ll walk up to the fields and see him for myself.’
‘You don’t bring bad news?’
Father Minos shook his head. ‘Nor do I bring good news. This is just a friendly visit as I was in the vicinity.’
Anna gazed at him doubtfully. ‘I’ll fetch some coffee.’ She returned to the kitchen, Andreas following her.
‘It is bad news, isn’t it? He wouldn’t have come otherwise.’
‘No, Anna. He arrived at our house yesterday and gave us the address of the hospital where Yannis is. He has no news of him at all. How is your Mamma and Maria?’
‘Are you telling the truth, Andreas?’
‘I swear I am.’
He took the jug from the hook and went out to the yard to fill it from the pump. Anna prepared a tray, adding a plate of homemade biscuits, and waited for Andreas to return.
‘How’s your Mamma?’ he asked again.
‘Much the same. I don’t think she’ll ever be well again. Her speech seems a little clearer recently, or maybe I’m getting more used to it.’ Anna stirred the coffee carefully.
‘And Maria?’
This time Anna smiled. ‘She’s very happy. It won’t be much longer now. She was over earlier this morning.’
‘How are you managing?’
Anna looked at her cousin from under her thick lashes. ‘I’m enjoying myself. I love looking after Mamma and the house.’
Andreas nodded, unable to comprehend how anyone could enjoy spending their day cooking, cleaning and nursing. ‘Shall I take the tray in?’
‘Just a moment.’ Anna placed the dirty coffee saucepan on the stone floor. ‘Could you take a letter back to Annita for me?’
‘Of course. Is it ready?’
Anna shook her head. ‘I didn’t know you were coming, but I’ve been thinking about writing it for some time.’
Andreas led the way through to the living room where Father Minos was talking earnestly to Maria. Yiorgo had lit a cigarette and was wondering if he should offer to go up to the fields and fetch Yannis. He took his coffee from the tray and smiled at Anna. She was becoming a beautiful young girl and he speculated what would happen to his cousin when she met a young man. If Yannis knew what was good for him he would welcome any suitor into his house with open arms.
‘Would you like me to prepare some rolls for you to take up to the fields? You could eat up there with Pappa and Yiorgo.’
Father Minos looked at Yiorgo. ‘That would suit me very well, but I have to be ruled by my friend. Do your fish call, or do we have time to spend an hour with your relatives?’
‘We have time. I am at your disposal for the rest of the day. I want to talk to Yannis myself. Andreas can stay and help you, Anna. He can bring the food up to us which will save your legs.’
Anna shot him a grateful glance. It was easier to make rolls than to cook a meal at such short notice and if Andreas was to stay and help her it would be quicker still.
‘I need some onions pulled and cleaned,’ she instructed him. ‘I’ll do the rest.’
Deftly she sliced tomatoes and cheese, filling the rolls and adding the onions as Andreas handed them to her. ‘I’ll write the letter whilst you’re gone,’ she said.
Andreas wrapped the rolls in a cloth and began to make his way towards the hills whilst Anna returned to the living room and collected the dirty cups and glasses.
‘I’m going to write a letter to Annita, Mamma.’ She had formed the habit of talking continually to her mother in the belief that hearing words would improve her mother’s speech. Maria nodded. She was feeling tired and wished to sit and think about her recent conversation with the priest. Rummaging in the cupboard Anna found an old piece of paper and began to write:
“Dear Annita,
I am worried about Maria. It will not be much longer before she has her baby. The Widow Segouri is going to help her if she can get there. She has become all crippled up in her joints. What do I have to do?”
She felt relieved when she waved goodbye to the three men that afternoon. It had been good to see her uncle and cousin for a short while and know her letter would reach Annita, but her mother now seemed so very tired. She hoped she had not over-taxed her meagre strength. She did not want her to relapse into the vegetable existence they had taken such pains to draw her from.
Yiorgo sat silently in the boat. Yannis had accepted eagerly when he had suggested that Stelios go to Aghios Nikolaos and attend the school there as his other son had done. Father Minos’s soft voice broke in on his thoughts.
‘Could we sail to the island, do you think?’
Yiorgo looked at him in surprise. ‘The island? Whatever for?’
‘I should like to speak to the people who live there.’
‘But only lepers live there.’
‘I know. That’s why I wish to speak to them.’
Yiorgo shrugged. ‘I’m not landing.’ It was one thing to creep onto the island at night when everyone was asleep, but it would be entirely different during the day when everyone would be moving around and likely to touch him. He manoeuvred the boat into the shallow water and Father Minos stood up, steadying himself by holding a rope and began to call loudly.
‘Hello. Hello. Is there anyone there?’
Someone at the storehouse looked towards him and stared, then called to someone unseen. Gradually, consumed with curiosity, people began to appear until a small crowd had gathered.
Father Minos called across the water. ‘I am Father Minos. I would like to speak with you. Do you have a priest on your island?’
Confused muttering answered him; then one man limped forward and raised his voice. ‘Do you come from the authorities?’
‘No. I come as a friend. Do you have a priest with whom I could talk?’
‘We have no priest! We have nothing!’ The man answered bitterly.
‘Nothing?’ Father Minos was puzzled.
‘Nothing except the food sent by the villagers.’
‘Where is your doctor?’
‘We’ve no doctor. We’re lepers. We’re dead men. Why should we need a doctor?’
Father Minos seemed taken aback by the reception he was getting. He turned to Yiorgo. ‘Please, go in closer. Let me land.’
Yiorgo shook his head. ‘They’d tear you to pieces. They’re animals. They lived in caves before they were sent here. We’d do well to go.’
‘Not yet.’ Father Minos turned back to the shore. ‘My friends, I have to leave you. Before I go would you care to kneel and say a prayer with me and receive a blessing?’
The lepers looked at each other, uncertain what their reaction should be. One or two turned away, others knelt. A woman called something unintelligible. More people were crowding onto the tiny quay, those without limbs being carried, those who were sightless being led, a gathering of humanity, which defied description in its deformities and suffering. Andreas sucked in his breath. This was a horror past all his worst imaginings. Father Minos was stretching out his hands to the populace, asking for God’s blessing on the afflicted, for a relief to their suffering and a betterment of their lot. Andreas felt hot tears stinging his eyelids as the faces, disfigured with pain and disease, took on a look of hope and mutilated hands were stretched out towards the priest.
The press of people on the quay made the foremost step into the water and they began to walk slowly towards the boat.
‘Row, Andreas, row. Fast as you can.’
It took a moment for
Andreas to appreciate the threat that was nearly upon them.
‘Row, before they reach us.’
Andreas bent to the oars and pulled with all his might, the tiny boat shooting rapidly backwards, nearly toppling the priest overboard. A sigh went up as the boat drew away. Father Minos waved. ‘I shall be back,’ he called. ‘I shall be back, my friends.’
Yiorgo growled as he plied the oars. ‘Not with me, you won’t.’
Andreas sat silently, trying to sort out his emotions. He had been repulsed by the people he had seen living on the island, yet he felt guilty that he could do nothing to help them. Thank God his cousin was not amongst them, but in a hospital. No doubt he was being looked after properly.
Father Minos had fallen to his knees, his head bowed in prayer. He had no wish to show the fisherman and his son how shaken and moved he was by the people’s plight. For the rest of the journey back to Aghios Nikolaos he sat with his head bowed, wrestling with the problem in his mind. These people were desperate for help. The voice came back to him, so loud and strong that he thought his companions must have heard it also.
‘You cannot heal, but you can help.’
‘I will, I will,’ he muttered fervently, his head still bowed.
Yannis inspected his handiwork of the previous day with a critical eye. He pushed at the wall, nothing shifted and he smiled in delight. Rolling up his sleeves he began to select his stones, making a pile of larger ones before starting to try to place any of them. This time he plugged the gaps after every sixth stone instead of each one as he had done before and was convinced he was working more quickly. After two hours he stood back and surveyed his handiwork. The wall had risen no more than a metre, but it was longer than the one he had tackled previously.
He forced himself to stop, looking at his damaged hands ruefully. His nails were torn and two of them were bleeding. He wished he had thought to bring some water with him, and decided to visit the fountain for a drink. Having slaked his thirst he dived into the tunnel and hurried through to the fresh air on the other side. The blue sea, lapping gently against the shore, looked inviting and Yannis plunged his arms in up to his elbows, washing away the dust with the salt water as best he could, soaking his shirt and trousers in the process. Damp and tired he toiled back up the hill and lay down in the shade of the half-built wall to rest. He slept far longer than he had intended, waking with his tongue feeling like fur in his mouth. He would remember some water in future. He returned to the fountain and drank deeply. He debated whether to return to his building or leave it for that day, his empty stomach influenced his decision and he hurried along the road. As he reached the port he was surprised to see most of the islanders gathered there.
‘What’s happening? More arrivals?’
‘We had a visitor. A priest came to have a look at us.’
‘I wish I’d known,’ Yannis sighed regretfully. ‘I’d have liked to have received a blessing.’
A tall figure stood on board a boat, his hand raised in farewell, just discernible in the distance. Sadly Yannis gazed after him. He turned into the food store and took the opportunity to stuff two rolls into his pocket along with a lump of cheese. Munching slowly he returned to the sunlight and began to walk along the road where Spiro caught up with him.
‘Where were you? A priest came to the island. He wasn’t allowed ashore, but he talked to us and gave us a blessing. He wanted to know how we lived and he’s promised to come again.’
Yannis looked at his friend wearily. ‘What did you tell him? That we exist, without proper shelter, that the chronically sick have no medicine, that we all pray for a speedy death?’
‘What’s wrong with you? You’re so bitter! Of course we told him.’
Yannis threw himself on the ground beside Kyriakos. ‘It’s everything. You’re still revelling in the novelty of fresh air and being able to walk around as you wish, but what have we got? Nothing. We’re dependent upon the villagers for everything. The priest was not allowed to land! Why not? Are we animals? We wouldn’t have touched him.’
‘The priest wanted to land. He said he wasn’t frightened, but the boatman wouldn’t hear of it.’ Spiro tried to placate him.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Yannis spoke resignedly, ‘once you’re a leper. If only they realised.’
‘Realised what?’
‘That we’re human. Having leprosy doesn’t stop you thinking and feeling the same as anyone else.’
Spiro was silent. He had heard Yannis speak like this before and he had no way of comforting him or distracting his thoughts. It was with relief that he saw Phaedra coming, her arms loaded with food.
‘We ought to help her.’
‘You can. I’m tired.’
Spiro glanced at Yannis crossly. What had he been up to that he was too tired to carry an armful of food for a few yards? For the first time Spiro noticed the stains on Yannis’s clothes and his damaged hands.
‘What have you been doing all day?’
‘Poking around.’ Yannis laid back and closed his eyes.
Yannis slept well that night, but groaned as he sat up. His arms felt as heavy as lead. Yawning, he rose and left his companions still sleeping. He visited the port and helped himself to some food, purloining an old jug that had lost its handle and filled it with water. He carried it carefully to his half built walls and placed it in the shade.
For the first hour Yannis spent his time searching other ruined buildings for items he could use. He had taken a door from its resting place on the ground and as near as he could judge it would fit his opening. Various lengths of timber were lying where they had fallen when their support had collapsed and Yannis hauled them all back painstakingly. The work was arduous and he drove himself to exhaustion point before stopping to rest, determined to fix the window openings.
He sat in the shade he had created and contemplated his achievement so far. Two more walls needed to be brought up to the same height as those he had completed; then the problem of a roof would have to be solved. He tried to think how to fix supports, but was unable to concentrate. Closing his eyes he drifted into a sound sleep. When he awoke the sun was high in the sky and he cursed himself for sleeping for so long. It was unlikely he would be able to finish one wall, far less both of them and the windows as he had planned. To add to his problem he was running out of large, suitable blocks of stone. He moved further afield and began to collect and move the largest he could find, stacking them in an untidy pile. Very weary he finally decided to abandon his project for the day. His craving for a drink had become the most important objective in his life at that moment, he had finished the jug he had brought with him long ago.
Despite the enthusiasm with which Yannis started each day his progress seemed to become slower. Trying to build a row of masonry above the window openings proved impossible until he removed the original timbers and replaced them with longer crosspieces, taking him two days to reconstruct. The roof was the most time consuming and exhausting of all. Having found the longest timbers that were lying in the ruins he had to haul them back and prop them against the completed walls. Piling large blocks of stone at the foot of the wall gave him a narrow and unsteady catwalk and enough height to manoeuvre the unwieldy pieces of wood into position. Try as he might, they would not lie parallel and he just hoped the roof tiles would bridge the wider gaps.
Scrambling up on the catwalk he tiled as far as he could reach on each side, leaving the centre open to the sky. The most testing time of all arrived when he had to place his weight on the half-completed roof and trust the supports would bear him. Feeling his way carefully he placed the tiles, overlapping them carefully.
‘That is fantastic!’
Yannis almost fell off the roof. He twisted his head to see Spiro gazing up at him admiringly. Carefully he climbed back down to the ground.
‘It isn’t very good,’ he said modestly.
‘It’s wonderful! How did you do it?’
Toget
her they sat on a block of stone whilst Yannis described how he had toiled at the building.
‘No wonder you were coming back exhausted each day. We thought you were going through a bad patch and wanted to be left alone. Why didn’t you say? I’d have helped.’
Yannis laughed derisively. ‘After the way you mocked me and said it couldn’t be done! I had to do it on my own to prove to you, prove to all of you, that it was possible.’
Spiro clapped him on the back. ‘You’ve certainly done that.’ He wrinkled his brow. ‘Do you really think it can be done with the others?’
‘I’m sure it can. It’s just a question of convincing people and getting them to help. I can’t repair them all myself.’ Yannis grinned, his exhaustion disappearing as Spiro’s enthusiasm became contagious.
Spiro dragged Yannis to his feet. ‘Come and tell them.’
‘Who?’
‘Anyone who’ll listen, and if they don’t believe you we can bring them up here and show them.’ Spiro began to drag Yannis down the hill.
‘I’d like to tell Antionis first.’
‘If you like. Then we’ll tell Christos.’
Slipping and sliding they hurried downwards and along the path to the square. Yannis went first to the fountain and took a long drink whilst Spiro hammered on the door of Antionis’s house. The old man hobbled to the door.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, Yannis. I’ve something to tell you.’
Antionis allowed Yannis to take his arm and steer him towards a wall where he lowered himself down carefully.
Yannis swallowed. ‘I’ve built a house,’ he mumbled.
‘Say it again. My hearings not so good now.’
‘I’ve built a house,’ Yannis repeated.
A slow smile spread across the old man’s features. ‘I said you could rebuild. I knew you could do it.’ He searched for Yannis’s hand and squeezed it. ‘You’re a good boy, Yannis. You can rebuild.’
