YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1)

by Beryl Darby

  Yannis watched as the men struggled to get the massive generator into position. It was ugly and looked out of place against the background of the Venetian wall that rose behind it. Men arrived, rolling out thick cables and trailing them through the arch and along the road to the hospital. For days cables were rolled out, moved, cut, joined to thinner lengths and then to no more than thick wires. Ladders were placed against walls and pottery holders fixed, the wires criss-crossing from one house to another like a spider’s web.

  In each room a wire trailed across the ceiling and down the wall, connected to a brass switch by the door and a globe of glass that swung gently in the slightest breeze. Switches were clicked up and down and the bulbs stared at, but there was none of the promised light.

  Spiro had other things to interest him. Manolis had arrived with half a dozen iron bedsteads that had to be assembled. Yannis shuddered at the sight of them. They brought back unpleasant memories of the hospital in Athens, but Doctor Stavros was delighted.

  ‘I’m developing corns on my knees. At least I’ll be able to stand when I examine patients. It will make them more mobile as well.’

  ‘I don’t see what difference it will make to them.’

  ‘You’ve never tried getting up from a mattress on the floor when you’re on crutches. It’s virtually impossible. What’s wrong with you, Yannis? Nothing seems to please you.’

  Yannis shrugged. ‘I’m bored. I’ve read all my books until I know them by heart, I’ve watched the workmen and there’s nothing to do.’

  ‘You could give me a hand.’

  ‘I know nothing about medicine and I still don’t want to learn,’ replied Yannis firmly.

  ‘You could help me by reading some of the circulars I have piled up. The only benefit from the war that I can see is the advance it gave to medicine. I’ll bring you some over and you can sort through them. I’m not interested in equipment, so you can dispose of those, but there’s a few new drugs that it could be useful to know about.’

  Yannis nodded. He was not really interested, but felt it would be churlish to refuse outright. He watched the pile growing day by day until it became inevitable that he did something about them. Most were offering adjustable operating tables, wheelchairs, unbreakable bowls and the like. A few claimed a new medicine was a miracle cure for an ailment, and one or two were treatment reports written by doctors. These he placed to one side for Doctor Stavros to peruse and discard. He had almost finished when a thin sheet fluttered out separately from a brochure.

  “Successful new treatment for Hansen’s Disease (Leprosy)

  See next month’s issue for details.”

  Yannis stared at the words. Successful! That must mean a cure. Shaking with excitement he went in search of the doctor and thrust the paper under his nose.

  ‘Have you seen this? What is it?’

  Doctor Stavros glanced at it casually. ‘It’s probably more about Dapsone.’

  ‘You know about it?’

  ‘I’ve read about it.’

  ‘Is it a cure?’

  ‘Maybe. It will need more years of testing yet before anyone’s sure.’

  ‘Why aren’t you giving it to us?’

  ‘It’s not available in Greece.’

  ‘Why not? It should be available wherever there’s leprosy.’

  Doctor Stavros shrugged. ‘How should I know? I’m not a politician.’

  ‘Well, shouldn’t you write to them or something?’

  ‘Yannis, I’m busy. I know there are less of you over here than there were a few years ago, but I’m not as young as I was, and when I get back I’m tired and I have other sick people waiting to see me. When am I supposed to have the time to sit down and write letters to politicians?’

  ‘Have you got more information about this?’

  ‘Probably. I’ll bring it over.’

  Yannis pored through the literature, understanding very little of the technical terms and confused by the tiny illustrations. He plagued Doctor Stavros until the doctor finally consented to explain the details to him.

  ‘The government should be written to and this medicine should be demanded on our behalf,’ stormed Yannis angrily. ‘You could explain that we had no medication throughout the war and those of us who are left deserve the chance to regain our health.’

  ‘I’ve told you; I’ve no time to compose letters to the government. Write it yourself. Give it to me to read through and if I agree with it I’ll add a note with my signature.’

  The more Yannis thought about it the more incensed and determined he became. A week later he handed his letter to Doctor Stavros and insisted he read it immediately.

  ‘You feel very strongly over this, don’t you, Yannis?’

  Yannis nodded. ‘I feel we’ve just been forgotten over here. No one cares, they’re just waiting for us all to die so we’re no longer an embarrassment to them.’

  ‘They’re spending a good deal of money on the island at the moment.’

  ‘Our money. It won’t cost them a lepta.’

  ‘You’re so bitter, Yannis.’

  ‘Of course I’m bitter. We’re over here with nothing and all the time they have a cure.’

  ‘You don’t know that.’

  ‘We should be given the chance. I won’t take no for an answer.’

  Doctor Stavros tapped the letter against his fingers. ‘I’ll send it for you with my endorsement, but I don’t know if you’ll get an answer.’

  Yannis’s mouth set in a grim line. ‘Then I’ll continue to write to them until I do – and it had better be the one I want.’

  Anna saw the pin pricks of light over the island and for a moment she panicked, thinking it was a fire, then she smiled. At least life for her brother was improving. She decided she would ask Davros to take her over to the island so she could see this modern electricity. It would be an experience she would surely never forget if she pressed a switch and light came into a dark room.

  She was surprised when she arrived on the island to see that it looked no different from the way it had before. She was not sure what she had expected to see, but felt there should have been something. Yannis was run to earth in his own little house. It had taken a good deal of persuasion by Father Minos to make him return, to be completely surrounded by memories of Phaedra and Anna, and able to keep them in perspective. He was composing a letter to the hospital authorities in Athens, complaining bitterly that the treatment available for lepers in other countries had not been offered to them in Crete. He greeted Anna with pleasure.

  ‘How is everyone?’

  ‘They’re all fine. Yiorgo is working hard and the farm’s picking up slowly. You look a good deal better than when I last saw you.’

  Yannis smiled. ‘We were all of us pretty low. Had the war gone on much longer I doubt there would have been any of us left, which would have suited the authorities, no doubt. Do you know they have a new drug which can cure leprosy, yet the government haven’t bothered to try it for Greek people?’

  Anna looked at her brother in horror. ‘That can’t be true! Surely they’d try everything.’

  Yannis shook his head. ‘I’m writing to them now, demanding that we be given a chance.’

  ‘Suppose they refuse?’

  ‘I’ll keep on writing. I’ll write to the newspapers in Greece and also to foreign newspapers. Once they find the whole world knows of their lack of care they’ll have to do something.’

  ‘Won’t they punish you if you let everyone know?’

  Yannis turned incredulous eyes on his sister. ‘There’s nothing more they could do to me,’ he said bitterly.

  Somehow Anna did not feel as confident. ‘Show me how the electricity works, Yannis. Everyone’s talking about it.’

  ‘I wish we’d had it years ago. When it was too rough to bring supplies over we gave all the oil to Spiro for use in the hospital. That meant we had to go to bed as soon as it was dark.’ He flicked the switch
down and the bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling glowed. ‘You see it better when it’s dark. All the room’s lit up as though the sun were shining.’

  Anna stood by the door, turning the light on and off. ‘May I close the shutters, Yannis, to see it better?’

  He smiled indulgently at her as she played. Finally she switched it off and sat down beside him. ‘Tell me more about this cure you say there is.’

  ‘I’ll read my letter to you. That will tell you all about it,’ Yannis assured her.

  Anna nodded. She thought it most unlikely she would understand, but if it pleased Yannis she was willing to indulge him.

  Stelios crumpled the letter and threw it to one side in annoyance. He did not consider the unfortunate death of the soldier for whom he had signed a discharge warrant was any concern of his. It was even more unfortunate that it should have been his cousin Andreas who had been in attendance. Reluctantly he drew a sheet of paper towards him and wrote a curt letter. That should be the end of the matter.

  He was surprised when, three weeks later, another letter arrived for him bearing a postmark from Heraklion, and he was most disconcerted by the contents. He was cross with himself for answering the first one when he could quite easily have ignored it. Finally he replied to Andreas admitting that he was his cousin, but that he saw little point in returning to Crete to visit his family. He had recently married and had no leave due to him for a considerable time. As an afterthought he added his good wishes to them all and Andreas.

  As he had dreaded, his letter brought a reply, full of news and saying how delighted everyone was to know he was fit and well, and urging him to visit his mother before it was too late. He pushed the letter into his pocket and conveniently forgot about it.

  Daphne eyed her husband of a few months anxiously. Recently something seemed to be troubling him and no amount of subterfuge on her part had managed to make him confide in her. She placed an arm round his neck and leant her face against his.

  ‘I think you should apply for some more leave, darling. You’re so tired.’

  ‘I haven’t any due to me.’

  ‘You could think of some excuse.’

  ‘Excuses have to be backed by reasons. I can’t ask for more leave because I’m tired. I’m tired because I’ve had to work extra hours to catch up from when I had my last leave.’

  Daphne pouted prettily at him. ‘You could explain that we’re moving to a larger apartment and you need some time to pack your belongings.’

  Stelios patted her arm. ‘They would ask why I’d bothered to marry a woman who was incapable of packing my clothes.’

  ‘Then your papers.’

  ‘I’ve only personal papers at home. I should be able to cope with those.’

  ‘I could do them for you. I usually tidy up when you’ve left them all over the table. In fact you dropped this one when you took your jacket off.’ Daphne held up the envelope.

  ‘I need that.’ Stelios made a grab for it.

  ‘What’s so important about it?’ Daphne held it just out of his reach.

  ‘I need the address. Give it to me.’ He snatched it from her hand.

  Daphne bit her lip. Should she tell him she had read it and knew he had a family in Crete, despite his declaration that he had no living relatives? ‘I’ll get the supper.’ She left the room, puzzled and hurt by her husband’s failure to confide in her.

  Dimitris rested his arms on the table and surveyed the pile of envelopes before him. This was the penalty one paid for having a minor operation. Now he would have to spend hours reading letters and composing replies. He drew the first one towards him and slit the envelope, withdrawing a number of closely written sheets. He groaned. If they were all like this it would take him even longer than he had originally envisaged.

  He skimmed through it quickly. It appeared to be full of complaints that no reply had been received to an earlier letter. He pushed it to one side and took the next; smiling as he read the halting thanks of the widow he had helped. He began to divide them into piles, those which needed the attention of another government official, those that needed no reply, those for whom a reply was straightforward and could be left to his clerk and those he must read again. Two hours later he decided he had done enough for one day. Leaving the letters in their various piles he returned home to be pampered by his wife and children.

  For a week he sorted mail, gradually clearing the backlog, until he had no more than half a dozen that he had not opened. The first was again a letter of complaint that no answer had been received, and with an exclamation of annoyance Dimitris began to go through the pile, hoping to find the original letter. There it was, the thickest of all, and he began to read. It was tedious; there was a long description of hardships suffered over a number of years, of wartime deprivation, lack of medical facilities, and then the criminal accusation that they had all been condemned to a living death when there was medicine available for other sufferers.

  Dimitris frowned. What was the man on about? He turned to the address on the first sheet. Spinalonga. The island where the lepers lived and that priest had been so insistent they should lavish money on it. He sighed and returned to the letter, glossing over the long account of their hardships and paying scant attention to the tirade of abuse regarding the lack of the latest drugs that were available in other quarters of the world. He shrugged. This man did not know what he was talking about. Anyone suffering from an incurable disease was always certain there was a miracle cure. He would pass it over to his minister for medical affairs and he could compose a placatory reply. He folded the letter and made to put it to one side. It was not folded evenly and he noticed for the first time the irregular piece of paper at the end. He glanced at it incuriously.

  “As doctor in charge of the island of Spinalonga I can only endorse this

  letter and request that my patients be given the opportunity to take Dapsone.”

  Dimitris read the words again. Did this mean there was some cure? He started to read the letter again, concentrating this time. There were the references to various medical journals and papers with the dates when they had been written. Maybe there was something in this after all. He would have to find out. He glanced at the other letters in the same hand, they were repetitious, except that in the last two was added the information that letters of complaint about the treatment of lepers in Greece had been sent to other countries with a request that they be published in newspapers and attract public opinion.

  For the first time Dimitris began to feel uncomfortable. The government was precarious. The slightest sign that it was inefficient could bring it toppling, and Dimitris was enough of a politician to know that the one thing the people needed more than anything at the moment was stability to enable them to rebuild their lives. He would find Vassilis and they could discuss this over a quiet lunch.

  The two men savoured their wine, Dimitris wondering how he was to get the information without accusing Vassilis of incompetence and ignorance and Vassilis wondering what he had done that deserved lunch with the leader of the local government.

  ‘I had a slightly disturbing letter the other day,’ Dimitris began.

  Vassilis looked up quickly. He had been very careful not to let too many patients go to the head of the queue. Excuses began to form themselves on his lips, but Dimitris continued. ‘Do you know anything about a cure for leprosy?’

  Vassilis spread his hands. ‘I’m a surgeon.’

  ‘You would receive various periodicals and papers written for your profession?’

  ‘Of course, but I have to confess that I’ve little time for reading.’

  Dimitris nodded understandingly. ‘A man has written to me claiming there is a cure for leprosy, he gives dates and references to various articles. He says he’s also sent letters to other countries complaining that we’re not interested in curing him and his like, but prefer to leave them to die.’

  The blood rose in Vassilis’s face. ‘That i
s libel.’

  ‘Libellous or not, we have to stop it. You’re the medical officer for this region, so it’s your responsibility. I’ll leave the letters with you, and I suggest you compose a suitable reply. In the meantime I’ll send a letter to tell him the government are investigating his complaints.’

  Vassilis nodded. ‘I’ll talk to Nikos, he’ll know far more than I.’

  ‘Remind him to be discreet. We don’t want this brought up at the next session or rumours spread around.’

  ‘You can trust me,’ Vassilis assured him. He took the bundle of letters from Dimitris. ‘A prolific writer.’

  Dimitris sighed. ‘Most of them are letters of complaint, but a couple have all the references to the articles.’

  ‘I’ll sort them out. It could be as well to dispose of the others. Who wrote them, anyway?’

  ‘Some fellow called Yannis Christoforakis. Personally I thought we’d done more than enough for them. Meet me here on Thursday for lunch and bring Nikos.’

  Vassilis nodded. He hoped he was not going to be left to pay the bill. Money was short this month, as his wife had insisted on new shoes for their children.

  Yannis tossed the letter aside in disgust. ‘Just what I thought they’d say. “The drugs are new; they’re not used in this country, we’re waiting to be certain their long term effects aren’t harmful”. If the drugs are advertised for use they must have been tested. How long do they want to wait for long-term effects? For ever?’

  Doctor Stavros read the discarded letter. ‘Everything they say is quite logical.’

  ‘It might be logical, but it doesn’t help us. I’d be willing to try anything. I took Chaulmoogra Oil. Whatever their new medicine is, it can’t be worse.’

  ‘You have to see it from their point of view. Suppose they gave everyone this drug, at first it seemed to work, then in two or three years time if you became worse you’d blame them.’

  Yannis turned towards the doctor. ‘I’d be willing to sign a paper to say I wouldn’t hold them responsible. What have I got to lose?’

  ‘You could end up bedridden, your limbs having to be amputated.’