YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) (27 page)

Louisa was looking better when he re-entered the kitchen and was able to greet him with a smile. ‘More coffee before you go?’

‘No thanks.’ He was about to enquire after her health when Yiorgo entered, pulling the girl to him and kissing her affectionately.

‘Goodbye,’ called Yannis, crossing the taverna rapidly and leaving before either of them could question him.

It was too early to go to the hospital and Yannis wandered down to the harbour. He wanted to avoid any chance encounter with any of his friends from High School and stood watching those fishermen who had been out during the night unloading their catch. The heavy rain had lessened to a misty drizzle and Yannis shivered. Finally he hunched his shoulders and wandered into the town, turning into a taverna, resisting the urge to squeeze himself in beside the stove and two old men who were playing backgammon. He ordered coffee and lingered over it, until the owner began to cast suspicious glances in his direction.

Unwillingly Yannis dragged himself to his feet and slowly walked in the direction of the hospital. He took his place in the waiting room, surreptitiously studying each person who was already there and those who entered after him. Each time it was his turn to enter he let another patient go before him, until he was alone, sitting on a hard, upright chair.

‘Are you coming in?’ The doctor was standing in the doorway of his room.

Yannis swallowed. ‘Yes, please.’

Yannis followed the white-coated figure into his room and sat in the proffered chair. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘You sent me a letter, asking me to attend the hospital.’

The doctor frowned. ‘When?’

‘I’m not sure. I only received it on Friday, but it may have been sent before Christmas.’

‘Give me your name.’

‘Yannis Christoforakis.’

The doctor removed a ledger from his shelf and began to run his index finger down a list of names, finally finding Yannis’s. He read the information entered against it and looked at the boy carefully.

‘Remove your shirt, please.’

With trembling fingers Yannis did so, trying to keep the afflicted side of his neck turned away from the doctor, who took up a stance behind him.

‘Ouch!’ Yannis jumped.

‘Hmm.’ The doctor continued to poke his neck, sometimes hurting him considerably and finally returning to stand in front of him, tilting Yannis’s head first to one side and then the other. At last he returned to his seat and began to write.

‘Put your shirt back on.’

Yannis sat, impatient for the doctor to finish writing, yet not liking to interrupt him.

‘When did you first notice this condition?’

‘I was about nine, I think. I had mumps.’

Almost imperceptibly the doctor raised his eyebrows. ‘Why have you waited so long before coming here?’

‘There was no need. It was only a little lump.’

‘Did you ever see a doctor?’

Yannis nodded. ‘He said it was a blocked gland and nothing to worry about.’

Leaning forward the doctor raised his voice. ‘Tell me the truth, boy. You’ve known for years. Who’s been hiding you? Your parents?’

‘No sir, it’s the truth.’

‘Luckily for you it appears to be a localised infection.’

‘It isn’t leprosy?’ Hope soared in Yannis’s heart.

‘Oh, it’s leprosy, but after the years of neglect it could have spread to other parts of your body and it doesn’t appear to be anywhere else. We’ll take you in and give you a course of treatment. Have you got your things with you?’

Yannis shook his head. ‘I’ll have to go and fetch them. How long do I have to stay?’

The doctor shrugged. ‘That depends. Months, maybe longer.’

The colour drained from Yannis’s face.

‘Give me your address and we’ll send a cart for you.’

‘No!’ Yannis’s voice was full of pent up emotion. ‘I walked here this morning, I can walk again.’

‘It’s the law. All lepers are collected by cart.’

‘Not me. I’ll be back this evening.’

‘You can’t……’

The doctor’s voice tailed away as Yannis slammed the door, his footsteps sounding loud in his ears as he ran down the corridor and out through the heavy wooden door. He continued to run until his breath came in gasping sobs and he was forced to rest in a doorway. He hated the doctor, with his hard, probing fingers. He wouldn’t go back. He would go… His thoughts failed him. Where would he go? There was nowhere to go. His parents would look after him, but at what cost? They would be ostracised by the rest of the village, maybe catch the disease themselves.

Certainly if the villagers found out he was a leper he would be driven into the hills to fend for himself until the authorities finally found him and sent him to Spinalonga. He shuddered. Anything would be better than that. He could not return home, he could not stay at the taverna. There was no choice but to return to the hospital.

Slowly he regained his breath and began to plod miserably along the wet streets. The rain had stopped, but the sky was a sullen grey, promising to rain again shortly. By the time he reached the taverna Louisa had lit the oil lamps in an effort to attract customers and also add a little cheer to the day. For the first time Yannis wondered how he was going to explain his leaving. Ignoring her greeting he mounted the stairs to his room.

Systematically he sorted through his belongings and placed his books in the bottom of the sack he had unpacked such a short while ago. He added his underclothes, three good shirts, two pairs of trousers and the two pullovers his mother had knitted for him. His razor he wrapped carefully in a piece of newspaper and placed it in the pocket of his jacket, along with his collection of pens and pencils.

He stood in the middle of the room and looked around, tears coming into his eyes. It looked bare and deserted without his belongings strewn about. He would have to explain his sudden departure, but there was no way he could tell them the truth. He chewed the end of a pencil as he tried to think of an excuse.

Finally he wrote, “I have to leave on personal business. You can let my room if you wish. Thank you. Yannis.” He read the note over and thought they would probably assume he had returned home. With a sigh he placed it on the table and weighted it with a book that belonged to Yiorgo. If he could leave unseen they might not find it until the next day.

Sadly he closed the door behind him and made his way quietly down the stairs, wishing his sack was not so heavy and did not bump against each step. Holding it in front of him he walked through the taverna, feeling Louisa’s eyes on his back.

Once outside he breathed more easily. The rain was falling now, a strong wind blowing it in his face. Head down, the sack on his back, he made his way towards the church to keep his promise to Father Minos. The church was in darkness and Yannis knocked at the door of the house, waiting until an elderly woman whom he took to be the priest’s housekeeper, opened it to him. ‘May I see Father Minos, please?’

She shook her head, setting her large gold earrings swinging. ‘He’s out. He had a message this morning to say that old Dimitris was dying and could he go to him. As far as I know he’s still there. You can wait for him if you like, although I don’t know how long he’ll be, or I can direct you to their house.’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Yannis turned to go.

‘Can I give him a message?’

Yannis hesitated. ‘Could you tell him it was Yannis on his way to the hospital.’

‘Of course. God be with you,’ she called after him as he walked along the wet street.

The sack grew heavier, the ground seemed slippery beneath his feet, and three times Yannis lowered his burden to regain his breath before he saw the bare walls of the hospital loom up in front of him. He leaned against the doorway, shivering from the cold as well as the fear inside him. He felt the door give beneath him and stepped aside hurriedly.

‘Are you waiting to go in? There’s no need to knock. The door’s open.’

Yannis passed through into the hall and walked down the passage to the room where he had seen the doctor and knocked tentatively on the door.

‘Come in and wait.’

He stood just inside the room, his sack on the floor beside him, and waited. After an interminable time the doctor looked out from his inner room.

‘Well, well, I was certain I’d not see you again for a few weeks.’

‘I said I would come back. What do I do now?’

‘A few formalities, and then I’ll take you to the ward.’

Yannis nodded. He no longer cared very much. Emotionally he was drained and exhausted. He sat down on the chair opposite the doctor and waited.

‘We’ll need the name of your family and their address.’

‘Why?’

‘They will have to be checked. You could have caught it from them or given it to them.’

Yannis thought rapidly. ‘I have no family.’

The doctor frowned. ‘You told me earlier you went home at Christmas.’

‘I went to my home.’

The doctor looked at him suspiciously. ‘And where is that?’

‘Thrapsano.’ Yannis named the first town that sprang to his mind.

‘We can check up, you know.’

Yannis shrugged. ‘Do so.’

‘Have you any money to pay for your treatment?’

‘How much does it cost?’

‘That depends how long it takes. If you hand over what you have I’ll give you a receipt. When you leave your expenses will be deducted.’

Yannis pulled a bundle of notes from the top of his sack and placed them on the table in front of the doctor. The doctor counted the notes quickly, wrote the amount down on a piece of paper, signed it and handed it to Yannis.

‘Keep that, it’s your receipt. Now, if you’d like to follow me.’

Yannis pushed the piece of paper into his pocket and followed the doctor from the room, down a maze of passages and up a flight of worn stone steps until they stopped before a stout door that had a grill inset at eye level. Taking a bunch of keys from his pocket the doctor unlocked the door. Curious eyes studied Yannis as he entered.

Yannis gazed back. Everyone had a look of resignation, but none of them looked ill. The doctor indicated a bed at the end of the ward and Yannis walked towards it. The doctor took a last look round, nodded and left the ward, locking the door behind him. Yannis sat on the bed, not knowing what to do next.

‘I should take your things out of that wet sack,’ advised a voice.

‘Yes, yes, I will.’ Slowly Yannis began to remove his clothes, followed by his books. As he laid them on his bed they were picked up, thumbed through, commented upon and placed back again.

‘Please, leave them alone.’

‘We’re not hurting them.’ A book was tossed back carelessly and Yannis stretched out his hand to prevent it falling to the floor.

‘Is there anywhere I can put them?’

‘Your box is there.’

Yannis looked where the finger pointed. At the head of the bed stood an open wooden box. ‘Do I put everything in there?’

‘Where else?’

For the first time Yannis took stock of his surroundings. At the end of the ward there were two washbasins and a small, screened area that he took to be the lavatory. The beds were placed a few feet apart against the walls, each having a box at its head. Running down the centre between the beds was a long table with upright wooden chairs. Light filtered in through grimy windows set high up in the walls, but now oil lamps, making the shadows of the patients look like giants, lighted the ward.

As he placed the last of his belongings into the box he heard the key turn in the lock. An orderly pushed a trolley containing food into the room, called “supper” and withdrew, locking the door after him.

‘May as well see what it is. Come on.’ The man who had advised Yannis to unpack had stood watching his every move, now he pushed Yannis before him towards the trolley.

‘I’m not very hungry,’ protested Yannis.

‘You will be if you don’t eat,’ remarked Yannis’s new acquaintance as he helped Yannis to a spoonful of a doubtful looking mixture from a large bowl.

‘What is it?’ asked Yannis.

‘I’ve no idea. Doesn’t taste too bad.’ He licked the finger he had dipped into the mixture; then ladled some onto his own plate. ‘Take plenty of bread.’

Seating himself next to Yannis he proceeded to introduce himself and the other occupants of the ward. Hardly registering their names Yannis nodded in acknowledgement, wishing his companion would stop talking and leave him with his own melancholy thoughts. Finally he turned to Yannis, laying down his spoon and fork.

‘Are you always this unsociable?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘You will be, unless you loosen up. You haven’t even told us your name!’

‘I’m Yannis. I don’t mean to be rude. I can’t quite get used to the idea that I’m in hospital.’

‘You will. Everyone does in time.’

‘How long have you been here?’

‘Some months. They say I’m responding to treatment, so it may not be too much longer.’

Yannis nodded. ‘What about everyone else?’

‘Various stages of treatment. Different people respond differently.’

‘What happens if you don’t respond?’

‘I’ve no idea. We’ve about an hour before the lamps will be burnt out. Would you like a game of backgammon?’

Yannis shook his head. ‘I’d rather read; if you don’t mind.’

‘All the same to me.’ Vassilakis returned his plate to the trolley.

Yannis sat at the table, his book before him. The words danced before his eyes and he soon gave up any pretence of reading and gazed furtively around the room. There was laughter and talk, games of dice, backgammon and cards being played. Men looked back at him, some curiously, some friendly, some disinterested, but to his relief none of them looked ill. If they did not look ill, he reasoned, they were obviously not seriously ill. If they were not seriously ill, he could not be either. The thought gave him comfort. If Vassilakis was responding to treatment he would respond also and his stay would only be of a few months duration.

Yiorgo Pavlakis read the note left by Yannis and frowned. ‘How strange,’ he remarked to Louisa. ‘What could have been so urgent that he had to leave without saying goodbye?’

Louisa shrugged. She had her own ideas why Yannis had left and she had no wish to discuss them with her fiancé.