YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) (8 page)

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 He had always been quiet, but now he seemed to have withdrawn into himself.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.

‘To work, now, all of you, to make up for the time we’ve spent.’

Yannis spent the evening out in the yard washing the mud from his pottery. By the morning it would be dry and he would be able to look at it properly. He could already see there were a number of pieces that looked the same.

Annita came out to him. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Washing the pottery I found.’

‘Why?’

‘You can see the differences between the pieces more easily,’ explained Yannis.

‘Can I see?’

‘It would be better in the morning when they’re dry.’

Annita looked at Yannis speculatively. Was he trying to avoid showing her?

Yannis guessed her thoughts. ‘It’s quite simple, really.’ He held up a thick, buff coloured shard and a thin, dark red piece. ‘Those two could hardly come from the same pot.’ Annita was forced to agree with him. ‘It’s more difficult when they’re all the same colour.’

Annita fingered a few. ‘I don’t see how you can tell if they’re old or not.’

‘It’s something to do with the way they’re made. I’m going to ask Mr Pavlakis if there is a book I can read that will tell me.’

Annita shook her head – Yannis and his books! She changed the subject. ‘Wasn’t Andreas odd today?’

‘Odd? When?’

‘When he said a prayer for Aga. He made me feel, well, all goose-pimply and embarrassed, like the priest does when you know you’ve done something wrong and then he talks about the same thing in his sermon.’

Yannis smiled. ‘I thought it was rather nice. He sounded so grown up. I couldn’t have done it. Can you put those pieces on the wall for me, please?’

Annita placed the pieces haphazardly along the low wall.

‘Can’t you put them straight and in some sort of order,’ admonished her cousin, pushing buff ones away from the red.

Annita sighed. Her brother was acting strangely and Yannis had become obsessed with pieces of broken pottery. Thank goodness for Maria. Having finished laying out the pieces to his satisfaction, she sat on the wall and watched as he rubbed the mud off the remaining shards he had found. There was a tiny “ping” in the bucket.

‘What was that?’

‘A stone I expect.’

‘It didn’t sound like a stone.’

Yannis began to grope amongst the mud at the bottom of the bucket, letting it run slowly through his fingers. He felt something hard settle in his hand and closed his fingers around it. When he withdrew his arm and opened his clenched fist there was a small, flat, circular piece of metal resting in his palm.

‘Annita!’ His voice was a hushed whisper. ‘It’s a coin.’

‘Let me see.’ Annita was suddenly excited.

Yannis sat down beside her; his heart was racing. Annita scratched at the coin with her fingernail.

‘It’s so black you can’t see it properly.’ She turned the coin this way and that. ‘I think I can see a figure.’

Yannis held out his hand and she returned it to him. He gazed at the round, black object with reverence and awe. ‘I know what I want to do,’ he said, somewhat shakily. ‘I want to go to University and then work with someone like Mr Evans and discover pottery and coins. That way I can find out about the past properly, not just by reading.’

‘What do you think your parents will say?’

Yannis gave a grin. ‘Goodness knows, but it will stop Mamma keep trying to persuade me to be a doctor.’

‘A doctor?’ Annita’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why does she want you to be a doctor?’

‘So she can boast to all the villagers. Come on, it’s getting late. I’m going to ask Maria if I can put my coin in her needle-work box to keep it safe.’

Mr Pavlakis arrived in Heraklion after his fortnight in Italy. He had been greatly impressed by the sights he had seen in Rome, vowing to return as soon as he had saved enough money. He decided to find some cheap lodgings for a few nights whilst he looked around for suitable rooms for Yannis and himself.

He walked past the school where he was to teach. It looked small and dark, situated between high buildings at the back of the Venetian palace. He began to wonder if he had made the right decision. On reaching Eleftherias Square he entered a taverna and ordered an omelette, eating it slowly as he watched the people bustling by. He ordered a carafe of wine and invited the owner to join him, as he was their only customer.

‘You’re a stranger here?’

‘I’m coming to live here in September. I’m a teacher. Can you recommend anywhere I might find some lodgings?’ He flicked the offending lock of hair from his eyes.

The taverna owner eyed him speculatively. ‘I might.’

‘I’d be very grateful.’ Mr Pavlakis watched as the man took a bill from his pad, licked the end of his stumpy pencil and wrote laboriously. ‘How do I get there?’