YANNIS (Cretan Saga Book 1) (86 page)

Yannis smiled wanly. His determination for the journey was lessening as weariness crept over him.

‘Warm milk,’ announced Anna, ‘then to bed. We can talk in the morning.’

Yiorgo opened his mouth, but Anna frowned at him. ‘Anna’s right,’ he conceded. ‘You can tell us what you’re up to in the morning.’

Yannis slept late. When he awoke the sun was high in the sky and Yiorgo had long since departed for the fields. He dressed and crept timorously down the stairs. His sister emerged from the kitchen.

‘Sit down and I’ll get you some food and coffee.’

Yannis ate ravenously. ‘Where were you when I arrived last night?’ he asked. ‘The place was deserted.’

‘We’d gone to the taverna. It was Marisa’s birthday.’

Yannis nodded. ‘How old is she now?’

‘Twenty one.’

‘Twenty one,’ mused Yannis. A cloud came across his face. ‘I was that age when I went to Spinalonga.’

Anna laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘She’s turned into quite a beauty. What did you mean last night, Yannis, when you said you were going to Heraklion?’

‘I need to see the government.’

Anna’s eyes opened wide. ‘The government? Whatever for?’

‘To force them into telling me the results from Athens. We’re still not getting any treatment. I keep writing to them. I either get no reply or they say they are waiting for Athens to send them the results. Well, I’ve waited long enough.’

‘How are you going to get there? You can’t walk. It’s too far.’

‘I need to talk to Yiorgo.’

‘He’s in the far field. Come into the kitchen and talk to me. I’ve plenty to do and there’s no one around.’

Yannis shook his head. ‘I’ll go up to speak to him. I’ve wasted too much time already.’

Anna opened her mouth to reply, but Yannis was out of the back door and crossing the yard as fast as his misshapen feet would allow him. He reached Yiorgo and without pausing to greet him asked a question.

‘Do you drive? A car, motorbike, a van; anything at all.’

Yiorgo shook his head. ‘I’ve never thought about it.’

‘Then now is the time. You told me you were keeping some money for me. Do you still have it?’

‘Of course.’

‘Would there be enough for me to buy a small motorbike?’ asked Yannis eagerly.

‘You’d have to go to Aghios Nikolaos for that. There’s nothing round here.’

‘Then will you go, please, Yiorgo? Buy one and bring it back here.’

Yiorgo scratched his head. ‘I doubt I’d get there before evening. Better to wait until tomorrow.’

Nothing Yannis could say would make his brother alter his plans and finally he had to admit that it would not be wise for him to try to ride to Heraklion in darkness.

Yannis was up before the sun rose, shaking Yiorgo into wakefulness.

‘I’m coming with you and I can’t walk as fast as you.’

Yiorgo looked at his brother doubtfully. ‘Is that wise?’

‘Of course, provided we leave early. It will save you having to come back here for me. I’ll be able to go straight from Aghios Nikolaos.’

Yiorgo shrugged. He thought his brother’s trip to Heraklion a crazy idea, but he had agreed to help and there was no turning back now. Unresisting he dressed whilst Yannis brewed coffee for them both.

‘What about Anna? She’ll wonder what’s happened to us.’

‘I’ll tell her.’ Yannis was almost at the top of the stairs as Anna came from her room. She took in the scene at a glance.

‘You’re going with Yiorgo?’

Yannis nodded. ‘It will be quicker for me.’

Anna watched as Yannis stuffed packages of bread and cheese into his pockets. Her heart pounded as she kissed him goodbye and wished him luck. She watched, almost envious, as the brothers walked across the yard to make a slight detour over the hills before rejoining the road on the outskirts of the village. At first Yannis was able to keep pace with Yiorgo, but by the time they had climbed the low hills around Elounda he was limping badly.

‘How about a rest?’

Yannis shook his head. ‘I can manage.’

‘If we went up a bit higher you could rest a short distance from the main road and I could go down to Aghios Nikolaos.’

Yannis thought about the proposal. ‘It would be further for you to walk.’

‘I might be able to pick up a lift, besides, you’re tired. Even if I walk all the way I’ll be faster without you.’

‘How far is it to the main road from here?’

‘A couple of kilometres.’

‘And Aghios Nikolaos?’

‘About ten.’

Yannis sighed. Yiorgo was making sense. ‘Let’s go up towards the road. I’ll find somewhere to rest whilst you go down and buy a bike.’

Yiorgo smiled with relief. He would be able to make far better time without his brother. He left Yannis lying in a clump of gorse bushes a hundred yards from the road and began to hurry on alone. For half an hour he walked along the deserted road, until, with dust flying from its wheels, the bus from Heraklion nearly ran him down. He jumped onto the bank and waved vigorously as it passed. It slowed and he ran to board it gratefully.

He completed his journey and made his way to a taverna a short distance from the bus terminal. He felt in need of refreshment and also needed to ask where he could purchase a motorbike. The taverna owner advised Yiorgo to visit his brother-in-law; his son would show him the way when he had finished his meal.

The oily fingered mechanic looked up from the engine he was working on. He began to ask questions. What did Yiorgo want the bike for? Was it for work, over rough country, or just for pleasure, travelling on the roads? How big did he want the engine to be? Did he plan to use it every day or just occasionally? Would he use it for long or short journeys? How much did he want to spend?

Yiorgo was completely at a loss. ‘I just want a bike that will be reliable for me to make the journey to Heraklion.’ The man eyed his customer suspiciously, and Yiorgo decided it would be wise for him to enlarge a little. ‘I’ve had a message from Father Andreas. You may remember him. He lived here, son of Yiorgo the fisherman. He needs me in Heraklion as soon as possible – an urgent family matter.’

‘What’s wrong with taking the bus?’

Yiorgo sighed in exasperation. ‘All I want to do is buy a motorbike from you. Do you always question why people want them?’

‘People aren’t usually in such a rush. They like to look around, try one or two before they decide.’

‘All I want is a reliable machine.’

The mechanic shrugged. ‘Try that one.’ The bike was cumbersome and heavy.

‘How much?’

A crafty look came over the garage owner’s face. He quoted an inflated price and Yiorgo peeled off the notes without demur. ‘I want it filled with petrol.’

The owner cocked his head towards the boy who dutifully ran to get a can whilst Yiorgo began to look at the bike. ‘How do I start it?’

‘Haven’t you ridden before?’

‘Never.’

He pursed his lips. This man was mad. Never ridden before and planning to make a journey to Heraklion in a hurry. ‘You’d be better by bus.’

Yiorgo’s lips set in a firm line. ‘Just show me what I have to do.’

He spent half an hour, listening intently and questioning the use of gears, finally nodding that he understood the principles. ‘Have I enough petrol to get all the way?’

‘Probably.’

‘Then I’ll take a spare can.’ He handed over another note and waited for the change, which was not forthcoming. Gingerly he mounted the machine, kicking it to a start and nearly falling off as the engine roared into life.

‘Take it slowly,’ called the garage owner over the noise, doubting that his advice would be heeded, and he watched as Yiorgo departed in a wobbly line down the road.

It was not as difficult as Yiorgo had imagined. He crunched the gears as he changed them, skidded dangerously around the corners, but did not fall off as he had envisaged. He met few other vehicles on the road and as they approached him he used his horn vigorously, hoping they would give him a wide berth. By the time he reached the spot where he had left his brother he was beginning to gain in confidence and enjoy himself. He pulled the bike off the road onto the rough ground and called. Yannis emerged from the gorse clump and Yiorgo scanned him anxiously.

‘It’s very heavy, but not difficult to drive. The garage owner was a rogue. He took nearly five hundred drachmas off me, but I’ve got a spare can of petrol on the back.’

Yannis nodded. He was not interested in the cost. ‘Show me what I have to do.’

Yiorgo ran through the intricacies of the gears, showed him the various gauges and their meaning, how to brake without shooting over the handlebars and finally the kick-start.

‘Thank you, Yiorgo. I couldn’t have managed without you. I’ll try to let you know what happens.’

‘Where are you going in Heraklion?’

‘To Andreas.’ Yannis smiled with quiet confidence. ‘He’ll give me shelter.’

Yiorgo thrust the remainder of the notes into Yannis’s hand. ‘You may need this.’

Yannis placed the notes in his pocket and himself carefully astride the machine. He kicked the starter until the bike sprang into life and Yiorgo watched as he wobbled down the road to become a speck in the distance. The speed with which he was travelling meant nothing to Yannis, but he was surprised to come upon Neapolis so quickly and half an hour saw him in Malia. He was hungry and thirsty, but he dared not stop, partly through fear of being accosted and partly because he was not sure if he would be able to start the bike again.

The outskirts of Heraklion were unfamiliar to him and he dared not try to take a short cut. He followed the main road until he reached Eleftherias Square and he knew exactly where he was. He swung inwards to the centre of the town, nearly losing control as he did so, and earning the wrath of a baker who had spilled his rolls as he moved rapidly from Yannis’s path. Throwing all caution to the winds he continued on through the mean back streets until he reached the tiny church and adjoining house that Father Minos had occupied when he had lived in Heraklion. Slowing the bike to a halt and switching off the noisy engine he propped it against the wall and hammered on the door. A young girl answered his urgent banging and he pushed his way roughly past her before asking for Andreas.

‘He’s out.’

‘I’ll wait for him.’

‘He could be gone a long while. You’d be best to come back tomorrow.’

‘I’ll wait. I know he’ll see me.’ Yannis made to go through to the living room.

‘You can’t go in there. It’s private.’

Yannis dropped his head. ‘Show me where you’d like me to wait,’ he spoke wearily. ‘And I’d be grateful for a glass of water.’

‘You can sit there.’ She pointed to an upright chair in the passage.

‘A drink,’ he reminded her as she disappeared towards the kitchen.

By the time Andreas returned home it was dark. On entering he spotted the figure slumped on the floor, his head resting on the hard chair and sighed. He was tired. It had been a long day. He walked over to the motionless figure.

‘Can I help you, my son?’

Yannis raised bloodshot eyes to his cousin’s face. ‘Thank God you’ve come.’

‘Yannis!’ Andreas spoke incredulously. He took in the weariness of the slack body, the dirty and begrimed face. ‘What’s happened?’

‘Nothing. That’s why I’ve come.’

Uncomprehending Andreas helped him to rise. ‘Come with me and make yourself respectable.’

He pushed his cousin through the door into the little sanctuary he had been forbidden to enter earlier and called to the girl. She arrived, excuses on her lips for having let the stranger stay until the priest returned, but Andreas waved them aside.

‘You did right to let him stay. Bring a bowl of hot water and a towel. Get some soup heated, later we will want a proper meal. How long has he been waiting?’

‘Some hours. I gave him some water when he arrived.’

Andreas nodded. He would have to talk to her about the reception of visitors whilst he was out. He turned his attention to Yannis, who was standing in the centre of the room, swaying slightly on his feet.

Aliki returned with a bowl of water and a rough towel, which she placed, on the table. ‘I’ll be back with the soup.’

‘Have a wash, Yannis. You’re covered in dust. When you’ve had some soup we’ll talk and you can tell me what’s brought you up here.’

Yannis dipped his hands into the warm water and rubbed them over his face. He looked in surprise at the dirt that ran off them. ‘I hope I didn’t frighten her. I must look terrible. Where’s the old lady?’

‘Pensioned off. It became too much for her. Aliki was orphaned in the war and I took her in hoping she’d be able to take old Marina’s place, but she has a lot to learn.’

The soup arrived and Aliki hovered, hoping to find out the reason for the strange man’s visit and the hospitality of the priest.

‘You can take the bowl, Aliki. I’ll let you know when we want to eat.’

As she lifted the bowl she looked at their visitor. What an ugly little man he was. He had a shock of hair, but no eyebrows, one side of his face was covered in lumps, and he had a tiny nose that seemed to have sunk into his face. She looked at his hand as he raised the mug to his mouth and almost shrieked as she saw the clawed fingers. Andreas saw her reaction and looked at her sternly.

‘Yes, child, he’s a leper. He’ll do you no harm and he’s in sanctuary here.’

Aliki’s lips trembled and she crossed herself. She would remember which mug she had given him and never drink from it again herself. ‘Yes, Father,’ she answered hoarsely.

‘And you don’t tell people he’s here. Sanctuary is confidential, remember.’

‘Yes, Father,’ she whispered again, longing to leave the room and dispose of the contaminated towel and bowl. Andreas shut the door and turned back to Yannis.

‘I’m sorry about that. I doubt she’s ever seen a sufferer before.’

Yannis shrugged. ‘I’ve had enough people turn away from me. One more makes little difference.’

‘You’re very bitter.’

‘Of course I’m bitter! You’d be bitter if your life had been ruined as mine has.’

‘I will pray that the bitterness will leave you and you’ll find peace and contentment with your lot.’ Father Andreas crossed himself humbly.