Thankfully Yannis slipped away up the stairs. Once in his bed he knew no more until the room lightened. He tried to raise his head from the pillow and groaned.
‘What is it?’ Andreas paused in the act of buttoning his shirt.’
‘My head. It feels as though it will burst.’
Andreas grinned at him. ‘You probably had too much to drink. I’ll go down and get some coffee on. You’ll soon be all right.’
Yannis tried again to struggle up into a sitting position. The room seemed to sway slightly. Cautiously he placed his feet on the floor and an overwhelming desire to be sick overtook him, all weaknesses forgotten, he rushed down the stairs and out to the yard. Feeling a little better he staggered into the kitchen where Andreas regarded him with amusement.
‘I’ve made your coffee. I suggest you drink two or three cups. I’ll get your trousers.’
Yannis looked down at his bare legs. ‘Please, and a pullover, I’m freezing.’ He sipped at the scalding coffee. His head began to clear a little and he remembered he had a bus to catch. He emitted a groan and sipped again at the coffee.
Annita entered, ‘You’re early,’ she commented; then giggled at the sight of Yannis’s bare legs. ‘No wonder you’re early, you’ve forgotten to dress.’
‘Stop it, Annita. I feel terrible.’
Immediately Annita became all concern. ‘What is it? Are you ill?’
‘No.’ Yannis tried to shake his head and emitted another loud groan.
‘Have you got a pain somewhere?’
‘I drank too much last night.’ Yannis sipped again at the coffee.
‘You’ll soon feel better. Drink more coffee. I’ll get your trousers.’ Annita had often seen her father in far worse condition after a night of merry making.
‘Andreas is getting them. I do feel terrible. I think I might be sick again.’
‘Serves you right.’ Annita helped herself to a cup of coffee. Now that she knew Yannis was suffering from nothing more serious than a hangover she had no sympathy for him.
Yannis made another dash for the yard as Andreas returned with his clothes. He dumped them on the chair and shrugged his shoulders at his sister. ‘It’s probably a good thing he’s feeling ill. He’ll be far less inclined to drink too much in Heraklion.’
On shaky legs Yannis returned to the kitchen, sitting down to put his feet into his trousers and holding onto the table to keep his balance whilst he pulled them up. ‘I’ll never drink again,’ he vowed.
‘Yes you will. You’ll forget after a while. I’ve heard Pappa say that so many times, and I expect your Pappa has said the same. Everyone does when they feel ill.’
Yannis groaned again and held his head in his hands.
‘You’d better eat.’ Annita pushed a roll across the table to him. ‘When you’ve had that you can go back up and sleep for a while. I’ll wake you in plenty of time for the bus.’
Miserably Yannis did as he was bid and clawed his way back up the stairs and lay on his bed. It seemed only a matter of moments before Annita was shaking him awake. To his relief he felt better and was able to stand without his head spinning. He appeared downstairs and grinned sheepishly at his aunt and uncle.
‘I’m sorry. Your farewell party was a little too much for me.’
Yiorgo nodded sympathetically. ‘Elena’s made you some lunch to take with you. Collect your bags. We should be off.’
Yannis splashed his face under the tap, checked that his precious bundle of money was safely packed away and followed his relatives from the house. The bus was standing on the waste ground and Yannis purchased the necessary ticket. He embraced Elena, shook hands with Yiorgo and Andreas and kissed them formally on both cheeks. Lastly he turned to Annita, her eyes moist with unshed tears. Taking her in his arms he kissed her cheeks.
‘Don’t cry,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll be back soon. Write to me and tell me all about your sick people. You’ve got my address, haven’t you?’
Annita attempted a watery smile. ‘If you don’t write back to me I’ll come looking for you.’
He gave Annita a last quick kiss. ‘I have to go.’ He jumped up the steps onto the bus, pushed his bundles under the seat and waved from the window to the little group as the bus revved its engine and moved forward slowly.
Bumping and rocking the bus made its way ponderously over the waste ground until it reached the dirt road and began to climb the hill towards the square, hooting to warn pedestrians that it was on its way. They coasted down the other side towards the pool and Yannis clapped his hand to his head.
‘Oh, no! I’ve forgotten Mr Pavlakis.’ Yannis rose from his seat and walked down the bus.
‘Sit down,’ called the driver. ‘You’re not allowed to walk around.’
‘I want you to stop,’ called back Yannis. The other passengers craned their necks to see what the interruption was.
‘Why? Are you ill?’
‘No. A friend of mine should be on this bus. Can you wait whilst I go and fetch him?’
‘Sit down! I can let you off, but I’m not waiting.’
Yannis sat down miserably in his seat. It was hot and stuffy on the bus and Yannis pressed his head against the glass to try to cool his forehead. The journey to Heraklion seemed endless. For a while the bus travelled through countryside, dipping down to Neapolis, before returning to the coast where the sea threatened to lap at the tyres at any moment. After a run on level ground they began to climb and Yannis looked at the drop below the dirt road with some trepidation. The driver seemed totally unconcerned, chatting to his companion, or bringing the bus to a screeching halt to pick up a stray traveller. Yannis continued to look out of the window until a larger town than he had ever imagined loomed into view and the bus began to thread its way through narrow streets, hooting loudly at each corner. Slowly it crawled up one hill and down the next, finally halting beside a small wooden hut. The engine was cut and the driver climbed out.
‘We’re here.’
Yannis gathered his bundles and left the bus. He looked around, feeling very nervous and approached the driver. ‘Can you help me, please? I have to go to this address.’ He dug the piece of paper from his pocket and showed it to the man.
The driver read it and called to his friend. ‘Look where he’s going!’
His friend looked at the scrawled address and sniggered. ‘Why don’t we all go?’
‘My wife would kill me! Walk up the hill there, boy, until you come to Eleftherias Square. You want the main road, Konstantinou, follow it down until it becomes Kalokerinou. Ask again round there. Anyone will be able to direct you. I just hope you can afford it.’
‘Thank you. My father has already paid.’ The two men doubled up with laughter that bewildered Yannis.
The sun struck Yannis with full force as he made his way up the deserted road towards the Square. To his relief when he reached the top of the hill there were a number of small tavernas and he was able to enter a gloomy interior and sit in the welcome coolness with a cup of coffee. He opened the package Elena had prepared for him, but re-wrapped it when he saw the taverna owner watching him. He ordered another coffee and lingered as long as he dared before returning to the hot sunshine.
The main road was easy to find and he gazed entranced at the shops, one after another they stretched as far as he could see. He wished his mother could see all the craft and embroidery shops; she would have a ready market for her work. He almost made a detour into the market, which was bright, noisy and enticing on the other side of the road, but his cumbersome bundles deterred him. He decided to squat in a welcome patch of shade and eat whatever the cloth held in the way of food. No one took the slightest notice of him and he realised how very alone he was for the first time in his life.
The realisation destroyed his appetite. Pushing the remains of the roll and cheese back into the cloth he rose and dusted the crumbs from his trousers. He must find the taverna. They were expecting him and they would be company, albeit they were strangers.
He had no difficulty in finding where the road became Kalokerinou and Yannis asked at the first shop for directions. The man in the gift shop regarded him curiously, but told him the simplest way to find his destination. Yannis turned into a maze of side streets and walked far further than necessary before reaching the correct street. He was walking on the opposite side of the road and regarded the taverna with interest. It looked clean, despite being in need of a coat of paint, also, to his dismay, it looked deserted. He crossed the road and tried the door, but it did not yield. He knocked, then again more loudly. He dumped his bundles on the step and leaned against the wall. He would just have to wait. He returned to the shaded side of the road and sat down on a doorstep feeling thoroughly miserable. He had expected to arrive in Heraklion with Mr Pavlakis and be welcomed, not be alone and locked out from the only address he had.
It seemed an age before he saw a young woman open the door of the taverna and disappear inside. He waited a few moments, gathered his possessions, crossed the road and knocked hard on the door, opening it as he did so. The woman had her back to him and she turned with a smile as she heard the door.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘I’m Yannis. Are you Louisa?’
She nodded, a small frown playing between her eyes. ‘Yannis?’
‘I’m with Mr Pavlakis, but he’s been delayed. He’ll catch a later bus.’
‘I see. Why was Yiorgo delayed?’
‘I’m not sure. Would it be all right to go to my room? I’m sick of carrying these bundles.’
‘Of course.’
Yannis followed the girl up the wooden stairs to the two rooms he and Mr Pavlakis were to occupy and placed his belongings thankfully on the floor.
‘Is there somewhere I can wash? I feel filthy after that long bus ride.’
Louisa nodded and led him back down the stairs to the kitchen where she showed him the tap let into the wall, underneath stood an earthenware pot.
‘If you want hot water it has to be heated on the stove.’
‘I’m used to cold. May I take some to my room?’
‘As you please. Come back down when you’ve unpacked. My brother will be back shortly.’
Yannis carried a heavy jug of water back to his room. He removed all his belongings from his bags and placed them carefully inside the chest. His books and precious pieces of pottery, along with his coin, he placed on a shelf, then he removed his shirt and washed the dust and sweat from his body. He was beginning to feel distinctly better, but very tired. He loosened his boots and lay back on the bed, hoping he would not roll off when he was asleep. He had only ever slept on a mattress on the floor before.
An insistent tapping awaked him. He rose and flung the door open, expecting to see Mr Pavlakis. A stranger stood there, who held out his hand and smiled. ‘Welcome to Heraklion. I’m Pavlos. Louisa told me you’d arrived.’
Yannis shook Pavlos’s hand and smiled back. ‘I’m pleased to meet you.’
‘I hear Yiorgo has been delayed, but never mind. Come down and see what Louisa has prepared for our supper.’
Yannis followed Pavlos into the taverna. There were a few young men seated at a table who stared at the boy curiously. Pavlos motioned him to a seat and called to his sister to bring them some wine and their meal. Yannis looked at the men, then at Pavlos. They all wore black trousers that buttoned at the front and white shirts, beneath the table their boots shone.
‘Does everyone wear clothes like this in town?’
Pavlos looked at Yannis’s traditional baggy trousers, then at the men and shrugged. ‘Usually.’
‘I’ll have to get some. Pappa was right when he told me to buy my new clothes when I arrived and saw the fashions.’
‘You don’t have clothes like this at home?’
‘Oh, yes, but they’re not very practical when you’re working on a farm or a boat. I gave my best clothes to my younger brother, as they were getting too small for me. He’ll wear them on Sundays as I used to do.’
Pavlos nodded understandingly, wishing Yiorgo Pavlakis were there. What did one talk about to a country boy?
Yiorgo Pavlakis awoke, his head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton wool. He tried to rise and fell back, closing his eyes against the bright sunlight. He opened them again as his memory jolted him back to reality.
‘The bus!’ he exclaimed.
He rose from the narrow bed as quickly as he was able, swaying slightly and feeling nauseous as he stood and splashed his face with cold water. A glance at his pocket watch told him he had missed the bus and he sank back onto the bed with a groan. Why had his landlady not woken him as he had asked? He groped his way down the dark stairway to where he could hear the woman at work in her kitchen. She looked at him in disgust as he entered.
‘Awake at last, are you? Have you got a civil tongue in your head now?’
‘Why didn’t you call me? I’ve overslept and missed the bus, you stupid old woman.’
‘Stupid, am I? Not as stupid as those who drink themselves senseless. Have to be brought home by their friends and put to bed!’
‘You didn’t call me,’ shouted Mr Pavlakis.
‘I called you three times. I even shook you to wake you up. What was I supposed to do? Carry you to the bus? After the way you shouted at me and told me to leave you alone!’ She snorted and turned away to continue her cleaning.
Yiorgo sank into a chair. ‘You didn’t call me,’ he insisted. ‘I’ve missed the bus. How am I supposed to get to Heraklion now?’
‘Catch the next one.’
‘The next one is Monday and I have to be there by Monday morning.’
‘You could walk.’
‘I could, but my trunk cannot.’
‘Why don’t you ask Costas? He may be willing to take your trunk next time he goes.’
‘Of course.’ Mr Pavlakis sprang to his feet. ‘Maybe he’s going up today.’
He rushed from the house and through the streets to the home of the van driver. He was a drinking acquaintance, but could hardly be called a friend. On reaching the house Mr Pavlakis pounded on the door until it was finally opened a crack.
‘What do you want? Oh, it’s you.’
‘Costas, are you going to Heraklion today? I’ve missed the bus and I have to be in Heraklion by Monday.’
Costas opened the door wider. ‘You’d better come in.’ Mr Pavlakis followed him to the kitchen where he was invited to sit and a cup of coffee was placed before him. ‘Now what’s all this about Heraklion? I’ve only just woken up.’