‘No, but he is very ill.’
‘Is that why the priest is here?’
‘Partly. He came to break the news to us.’ Stelios looked at his father whose red-rimmed eyes betrayed his grief.
‘What’s wrong with Yannis?’
‘He’s gone to the hospital in Athens.’
‘What’s wrong with him,’ repeated Stelios.
The words seemed to stick in Yannis’s throat. ‘He has leprosy.’
Babbis, standing just inside the doorway, felt his heart lurch. Slowly he backed out of the door, then took to his heels and ran back up to the hills.
Stelios stood there, biting his thumb. ‘How?’
His father rounded on him angrily. ‘What do you mean “how”? I don’t know how you get leprosy.’
Stelios’s lower lip trembled. ‘I mean did he get it in Heraklion? He was all right when he left here.’
Yannis made an effort to control himself. ‘He may not have been. We don’t know. In fact he probably did have it before he left here.’ He was trying hard to come to terms with the facts.
‘You mean we may all have leprosy?’
‘No, no, of course not.’ Yannis hastened to reassure his son.
‘Why not, if Yannis had it when he was here?’ persisted Stelios.
Yannis shook his head. He had a great desire to hit Stelios really hard to stop him continuing with his questioning. Father Minos interrupted.
‘The disease doesn’t seem to work like that. Some people have it and others don’t, even when they’ve been living in the same house.’
‘And sleeping in the same bed?’
‘And sleeping in the same bed,’ Father Minos assured him.
‘What’s happened to Mamma?’
‘It came as a shock to her. She’s just resting. Best not to disturb her yet.’
Stelios nodded soberly. ‘I’ll go for a walk, if you don’t mind.’
No one tried to stop him as he left the room.
Yiorgo and his son were thankful to leave the unhappy house and walk down to the quay, accompanied by Father Minos. It was as Yiorgo was about to cast off that he spotted Stelios. The boy was standing on a small promontory, shaking his fist, shouting and throwing stones as far as he could into the sea.
‘I’ll go.’ Father Minos clambered from the boat and slipped and slithered his way over to Stelios. The string of obscenities that reached his ears surprised him in a boy so young.
‘What good is that going to do?’ he asked sternly.
Stelios whipped round. ‘I hate them. Yannis hated them. They should all be dead.’
‘Steady now. Who do you hate?’
‘The lepers; out there on the island.’
Father Minos looked for the first time at the tiny island that guarded the inlet. ‘That island?’
Stelios nodded. ‘That’s where they go. Good thing too. Nobody wants them around.’
‘Wouldn’t you like your brother around?’
‘That’s different. He’s my brother.’
‘They are all someone’s brother or son. You’re very lucky. You have another brother and sisters, suppose you had no one? Yannis has no one now.’
‘He will come back, won’t he?’ Stelios turned imploring eyes to the priest. ‘I want him back.’ Tears began to pour down his face.
Father Minos crouched down beside him and tilted his chin upwards. ‘You’ve got to be brave. Your mother and father need you. Can you believe that it’s even worse for them than it is for you? You must have faith that one day your brother will come back, but until then you have to be brave for your parents’ sake.’
Once again Father Minos hated himself for holding out false hope. He cursed his ignorance of the disease and vowed again that he would discover as much as possible on his return to Heraklion. He stood and watched as Stelios threw a last stone into the sea before turning and walking away. There was no farewell called on either side and Father Minos slithered his way back to the waiting boat.
‘He’ll be better now. His anger has mostly gone.’
Yiorgo trimmed the sail, turning the boat towards the canal.
‘Before we leave could we sail a little nearer to the island?’ asked the priest.
Yiorgo and Andreas looked at him in surprise. ‘It’s a leper island.’
‘I know. Stelios has just told me.’
Yiorgo steered nearer. ‘Thank God Yannis was sensible and didn’t try to hide. They send them here when they find them.’
Father Minos scrutinized the island as they sailed past. The cliffs, sheer and straight, the spray breaking at the foot, were topped by the massive construction of a Venetian fort.
‘Where do they live?’
Yiorgo shrugged. ‘Inside the fort, I suppose.’
The island had an air of desolation and despair, which seemed to reach out to them. Yiorgo steered the boat further out to avoid the sharp rocks that lay just beneath the surface of the water. ‘Seen enough?’
Father Minos nodded. He too, thanked God that Yannis was safe in hospital and not on that desolate island.
Father Minos returned to Heraklion a subdued and worried man. During his bus journey he had turned the problem over in his mind. He was a failure. He admitted he was able to give comfort to the dying and their families, he never refused to give help of any kind if it were within his means, and he was a friend to everyone who lived in his parish whether they attended the church or not, but he had to face the unpleasant truth. The one time he had been tested he had failed miserably. He was totally ignorant of the treatment for leprosy, not even knowing the name of the hospital in Athens and quite unable to give any comfort to the family of the poor afflicted boy.
By the time the bus reached the waste ground by the harbour he had decided to ask for a release from his Holy Orders. Set in his decision he climbed the hill to the Square and walked the short distance to the church of Ayios Titos. He could ask for an audience there and renounce his calling. The church was deserted and it seemed only fitting that he should say a prayer asking forgiveness for his shortcomings first. He knelt, feeling the cold, hard stone through his cassock and bent his head. When he raised it his face held a look of bemused mysticism and it was with trembling hands that he lit a candle in thanks. The voice had spoken so clearly, yet it was not of earthly origin.
“Find the answers to your questions. You cannot heal, but you can help.”
He walked from the church, no longer seeking an audience of the priest. A weight seemed lifted from his mind. He could continue in the church, but in work that would bring its own reward. First he would consult the doctor at the local hospital and find out all he could about the disease. He would ask for the name of the hospital in Athens and write to the authorities there for news of Yannis, then visit the family again and try to comfort them.
The doctor, at first, was reticent. He could discuss his patients with no one. Father Minos persisted. Day after day the doctor would find the priest quietly waiting for him at the end of a queue of patients and gradually the reluctance was overcome.
‘Do you spend time talking to them?’ asked Father Minos.
The doctor spread his hands in a gesture of resignation. ‘How can I? I have little enough spare time. Besides, who would sit and talk with a leper from choice?’
‘I would,’ replied Father Minos stoutly. ‘That boy, Yannis, who came to you a few months ago, he came to see me the day before his illness was diagnosed. He was distraught. At first he would tell me nothing, but within a few hours I knew his life history.’ Father Minos sighed deeply. ‘And still I failed him.’
The doctor regarded him curiously. ‘Do you really mean that you would sit and talk to a man you knew to be a leper?’
‘All men are equal in the sight of God, whatever their affliction.’
‘Would you be willing to go into the ward and talk to the patients?’
‘I most certainly would. Do their families visit them?’
‘Of course not! They disown them. The most loving wife becomes a terrified woman longing to be a widow once her husband has been admitted.’
‘Then may I visit them?’
‘Suppose you contract the disease? What then?’
‘If I become a leper it is by the will of God. I feel,’ Father Minos struggled for the right words. ‘As though I had been sought out and called to help them in some way.’
‘You would have to sign a paper to absolve me of any blame.’ The doctor looked dubious.
‘Willingly. Have it ready for me by tomorrow. I shall be back – and thank you for giving me a chance.’ Father Minos rose. He had learnt long ago that persistence usually got him what he wanted.
Annita sat on the cliff overlooking the natural pool that lay at the foot. She had taken the news of Yannis’s affliction with an air of calmness and no show of emotion at all. As her mother had tried to take her in her arms to comfort her she had turned away and walked out of the door. Now she looked down at the water far below. The last time she had been up there Yannis had been with her. As she looked down now the water looked menacing, yet attractive. She edged herself forward a little. Strong hands gripped her shoulders and wrenched her backwards. She looked into the grim face of her brother.
‘You were too close to the edge. It might crumble.’ He spoke defiantly, still holding her.
‘How did Yannis look when you saw him?’
‘He looked fine, a bit bewildered, but fit and well.’
‘What can I do?’
‘There’s nothing any of us can do, except pray for his speedy recovery.’
A look of scorn came over her face. ‘Of course you would say that. What good is prayer to him?’
‘If I were ill I’d like to think someone was praying for me. Come and sit down, Annita.’ He led her further away from the edge and pushed her down on the grass.
‘Tell me about it, Andreas. Did you speak to him?’
Andreas shook his head. ‘I wasn’t able to, but I think he saw me.’
He related to his sister the events leading up to the meeting with Father Minos and finally seeing Yannis go out to the hospital ship. He omitted to mention that Yannis had been rendered unconscious by a stone. Throughout Annita sat hugging her knees and when he finished she appeared deep in thought. Eventually she broke the silence between them.
‘I’ll go there too.’
‘Don’t be silly. You can’t go. He’s in hospital.’
‘I’m training to be a nurse.’ she spoke fiercely. ‘I’ll ask to be sent to Athens and they won’t be able to refuse me, because I’ll be their best nurse. Once I’m there I can nurse Yannis.’
Andreas did not answer. Hard work would help her pass her time without brooding.
Maria moved like an automaton. Apart from her mother she seemed to have been affected most by the shattering news that Father Minos had brought. For some days the family had moved around the house quietly, as though in mourning, looking at each other with fear in their eyes. Maria tended her mother, cooked and cleaned, looking eagerly for Babbis in the evening, but he did not arrive.
They had not mentioned Yannis’s illness to anyone. When callers came to express their sorrow over Maria’s stroke and offer help they were not told the reason behind it. Although eyes looked round curiously and probing questions asked, everyone was given the same information – it had happened suddenly, hopefully she would recover soon. Yannis senior, his face drawn and haggard, had called his children together and forbidden them to mention his son’s illness to anyone.
‘If people ask you must say he’s studying in Athens. No one must know.’ His gaze raked them all and each nodded solemnly. ‘We have to carry on. Maria, you’ll have to look after your mother and the house. Anna and Stelios will have to help more in the fields, taking Maria’s place.’
Again the children nodded dutifully.
‘How long will Mamma be sick?’ asked Stelios, his lower lip trembling.
‘We don’t know.’ Maria drew him to her. ‘We must be happy and brave in front of her. She can hear everything we say, she just can’t talk very well or move one side. If we’re cheerful she’ll get better far more quickly than if we’re miserable.’
Maria tended her mother carefully, being rewarded with a lop-sided smile and almost indistinguishable words. She spent long hours with her, talking about the cooking or her embroidery. She would ask advice, couching her questions in such a way that they could be answered by a nod or shake of the head. It was tiring and Maria began to lose weight and look older than her years.
It was an evening when she was sitting on the yard wall, gazing at the hills behind the farm, when a shadow fell across her. ‘Babbis!’ she started up in delight.
‘Stay there, please.’ He held up a warning hand, standing a few feet away from her. ‘How’s your mother?’
‘A little better, maybe, it’s hard to say.’
‘How’s Yannis?’
‘Yannis?’ Wariness entered Maria’s eyes. ‘He’s fine.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Studying in Athens.’
‘Is there any hope for him?’
‘What do you mean?’ Maria felt herself alternately flush and pale under his scrutiny.
‘I heard, Maria. I’d come back with Stelios. The priest was here and I heard.’
‘What did you hear?’ Maria gazed at him defiantly.
‘Yannis is,’ Babbis hesitated, ‘ill.’
Maria lowered her eyes.
‘You don’t have to deny it to me,’ Babbis continued. ‘I heard the priest say it. I haven’t told anyone, Maria.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Is there any way I could help?’
Maria hesitated. She longed to say, “Yes, hold me, comfort me, make me feel wanted by you,” but she did not dare. Instead she shook her head.
‘I’ll be on my way, then.’ He turned towards the hill, a short cut to his farm.
Maria watched him go, her heart beating wildly. ‘He doesn’t care,’ she thought bitterly. ‘Because Yannis is a leper Babbis no longer loves me.’ She leaned against the wall to steady herself, watching the figure disappearing into the distance. At the brow of the hill she saw him turn and look back.
Common sense deserted her. She raced up the track, her breath coming in frantic sobs as she reached the summit. There was no sign of Babbis. She stood there bewildered. Even if he had run after looking back at her he would not be out of sight. Breathing deeply to refill her lungs she looked around. He must have seen her coming and hidden. Anger welled up inside her.
A slight sound came to her ears, a muffled groan. He must have fallen and hurt himself. Compassion took the place of anger and she moved forward carefully. Behind a low wall she could see Babbis lying on the ground, his hands beating the earth.