The week passed pleasantly and all too soon he returned to his duties. Within two days his holiday was erased from his mind. Back into his usual routine the time passed swiftly, holding his small surgery in the front room of his house and visiting his hospital patients took up most of the day. It was on one such visit to the hospital that he encountered Doctor Kandakis and remembered the letter. Holding the door as the doctor emerged he smiled, hoping he would be recognised.
‘Excuse me, may I have a quick word?’
‘If you’re ill come to the surgery.’
‘I’m Doctor Stavros. I wish to speak to you about a letter I’ve received.’
Doctor Kandakis grunted. ‘I’m in a hurry.’
‘Quite. I was merely puzzled as the letter was from the Medical Authorities requesting that I visit the island. I understood you were in charge of it.’
‘I have resigned. Excuse me.’ Doctor Kandakis pushed his way past, leaving Doctor Stavros bewildered and annoyed. Now he would have to answer the letter.
He tried to compose a suitable reply that afternoon and finally gave up, deciding to take a stroll along the waterfront. He always enjoyed the bustle of the quay and once or twice a fisherman, who was still feeling grateful for medication received, would offer him the pick of the catch. He felt lucky, and fancied a nice plump mullet for supper.
As usual the waterfront was a hive of activity, even more interesting was a young fisherman who was loading his boat with sacks until his fragile craft appeared in danger of sinking. Curiosity getting the better of him, Doctor Stavros moved closer.
‘What’s in there?’ he asked.
A flash of white teeth answered him. ‘Sand and cement.’
‘Sand and cement,’ the doctor repeated stupidly.
‘For the island.’
‘What do they need that for?’
The fisherman shrugged. ‘The priest told me he’d arranged for supplies to go over regularly and pays me for taking them.’
Doctor Stavros raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you go to the island?’
‘Only to unload on the jetty.’
‘So you don’t see the people?’
‘Sometimes, from a distance, and I see Flora.’
‘Who’s Flora?’
‘She’s always on the jetty. Asks the boatmen for all sorts of things.’ The fisherman grinned again. ‘Hammers, nails, screwdrivers; all sorts of stuff. Never anything for herself, but I take her a few trifles sometimes, you know, a hair ribbon or a comb when I can get it.’
‘Is she very ill?’
‘How should I know? I’m not a doctor.’ He heaved the last sack aboard. ‘I’m off now. Any message for anyone?’
‘No. Should there be?’
‘I thought you might know someone over there. I’m always willing to give a message to Flora. She’ll pass it on.’
Doctor Stavros shook his head. ‘No, I’ve no message.’
He watched as the boat sailed slowly out towards the open sea. Why would sick people want building materials? What was it the fisherman had said? The priest had arranged it. He smiled to himself. That was the answer. He had obviously persuaded them to build a church! Doctor Stavros moved on slowly, many fishermen waved to him, but none came forward to offer him a fish.
Entering the general store he purchased a bottle of raki and was about to leave when a small brown envelope was handed to him. He turned it over and across the back was the medical authorities stamp. He tapped the letter against his fingers speculatively; then ripped it open. A quick glance at the contents made him realise he had to read it carefully.
Once home he read the direct instructions. A further fifty patients had been sent to the island and more were on their way. He was to visit the island and send back a report on the general health of everyone living there. Now that Doctor Kandakis had resigned he was to be solely responsible. There would be a small fund at his disposal to pay for a boatman and he could requisition supplies from the hospital. The letter was couched in terms that brooked no refusal.
Yannis sat with the letter from Andreas in his hand. It was unbelievable. His sister dead in childbirth! What had they done to her? How could it possibly have happened? He had been so thrilled when Flora had handed it to him, saying Manolis had brought it over. Now his pleasure had turned to bitterness and misery. He had assumed the girl waving to him with a child in her arms to be Maria, but maybe it was Anna. He beat his fists on the ground in frustration. If only he knew what was happening to his family. Andreas’s letter contained little information other than the salient facts. Maria had given birth to a son. The birth had been difficult. Anna had done her best, but Maria had been taken to hospital in Aghios Nikolaos where the doctors had been unable to save her.
Phaedra sat beside him, saying nothing. She could sense that Yannis had received bad news and thought that in all probability his mother had suffered another stroke.
‘It’s so unfair,’ he said finally. ‘She never hurt anyone and he loved her so much.’
‘Your Mamma?’
‘My sister. Phaedra, how do women die when they’re having a child?’
Phaedra shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It just happens.’
‘Everything ‘just happens’! My sister ‘just happens’ to die, my mother ‘just happens’ to have a stroke, I ‘just happen’ to have leprosy. It isn’t fair, Phaedra.’
‘Life isn’t, Yannis. There’s nothing you or I can do about it. Did any of us ask to be sent here? I was fine living in a cave on the mainland. I wasn’t harming anyone.’
Yannis looked at the girl in concern. ‘I’m pleased you’re here and not in a cave miles away. I always have someone to talk to. I rely on your common sense.’
‘You take everyone’s problems onto your own shoulders and think everything’s your fault. You must learn to shrug and walk away.’
‘I’m not like that. I wish I were. What makes you so wise, Phaedra?’
She shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘I’m not wise. I just see everyone turning to you, taking all their problems to lie at your feet, blaming you when things don’t go right, relying on you. It’s too much. I just feel I want to scream at them to go away and leave you alone. To give you some peace.’
Yannis looked down at her earnest face. ‘When I come to you, you never shrug and walk away.’
‘That’s different, besides, you’re the only one who brings their problems to me,’ Phaedra was embarrassed.
‘In my book that says you’re a friend; a very special, precious friend.’
Phaedra was still looking up at him. Gently Yannis bent and kissed her, softly at first, then with mounting passion. After her initial response Phaedra pulled herself away. Yannis felt himself flushing with confusion.
‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised. ‘That became rather too friendly.’
Phaedra touched her lips with her fingers. ‘I’ve never been kissed before,’ she spoke almost in a whisper.
‘Never?’
‘Not by a man. I’ve always avoided the men over here.’
‘Why?’
‘They frighten me.’
‘Do I frighten you?’
‘No, of course not.’
Yannis slipped his arm round her waist. ‘I’m glad of that. I don’t want my favourite girl to be scared of me.’
‘I thought your cousin was your favourite girl?’
‘That was a life-time ago – and before I met you.’
‘Would you still like to marry her?’
Yannis shook his head. ‘I haven’t seen her for years. She will have changed in that time and I certainly have. She probably has some other young man paying court to her. Andreas said she was in Athens.’
‘Does it hurt you to talk about her?’
‘Not now; I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll never see her again. I know she’s all right. She has her parents and brother to look after her. I would like to see my mother again.’ Yannis held up the little eye he always wore on the silver chain. ‘My mother gave me this when I first went to Heraklion. It was to bring me good luck.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘Some luck it brought me, or her for that matter.’
It was a bright, clear morning, with just the hint of a breeze. Doctor Stavros cursed silently. He had hoped there would be a mistral blowing and his trip postponed. Manolis was waiting for him on the quay, his boat loaded as heavily as he dared, and he greeted the doctor with a dazzling smile.
‘We should make good time if the wind holds,’ he assured his passenger.
‘I’m not a very good sailor,’ the doctor warned him, not adding that he was petrified of the sea, having once suffered a long and arduous crossing between Heraklion and Athens.
Manolis screwed up his eyes. ‘Shouldn’t have any problem today.’ He cleared a space for the doctor to put his feet, cast off and jumped aboard. As the island loomed into view the doctor regarded it curiously. It was smaller than he had imagined and the high wall of the Venetian fortress that ran round the perimeter gave it a secluded and forbidding appearance. On the jetty there was a young girl, who leapt to her feet and waved a greeting to them.
‘That’s Flora,’ announced Manolis, waving back to her. ‘She’ll go and tell the others I’ve arrived. You go ashore and walk up the steps. Someone will soon see you.’
‘How many people are there on this island?’
‘I’ve no idea. Two or three hundred, judging by what the priest said.’
‘Three hundred?’ gasped the doctor. He would never be able to visit everyone in a day, let alone examine and prescribe. ‘I’ll be some time. Will you wait for me?’
‘Sure. I’ll do some fishing and chat to Flora.’ He grinned again as the doctor clambered clumsily out of the boat. What landlubbers these doctors were!
Doctor Stavros walked along the quay and through the arch. The air immediately seemed oppressive and he hoped he was not going to have one of his headaches. At the top of the flight of steps a young man appeared and the doctor felt more than one pair of eyes was watching him. He cleared his throat.
‘Good morning, I’m Doctor Stavros and have been asked to come here by the authorities.’
‘Why?’ Yannis did not move. ‘What do they plan to do with us now?’
‘I believe they want to ensure there is enough accommodation for those who have been sent over recently. They wish to send some more sufferers to join them.’ Doctor Stavros passed a hand over his forehead. ‘Maybe if I saw the island and where you live, then visited the hospital cases.’
Yannis raised his eyebrows. ‘My dear doctor, we are all hospital cases!’
‘Oh, yes, yes, of course. I meant those who are bedridden.’
Yannis smiled grimly to himself. ‘We’ll go this way,’ he said and turned up the slope towards Kyriakos.
Doctor Stavros looked at the legless man. ‘How long have you been disabled?’
‘I don’t remember. Years.’
The doctor placed his bag on the ground. ‘May I examine you?’
Kyriakos shrugged. ‘Why? They’re not going to grow again.’
‘Of course not, but I might be able to put your mind at rest about the progression.’
Kyriakos gave a sour look towards Yannis. He was sensitive about showing his disfigurements.
‘I’ll see if Phaedra’s around.’ Yannis walked away and did not return until he saw the doctor pick up his bag.
‘Who looks after that man?’ he asked Yannis.
‘He looks after himself, more or less. We make his meals and carry him if he wants to go anywhere.’
Doctor Stavros shook his head. ‘I mean who washes him and changes his bandages?’
‘He does that for himself. Most of them do. If we go round this way you’ll get an idea of the island.’ Yannis led the way past the overhang, pointing out the catwalk they did not use and continued down the narrow path towards the church.
‘That’s dangerous,’ remarked Doctor Stavros. ‘Any one could fall over there to the rocks below.’ He made a note on his pad.
‘We all know it’s there. We don’t often come round this side.’ Yannis dismissed the precipice as unimportant. ‘Do you want to see the tower where we dispose of the dead?’
Doctor Stavros stopped in his tracks. ‘Dispose of the dead! Don’t you bury them?’
Yannis looked at him. Was it possible that any doctor could be so naïve? ‘We live on a rock. It’s somewhat difficult to dig a hole, besides, we’d soon have no space to live on.’
‘I don’t think I need to see the tower. I’ll not be able to do anything for the occupants.’ He followed Yannis through the tunnel. ‘Wouldn’t they be better off inside?’ asked the doctor, waving his hand towards the various groups who were sitting or lying around at the side of the path.
‘All the houses are occupied, and there aren’t enough anyway.’
‘Can’t they go into the hospital?’
‘The hospital is a ruin.’
Doctor Stavros shifted uncomfortably. ‘Is there somewhere we could sit and talk for a while? I seem rather confused.’ He rubbed his hand over his forehead; his head was throbbing.
Yannis nodded. ‘We’ll go back up to Kyriakos. I’ve asked Phaedra to include you for lunch.’
As the doctor followed Yannis, he was conscious of the suspicious glances that were directed at him and felt distinctly uncomfortable. He doubted the wisdom of eating or drinking anything on the island, but some food might help his headache, and he certainly did not want to offend this strange man. Feeling completely out of his depth he sat silently as mutilated hands tore bread into pieces and passed cheese, olives and tomatoes to him. Yannis tried to converse with him, but the doctor was evasive. He had been sent to the island to compile a report for the authorities, say how the new arrivals had settled and requisition essential supplies from the hospital on the mainland, he had no other instructions.
‘No, I’m sure you haven’t! Out of sight, out of mind, that’s what we are.’
‘I’m sure they have your welfare at heart,’ insisted Doctor Stavros. ‘I had a letter saying I was to visit and be responsible for you, medically speaking.’
Yannis’s eyes gleamed. ‘So what are you going to do?’
‘I don’t know. I’m confused. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. You seem to be in charge.’
‘There’s no one in charge, as you put it. We just live from day to day as best we can.’
‘How many of you are living here?’
Yannis shrugged. ‘Three, maybe four, hundred.’
‘As many as that!’ Doctor Stavros gasped, and wrote the figure down on his pad. ‘Is there sufficient accommodation?’