Yiorgo Pavlakis read again the crumpled letter from the medical authorities. ‘I don’t understand why you can’t be content with this.’
Father Minos sighed. ‘Most people meet their death in the early hours of the morning. That’s when I am most needed. If I was declared the official priest I would be able to live on the island tending to the people’s spiritual needs daily.’
Yiorgo Pavlakis pushed back the lock of hair that persisted in falling into his eyes. ‘You would have to get that concession from your Bishop.’
‘I know that, but if I had an endorsement from the local government it could help my plea.’
‘Suppose you accepted this as a temporary measure? You could move to the vicinity of the island and continue to write to the authorities.’ There must be a simple solution to the problem that would satisfy the priest and send him happily on his way.
‘How would I live? I would have to pay for my accommodation and food without the income from a parish.’
‘Your friends on the island would surely pay for you if they are in such need of a priest.’
‘They have no money.’
‘Surely, between them, a small contribution each.’
Father Minos shook his head. ‘They have no money. I mean literally nothing. The first time I visited the island I was appalled that human beings should be expected to live like – like – animals.’
Yiorgo frowned. ‘I feel sure you are exaggerating. How do they buy their food if they have nothing?’
‘The Lasithi prefecture pays the local farmers to send out produce. They are entirely dependent upon charity.’
‘Why don’t they write to their relatives and ask for help?’
‘How can they? They are not allowed to write letters. The boatmen unload the produce on the quay and when they have left the lepers come down to collect it.’
‘Then surely one could take a message to their families?’
Father Minos sighed in exasperation. Was the man being difficult or was he just stupid? ‘Many of them come from mainland Greece. It would be impossible.’
‘I really do not see that giving you permission to live on the island would make a great deal of difference to these miserable people. I respect your calling. It is a very honourable thing you have in mind, but somewhat impractical.’ Yiorgo held up his hand, as the priest was about to interrupt. ‘You say these people have nothing. Have you considered that you might be a liability to them? The food sent by the government would have to be shared with you. A house would have to be built and furnished for you. Why should you have a house if they are living in ruins? You would soon lose their good will if you were treated differently from them, yet you are not a leper so the government would have to treat you differently.’ Yiorgo sat back with a smile. Surely this naïve priest would see the sense of his argument.
Father Minos shook his head. ‘I would not expect to live differently from my neighbour. The houses are being rebuilt or repaired. I would be content to wait my turn.’
‘How are they rebuilding? I thought you said they were penniless and sick?’
‘Some are reasonably fit, but will gradually deteriorate as the disease progresses. The fittest are working on the repairs.’
‘And where are these people getting the money for materials? Their labour may be free, but it costs money to build a house.’
‘A good deal is being re-used. They are dismantling some of the unsafe buildings and using the stones and timber.’
Yiorgo Pavlakis pushed back his hair. ‘Very creditable and ingenious. Do they get all their requirements from these ruins?’
‘Most of them.’
‘And the others?’
‘They are bought from the mainland.’
Yiorgo held up his hand. ‘You said ‘bought’, did you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Suddenly penniless people are able to buy things. That is interesting.’
‘I did not say they were buying them.’
‘Then who is?’
Father Minos took a deep breath. ‘When I visited the island I found Yannis had been sent there. It’s due to him that they’re rebuilding. He’s done wonders for their morale. As soon as I told his family he was there his father gave me a sum of money. I used a good deal for bandages, but there was some left over.’
‘Yannis? The Yannis I taught? Who lived here?’
Father Minos nodded.
‘What a waste! What a waste of a brain and a career.’ Yiorgo shook his head sadly and pushed back his hair. ‘Is there any way I can help him?’
‘By obtaining permission for me to live there as their official priest.’
Yiorgo Pavlakis threw back his head and laughed. ‘We’ve already been through that, and I asked how I could help Yannis, not you.’
‘By helping me you would be helping Yannis, and everyone else on the island.’
Yiorgo shook his head. ‘I doubt that my word would carry very much weight. I feel it would be best for you to approach your Bishop; he could probably apply more pressure than I. What I could try to do is gain a small allowance for you.’
‘I am in no need of an extra allowance.’
‘I did not mean for you personally. I was thinking of an extra allowance that could be used for the sick. To provide them with some small luxuries.’
‘Luxuries!’ Father Minos could hardly believe his ears. ‘Didn’t you hear a word I said? They don’t want luxuries, they want what you and I accept as necessities – a pair of socks or a blanket. To them a luxury would be a cigarette or a glass of wine.’
Yiorgo had paled under the vehemence of the priest’s outburst. ‘But surely the government provides them with those essentials along with their food?’
Father Minos shook his head. ‘From the money Yannis’s father and uncle gave me I’ve been able to buy blankets and mattresses, but as fast as I purchase them they need more. I can’t keep pace. They need cooking utensils, clothes, soap, you name it, they need it.’
‘Have none of them any money?’
‘When they entered the hospital they gave all the money they had for their treatment. None was ever returned to them. Their belongings were sent with them, but no money.’
Yiorgo Pavlakis pushed his hair back from his eyes and wiped his hand down the side of his trousers. ‘It was probably used up in medical expenses.’
‘I’m sure a good deal of it was, but what of the remainder? Maybe you could make a few enquiries?’
‘Have you made any?’
‘I’ve tried to trace some that I thought could be owing to Yannis or his father.’
‘Did you have any luck?’
‘No.’ Father Minos did not think he should mention that it was Yiorgo’s wife and brother-in-law who owed the money in question. ‘The hospital might be a little more forthcoming with you than it was with me.’
Yiorgo nodded. ‘I can certainly try for you. It may take a little time. I’m rather a busy man, you know.’
‘Of course, and I’ve already taken up far too much of your time today. I appreciate your offer of help. Maybe if I came again in a month?’
Yiorgo Pavlakis nodded absently. He was wondering just how much of the money would have been used in medical expenses and how much he could expect to be recompensed for finding the residue. Political campaigns were always in need of funds. There was another election due in six months and he very much wanted to be in charge of the prefecture, maybe, with sufficient funds at his disposal, he could present himself as a philanthropist and gain the votes of the people.
He sat gazing morosely into his glass of wine. He needed something that would endear him to the people of Heraklion, something that would ensure they elected him their Mayor. Maybe if the populace thought he was concerned with the welfare of the lepers they would be impressed. Many of them would have relatives who were suffering and it would hearten them to know they had voted for a man who had promised to alleviate some of their misery. He called to Louisa to come and sit with him and told her of his idea. She shrugged as he tentatively put the outline of his plan before her.
‘I can’t see why you want to concern yourself with them.’
Yiorgo twisted his glass between his fingers. ‘I feel somewhat guilty that I didn’t try to find Yannis when he disappeared so suddenly.’
‘If he’d wanted us to know he would have told us.’
‘I don’t think he wanted to put us in an embarrassing position. He wanted to spare us that. I gathered from the priest that they are completely destitute, dependent upon the government for every necessity.’
‘Why can’t their families look after them?’
‘From what I understand in many cases their families don’t even know they’ve been sent to the island. They’re not allowed to send letters or have any visitors except the priest.’
‘I can’t imagine anyone wanting to visit them!’
‘Wouldn’t you want to visit me if I were sent there?’ Yiorgo reached for his wife’s hand. ‘I’ll talk to Father Minos again and see if he can give me any idea of the best way to approach the problem. Tomorrow I’ll see if I can find any trace of the money he mentioned.’
Louisa looked at Yiorgo sharply. ‘What money?’
Yiorgo waved his hand airily. ‘He said they had given money to the hospital when they were admitted, but had never had any returned to them. I promised I would look into the accounts, but I doubt that I’ll find anything amiss. Now, I shall need you down in the taverna this evening. I’ve some important people coming to talk to me and I’d like Pavlos to join us.’
With a resigned sigh Louisa agreed. She had planned an early night, expecting Yiorgo to be out, now it was doubtful if she would be able to retire before the early hours of the morning.
The men, when they arrived, were unknown to her. They sat quietly at the tables whilst she served them and waited until she had retired to the kitchen area before they bent their heads closer and conversed in undertones. Three times Yiorgo called to her for further supplies and each time she approached with the bottles the conversation stopped. To her surprise they began to take their leave early, slipping away in ones and twos, until only her husband and brother were left. She collected the glasses and began to wash them noisily.
‘You had no need of me,’ she complained to Yiorgo. ‘I could have left the bottles on the counter for you to help yourselves and washed up in the morning.’
‘I wanted my friends to see that my wife supported me. It was more important than you realise.’
‘Who were those men, anyway? They weren’t your usual friends who come to talk politics with you.’
‘I can’t tell you that. Forget that you saw any of them. Go to bed now. It’s late and I have more work to do.’
Sulkily Louisa retired to their room. Since their marriage Yiorgo had become more and more engrossed in politics, and although still enamoured of his wife, had less and less time to spend with her. Normally his neglect did not worry her, but she objected to being shown off and made to stay up without being told the true reason. Sleep had still not come to her when Yiorgo arrived, undressed quietly and slipped into bed beside her.
‘Who were those people, Yiorgo?’ She asked again.
Yiorgo smiled in the darkness. The curiosity of women! ‘They are people I work with, they’re all interested in the present European scene and we wanted to discuss its implications.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘We have heard some disturbing reports from Germany, the trouble there seems to be rippling outwards. It will probably not reach us, but we want to be ready should it do so.’
‘What will you do then?’
‘That, my dear, you need not concern your pretty head over. I’ve already told you far more than I should have done. I’ll be late for work if you don’t let me get some sleep now.’
With that Louisa had to be content. As she lay in the darkness Yiorgo’s rhythmical breathing turned into a snore and she realised he was in a deep sleep.
Yiorgo was up and had left the taverna before Louisa was awakened by their daughter. He made his way to the home of Father Minos and slipped a note into the box beside the door, announcing his intention to call that evening. He must obviously appear to be more interested in the prospect of improving conditions for the lepers than in furthering his career.
Father Minos greeted him with a glass of wine and offered olives and nuts before sitting and waiting for Yiorgo to tell him the purpose of his visit.
‘I’ve been thinking about the lepers. I’d like to know more.’
Father Minos raised his eyebrows. ‘With what purpose in mind, may I ask?’
‘I may be in a position to send aid, but I would have to lay as much information as possible before a committee to persuade them of the necessity of such an action.’
The priest nodded. ‘What kind of help did you have in mind?’
‘That’s where I need your help. You would have to tell me what they needed most. I’m talking of something of a permanent nature that would benefit everyone, not a crate of wine or consignment of cigarettes.’
‘I see. What you really want is to send something that will always be associated with your name.’
‘Oh, no, no,’ Yiorgo assured him hastily, feeling the priest had the ability to look inside his mind. ‘When I say something permanent I mean of permanent benefit to them all, that will continue for them long after I’m gone and forgotten.’
Father Minos placed the tips of his fingers together. ‘So many things spring to mind, but none of them of a permanent nature exactly. You could guarantee a supply of bandages for a specific number of years, or a mattress and blanket for everyone, but I feel that’s not quite what you have in mind.’ Father Minos refilled his guest’s glass. ‘Maybe you would care to visit the island as you wish to become a benefactor?’
Yiorgo paled visibly. ‘I’d not thought of going there myself. I have a wife and daughter to consider.’
‘I don’t think any great harm would come to you if you visited. You spent a number of years in Yannis’s company with no ill effects. You see, if you visited the island I think it could give the people there a tremendous boost. They would know that the outside world had not forgotten them, that there were men like yourself willing to improve their conditions, and you would also be able to judge for yourself the kind of aid you would most like to give.’
Yiorgo hesitated and the priest pressed home his advantage. ‘Remember, when you ask for other people to support your idea you will be able to speak with first hand knowledge.’ Again Yiorgo hesitated, allowing Father Minos to press his point further. ‘I’m sure the people of this town and the surrounding area would be impressed with a leader who puts the welfare of others before all else. They will know they can have faith in you to have their best interests at heart and will trust you.’