Andreas considered the advice. ‘I don’t see how I can please him, then. I’ll just have to take a chance if he sends for me again. Let’s forget him and really celebrate.’
‘Not here, it’s much too close to his residence. You don’t want a reputation as a drinker before your start. We’ll return home, have a meal and see what my cellar has hidden away.’
Yannis read the letter Manolis had brought him from Yiorgo Pavlakis. He frowned in consternation.
‘I can’t cope with this. Most of the information he asks for I don’t have.’
‘What does he ask?’ Spiro was bandaging the stump of Kyriakos’s left leg where an ulcer was infected and suppurating.
‘He wants to know our names and ages, when we were first admitted to a hospital, which one, where we came from and what work we did, information about our relatives, the list is endless.’
‘What do we get if we answer all those questions?’
Yannis turned to the next page. ‘I’m not sure; he’s not specific about anything. He says the idea of a regular sum of money for us has been agreed in principle, but he needs the information he has asked for so the council can work everything out.’ Yannis threw the letter to one side in disgust.
‘So what are you going to do about it?’
‘I don’t know. He says that once all this information is on file it can easily be kept up to date and he won’t have to ask again.’
‘That sounds logical enough.’
‘I don’t see why we can’t just count heads and leave it at that,’ grumbled Yannis. ‘I don’t want to tell the government where my relatives live. How do I know what they’ll do with the information? They could send people there to take skin and blood tests and make their lives a misery. Do you think they’d do it quietly and tactfully? I don’t! They’d ask the first person they saw to direct them to the house and tell them what they wanted with the family. Before the day was out my parents would have been driven from the village.’ Angrily he tore the letter across.
‘Don’t be so hasty,’ Spiro retrieved the pieces. ‘Why don’t you write back and say we’re not prepared to give them any information about our families and explain why.’
Yannis shook his head. ‘It’s a trick. A trick to enable the government to persecute our families,’ he insisted.
‘You can’t be sure of that.’
‘I feel sure.’
The argument raged back and forth between the two men, Kyriakos’s bandages forgotten, until finally Yannis rose. ‘I’m going for a walk.’
Miserably he wandered along the path and up the slight incline. He had believed Yiorgo Pavlakis when he had first spoken of helping them all. Now it appeared that instead of helping the lepers he was going to help the authorities to carry out a witch-hunt on their families. Sadly Yannis gazed over the expanse of water to his home. His family were in danger. Of all those on the island Yiorgo knew exactly who his parents were and where they lived.
‘What’s wrong?’ A small hand was slipped into his and he turned to find Phaedra looking at him with concern.
‘I had a letter from that schoolmaster friend of mine. He’s also a politician and he wants to persuade the government to give us some money.’
Phaedra smiled. ‘That sounds good, but where would we spend it?’
Yannis smiled back at her. ‘We’d ask people to bring us what we wanted from the mainland and pay them.’
‘You mean we could choose things?’ There was wonder in her voice.
‘If you wanted a red dress or a blue one you’d be able to choose, then pay when it was sent over to you.’
‘No more fighting over bundles of old clothes? It would be wonderful, Yannis.’
‘It would be if it were that simple. He wants to know the name of everyone who lives here and where their relatives live. It would mean that the government could find our families. Soon all the neighbours would know who was over here, and you can imagine what that would mean.’
Phaedra nodded. ‘Do you have to tell him? Suppose people don’t know where their family lives?’
‘I expect the government would send someone to make enquiries. Even if they’d moved on they would probably trace them eventually.’
‘Why don’t you ask Orestis?’
‘What good would that do?’
‘He was a solicitor before he came here. He might be able to advise you.’
‘Phaedra, you’re wonderful. I can always rely on you to know what to do.’
Phaedra reddened with pleasure. ‘It was just an idea.’
He returned to his own house where he found the torn letter placed carefully on his bed by Spiro. He read it through again before making his way to the house where Orestis lived. Yannis knocked on the door. ‘Stir yourself, Orestis. I’ve some work for you to do.’
Orestis ignored the voice, hoping he would be left in peace to read his book.
Yannis tried again. ‘I’m not going away. I’ll continue to knock until you open your door.’ There was no reply and Yannis wondered if the house was empty. He raised his voice. ‘I need your help as a solicitor. It’s a legal matter I want to talk about.’
The door opened and Orestis stood there smiling. ‘Why didn’t you say so in the first place? I thought you’d come to ask me to haul stones around.’
‘This is more important.’
‘I thought nothing was more important to you than your precious buildings.’
Yannis ignored the taunt. ‘I want you to read this letter and then give me your professional advice.’
‘Who tore it up?’
‘I did,’ admitted Yannis. ‘I was somewhat annoyed.’
Orestis read in silence, turning to Yannis when he finished. ‘So what do you want my advice on?’
‘Do we have to supply all the information he asks for?’
‘Well, that depends. It’s a logical request when he asks for the name of everyone over here and which hospital admitted them.’
‘So we’ve got to do it?’
‘It looks like it, if we want to accept this offer of money. How much is he trying to get for us?’
‘He doesn’t say. It probably depends how many of us there are.’
Orestis nodded. ‘I’d suggest you ask him why he needs all the details he’s asked for. He may have a good reason, or as you seem to think, it may be a way of tracking down our families and causing them embarrassment. I, for one, wouldn’t want it generally known that I was over here. My wife knows, but she told the children I’m in France, working for the government. I’ll tell you what, Yannis, I’ll write this letter. I’ll go through, point by point, and put forward our objections to certain questions. You realise, though, it may mean we don’t see any of this promised money?’
‘It all seemed so easy when we talked about it,’ sighed Yannis. ‘He said he just wanted a list of the people who live here and left me some paper so I could make it.’
‘Nothing is easy when it has to go before politicians. Your friend is either very new to the game or he’s managed to only get very simple issues through so far. Alternatively, of course, he could have the makings of a very wily politician. One of those who promises you the earth for nothing and when you’ve swallowed the bait you find you’ve sold your soul to the devil.’
Yiorgo Pavlakis waited impatiently for the answer to his letter. The date of the mayoral election would be announced any day and he wanted to be able to point to his accomplishment of a pension for the incurables as an example of his charitable outlook in the hope of winning the majority of the votes. He had a vision of himself on the platform, cheered by the crowd as the chain of office was placed round his neck, and a smiling, beautiful, Louisa at his side.
When the mail was brought to his office he tore open the envelope eagerly, his enthusiasm gradually ebbing away as the sheets inside were covered in a hand entirely unknown to him. He read the missive through slowly and thoroughly, a flush coming to his cheeks as the words of truth struck home and pricked his conscience. As Orestis pointed out, there was no necessity for their relatives to be involved if the money was coming from the government, therefore their town or village of residence prior to their admittance was entirely superfluous information. Their previous occupation was also irrelevant, and their age could be ignored, leprosy often advanced more quickly if it attacked the young than if it were diagnosed in later life. Yiorgo Pavlakis had no option other than write back and agree to those questions being temporarily waved, but a list of the islanders was essential.
It was with trepidation that Yiorgo faced the council to read Orestis’s letter and as he anticipated they smiled openly and made remarks behind their hands to one another. Yiorgo cleared his throat, pushed back his hair and addressed them. ‘I propose that we proceed with our idea regardless of their lack of co-operation. When they see we are prepared to keep a bargain they will have more confidence in us, then will be the time to press with the other questions.’
‘How much did you have in mind for them?’
‘They can’t need very much. They have everything sent to them.’
‘They’ll simply smuggle it back to their families.’
‘Or gamble.’
‘You still haven’t said how much you have in mind to give them.’
Yiorgo shrugged his shoulders. ‘I really don’t know how to assess it. As you say, they have their essentials sent to them, this is just to give them a modicum of independence.’
‘Load of rubbish.’
Yiorgo heard the undertone and seized upon it. ‘How would you feel if everything you ate and wore was sent to you by charity? You wouldn’t think it a load of rubbish then.’
‘How much?’
‘Yes, how much? We’re straying from the point. We can’t make any decision until we know the sum involved.’
Yiorgo cast around desperately in his mind for a figure he hoped they would find acceptable. ‘Twenty drachmas?’
‘A year?’
‘Oh, no, that would do them no good at all. I was thinking of twenty drachmas a week.’
‘Twenty a week!’
The whole body of men catcalled and whistled in derision.
‘They’d soon be millionaires!’
‘I’d go there myself if I was going to be paid that for doing nothing.’
‘First time I’ve heard of people being paid for being ill.’
‘Ridiculous!’
Yiorgo waited until the noise had subsided. ‘How much then?’ he asked, sulkily.
‘One. One a day – and that’s being generous.’
Yiorgo looked round the assembly. They all seemed to be nodding in agreement.
‘Very well, one drachma a day.’
‘How many are on the island?’
‘Four hundred and twenty seven.’
‘How do you know that figure is correct? They may have added some.’
‘We have to trust them.’
‘Trust? Outcasts! How can you trust them?’
Yiorgo had an inspired thought. ‘The priest, they wouldn’t lie to him, and he wouldn’t lie to us. When he’s established over there we’ll ask him to check the numbers.’
A young man leant forward with his notebook in his hand. ‘If we take the figure you gave as correct and we are going to give them a drachma a day that is twelve thousand, eight hundred and ten a month, amounting to one hundred and fifty three thousand, seven hundred and twenty per year. I can’t see one lottery bringing in that kind of money.’
Yiorgo looked at him helplessly. ‘Finance is not my province.’
‘This means a good deal to you, doesn’t it?’ He held up his hand as Yiorgo was about to reply. ‘I won’t ask why it means so much. It might embarrass you.’
‘I have no relatives on the island,’ Yiorgo hastened to assure him.
‘I’ll take your word for that, but I have a suggestion to make. I have an acquaintance who has a good deal of money, honestly come by. If we fall short on the lottery, I suggest we ask him for an interest free loan, placed at my father’s bank.’
Yiorgo shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t work. His money couldn’t last forever. The money has to come from government funds; either raised from lotteries or increased taxes.’
‘Of course! How short sighted of me! Maybe we could keep the idea at the back of our minds should we need extra funds in the future?’
‘Can we get the motion down on paper?’ Yiorgo licked his dry lips. He must not let this opportunity slip away from him. ‘Are you ready, clerk? “The proposal from Yiorgo Pavlakis to give the lepers dwelling on Spinalonga a pension of one drachma per day for the rest of their natural life to help to alleviate some of their suffering was passed unanimously” – today’s date.’
‘Suppose we’re not able to raise the money and have to withdraw it?’
‘They won’t know the wording,’ Yiorgo assured them. ‘For all they know it could depend upon whoever is holding office at the time.’
Dimitris slapped his notebook down on the table and grinned. ‘I understand now. Who do you think will be in office, Yiorgo?’
‘That will depend upon the outcome of the election.’
‘And whoever stands for election would like to be able to point to a public service and say “Look what I have done for those unfortunate people.” Very clever, Yiorgo, very neat; we were slow not to realise you had something up your sleeve.’
A silence had fallen and all eyes were turned upon Yiorgo.
‘Even without an election pending I would have put forward this suggestion. Having seen these people with my own eyes and the appalling conditions under which they live I feel it is every citizen’s responsibility to try to better their lives.’ Yiorgo tried to defend himself.
‘I would like to believe you,’ sneered Dimitris.
‘And I should like to believe that you had their welfare at heart when you proposed a friend to provide some of the money and it to be handled by your father’s bank. The deposit of such a sum would no doubt have helped to increase your lending power and bring you more profit.’
Dimitris rose to his feet. ‘That is an insult to my honesty and integrity.’
‘It was meant to be,’ snarled Yiorgo. ‘You are a jumped up young puppy.’
‘Young puppy I may be, but at least I have all my wits about me, not like some who spend most of their life in a cloud of dreams and don’t see what’s going on under their nose.’
‘Gentlemen, gentlemen.’ Two of the committee rose to try to restrain the politicians who appeared about to fly at each other’s throats.
‘Apologise. Apologise.’ The call began to be taken up by each and every member.