Yannis shook his head. ‘I don’t try to pretend. Phaedra can hardly remember what it’s like to live a normal life, a home; a family. I want to give her as much as I can. She accepts having our food delivered instead of going to the market, or even into the garden to pick vegetables. I can’t alter that. I’m trying to give her a home, to give her a feeling of belonging, the knowledge that someone cares for her. I want her to believe that life here is the same as it would be anywhere else. I know it isn’t, but she doesn’t.’
‘I still think you’re doing it to fool yourself. One day you’ll have to come to terms with your illness.’
Yannis’s mouth opened and shut. ‘We don’t have to come to terms with it as you put it. There’s no way we can get away from it. We see it around us all day long, and there’s nothing wrong in trying to live like a decent human being, even when the rest of the world has declared you deserve no more from life than a miserable animal gets. Once you’ve been sent to this island you come to terms very quickly with the fact that you aren’t wanted anywhere on earth and never will be. If we can make life more bearable over here, why shouldn’t we?’
Doctor Stavros turned on his heel. ‘I’ll bring you the bill.’
The small gold ring glittered in the box and Yannis looked on it in delight. ‘Thank you; I really appreciate you getting it.’
The doctor held out the bill, which Yannis did not even glance at. ‘Give it to Manolis, he’ll settle up with you.’
Doctor Stavros cleared his throat. ‘I took the liberty of having it engraved.’ The doctor pointed to the tiny letters inside. YANNIS – PHAEDRA and the date they had been married.
‘That was a wonderful idea. How much extra do I owe you?’
‘Nothing. Take it as a belated wedding gift.’ The doctor walked rapidly away up the path towards the hospital. After a long talk with Father Minos he had been forced to agree that it was preferable for the lepers to consider themselves legally married than move from one partner to another. He could not enforce celibacy any more than the priest.
Yannis waited until they had eaten their evening meal before drawing Phaedra to him and telling her he had an anniversary gift for her. At first her face lit up’ then she blushed.
‘Wait a moment. I have something for you. I didn’t like to give it to you before in case you’d forgotten and I made you feel guilty.’
‘As if I could forget anything as important as our anniversary.’ He pulled the box from his pocket. ‘Close your eyes.’ He slipped the ring onto her finger.
‘Oh, Yannis, it’s beautiful.’ She turned her head from side to side, admiring the slim gold band.
‘Doctor Stavros had it engraved with our names and wedding date.’ He held her hand and admired it with her.
‘Have your present, Yannis.’
‘What is it?’
‘Open it and see.’
Phaedra watched as he did so. She knew what he had dreamt of having for so long and she had made Manolis promise that if Yannis asked him to buy him a watch he would delay the purchase with excuses. Yannis handled it reverently, listening to it tick and showing Phaedra how the hands moved around to show what time of day it was. He could see by her puzzled frown that the mysteries of telling the time by a small mechanism were beyond her, but she was delighted at his pleasure.
Yannis sat with Spiro and Father Minos, waiting for their reaction to the idea he had placed before them.
‘I don’t know how people will feel about being charged for things they’ve always had given in the past.’
‘I think it would be good for them. It would give them a modicum of self-respect,’ argued Yannis.
‘But what do we have to sell?’ asked Father Minos.
‘That’s part of the challenge. Those who have a trade, like a barber and a carpenter, could charge for their services. We could grow our own vegetables and herbs, buy some more goats and sell the milk. Someone could open up a taverna and we could meet there in the evenings. Once you start to think about it the list is endless.’
‘What about those who are in hospital?’ asked Spiro.
‘They have a pension, the same as the rest of us. From a given date they’ll be asked to pay you for being looked after. From that money you keep a little for yourself, and pay those who help you with the work.’
Spiro scratched his head. ‘Suppose some of them don’t want to do anything?’
‘They wouldn’t have to. It will be entirely up to the individual.’
Father Minos leaned forward. ‘What kind of prices do you have in mind, Yannis, and, more important, where would the money come from?’
‘I’m talking about a few lepta. You go for a hair cut and pay two lepta, the barber goes to the taverna and buys a glass of wine. The next day he fancies an egg so he goes to whoever keeps chickens and buys one. It’s a circular motion. All we have to do is ask Manolis to bring some money over with him.’
‘Would the government allow it?’ asked Spiro.
‘Are you going to ask them? I’m not. I think it would give us some pride, even our pension is a form of charity.’
‘I think you have something there, Yannis, but it would have to be carefully planned. We couldn’t just rush into this. There would have to be a limit to the number of barbers or tavernas opening.’
‘That’s where people like Orestis come in. If you wanted to open a business you’d have to pay him to draw up a proper agreement, giving you the right to trade.’ Yannis’s eyes began to glow with enthusiasm.
‘What I suggest,’ Father Minos looked at the two men, ‘Is a discussion with Orestis. If he can’t find anything against the idea then I’ll call a meeting and put it to everyone else.’
Doctor Stavros was delighted. The change that had come about in the last few weeks was remarkable. Patients who had claimed his attention each week were feeling considerably better now they had an incentive. Discussions and meetings were taking place in every house; arguments were frequent until an agreement could be reached. Everywhere he went he was told about plans the person had for earning a small amount of money to supplement their pension.
Takkis had gathered a small group together and they were to become the official builders, Antonis had laid first claim to being a barber, whilst Vassilis and Stathis were arguing which of them was to open the first taverna. Louisa had a notice in her window saying she was a dressmaker, and Elena was ordering lengths of material through Manolis. Phillipos had been asked to make furniture for the taverna and refused, saying it would take him too long and would be easier bought from the mainland. He had agreed to take two men as apprentices for a small weekly sum, mainly to make cupboards and counter tops for those who planned to open shops. Father Minos had sent for more candles from the mainland, hoping by the end of the year to have made enough money to purchase a bell to hang in the tower of the church, and everywhere there was an air of purpose and excitement.
Phaedra was elated by the idea of earning money. ‘I’ve never had any money before. When I bought your watch it wasn’t like having money. I just asked Manolis to get it and then I had to sign my name for him – and I did it right,’ she added.
‘Of course you did.’ Yannis smiled proudly at her.
‘Some of them couldn’t’
‘Not write their names?’
Phaedra shook her head. ‘They couldn’t, truly.’
‘Well I’m glad you can.’
‘Only because you taught me.’
Yannis nodded slowly. ‘How many do you think can’t write their names?’
Phaedra shrugged. ‘I don’t know. There were four when I was there.’
‘I’ll have a word with the book-keepers.’
‘What for?’
‘It could make a little job for me. How would you like a school master for a husband?’
Phaedra looked at him in amazement. ‘A teacher?
‘You said yourself some of them can’t write their names. I could teach them, and how to read and write properly.’
Phaedra shrugged. ‘What’s so important about reading and writing anyway? You read things from the newspaper to me and I can write my name.’
‘Wouldn’t you like to read the paper for yourself? Am I reading things that interest you?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Exactly. If you could read for yourself you would know. Everyone should be able to read. I’m going to see Father Minos. I’ll be back later.’
‘But your lunch is ready,’ protested Phaedra.
‘It will keep. This may not.’ Without stopping to pick up his jacket Yannis left the house, ignoring Phaedra calling after him.
Father Minos was enthusiastic. ‘It’s a good idea, Yannis. I’ll try to encourage them. It will be confidence they need at first. Once they find out it’s not as difficult as they’d thought I’m sure they’ll enjoy it.’
‘I wonder if I will!’
‘Not getting cold feet, are you, Yannis?’
Yannis grinned. ‘No, just thinking how we treated poor old Yiorgo Pavlakis when he taught us.’
Andreas opened another letter from Father Minos. They arrived regularly, each one asking for something from the government, which Andreas was supposed to be able to procure immediately. He felt irritated by the continual demands. He had enough to do in the parish, set in the worst area of Heraklion. Each day he walked the mean streets, talking to the young girls who solicited unashamedly from their doorways, trying to persuade them to change their occupation. So far he had met with little success, they agreed with him that their life was degrading, but nothing he could say could make them leave the streets. His services were always well attended, and after his mid-day devotions there was always bread and cheese for the unfortunate. It never failed to amaze him how many unfortunate families there appeared to be in that part of the city.
His housekeeper, inherited from Father Minos, grumbled, but she could not stop him continuing with the charity. Two afternoons were regularly spent at the hospital, talking to the sick, and then he had various house calls to fit in and the occasional wedding, baptism and funeral. Sometimes he would spend an hour or more whilst someone poured out their problems. On top of this he was supposed to spend long hours persuading Yiorgo Pavlakis that the demands from the island were essential improvements and necessary to the occupants’ health and conditions.
He read the latest letter from the priest again. Permission was being asked for relatives to visit them. Andreas sighed. He could well imagine the scene this would cause. Yiorgo Pavlakis would argue that such a thing was out of the question due to public health regulations. He would have to insist it was their right and minimise the possibility of infection. He wished he could pass the irksome task on to someone else.
When Yiorgo saw him waiting patiently outside the school he frowned. Almost every week the man was there. He was both an embarrassment and a nuisance. He tried not to let his annoyance show.
‘Good afternoon, Father. I can guess what’s brought you here. Shall we find a quiet taverna?’ Yiorgo led the way a few doors along the road and chose a table towards the back. ‘What do they want this time?’
Without answering Father Andreas handed the letter over, watching Yiorgo’s face redden as he read it. Silently he handed the letter back, pushed the hair out of his eyes and lit a cigarette, drawing on it deeply. ‘It’s out of the question, of course.’
‘Why?’
Yiorgo shrugged. ‘It’s obvious. Carrying infection. If we allow them to have visitors they’ll be asking to visit their homes on the mainland and before we know it everyone will be contaminated.’
Father Andreas shook his head. ‘I disagree. There’s no evidence to show how the disease is transmitted. I find it hard to believe that it can be caught like measles or mumps. If that was the case whole families would be living over there by now.’
‘Then how do you suggest it’s caught?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not a doctor, and even doctors don’t appear to know.’
‘All the more reason for keeping them isolated.’
‘None of the boatmen who deliver there have caught it.’
‘They don’t go near the occupants.’ Yiorgo smiled triumphantly.
‘Father Minos hasn’t caught it.’
‘There are always exceptions.’
‘I haven’t caught it, and I spent a year sharing a mattress with Yannis. You, also, spent a good deal of time with Yannis, yet you show no signs.’
Yiorgo Pavlakis crossed himself hurriedly. ‘I did not kiss and hug him!’ He leaned forward. ‘Imagine the scene – a boat arrives, out steps a mother, sister, wife, arms are thrown about each other’s necks, their tears are mingling between their kisses, without doubt they’d bring it back with them.’
‘I think you’re exaggerating the possible danger. If it spreads as you suggest I’m amazed that we’re not all suffering from it. I visit the hospital regularly and if there are lepers waiting to be moved to the island I mix with them freely.’
Yiorgo shrugged somewhat sulkily. ‘I disapprove of the idea.’
Andreas smiled. This was the time to appear to accept defeat and press for something else instead. ‘So you’re not prepared to suggest such a move to the government?’
‘Certainly not.’
Andreas sighed. ‘At least, if you’ll not let them see each other, give them permission to write to their families and have a letter sent back to them.’ Andreas watched Yiorgo purse his lips. ‘There can be no cause for concern there. Letters leaving the island can be sterilised. The doctor is sure to have a machine and he could do that before posting them. It would be so simple and such a comfort to those who are so far from their relatives.’
Slowly Yiorgo nodded. ‘If it was strictly controlled, every letter would have to bear a stamp to say it had been sterilised.’
‘Of course,’ Andreas beamed. ‘I’ll write today and say they can use the postal system. Now, do you remember the other letter I had, asking for better equipment in the hospital?’
Yiorgo nodded. ‘I put it before the government and they agreed the doctor could order almost anything he wanted. All he had to do was to send us a list and the cost before he bought anything.’
‘And he sent you a list and you agreed to every item he’d asked for. You were incredibly generous. Doctor Stavros wrote to me and said how very grateful they were. I understand some of the goods have started to arrive now.’