Chapter 8 Chapter 7

Dr. Lapakis informed Giorgis that he was expecting a guest who would cross the sea to Spinalonga and return in a few hours.His name is Nicholas Kritis.Kritis was just over 30 years old, with thick black hair. Compared with most Cretans, he was slightly thinner, and his slender figure was accentuated by the well-tailored suit.On the high cheekbones, the skin is taut.Some people think that he has outstanding looks, some people think that he is malnourished, in fact, no one is wrong. Kritis looks very out of place in Plaka Quay.Unlike most of the people Giorgis crossed, he had no luggage, no suitcases, no weeping family, just the slimmest leather briefcase cradled to his chest.The only people who accompanied him to Spinalonga were Dr. Lapakis and the occasional government representative who went to Spinalonga to assess financial claims.This man was the first real guest Giorgis brought over, and Giorgis, overcoming his usual silence with strangers, struck up a conversation with him.

"What are you doing on the island?" "I'm a doctor," replied the man. "But there's a doctor there," Giorgis said. "I sent him there this morning." "Yes, I know. It's Dr. Lapakis. I'm going to see him. He's been a friend and colleague of mine for many years." "You're not a leper, are you?" Giorgis asked. "Yes," replied the stranger, his face almost puckered with laughter, "and all the people on this island will be different one day." It was a bold statement, Giorgis thought, his heart racing.Is this anecdote - or is it just a rumour? —Occasionally, so-and-so's uncle or friend heard that there had been significant progress in the treatment of leprosy.For example, one theory is injections of gold, arsenic, and poisonous snake saliva, but this treatment is kind of crazy, even if these materials are affordable, do they really work?Only the Athenians, and it was rumored, that only the Athenians might consider paying for the medicine of the charlatans.When Giorgis untied the cable and was about to take the guests across the sea, he daydreamed.Eleni's condition had deteriorated markedly over the past few months, and he was beginning to lose all hope of finding a new medicine that would cure her and bring her home.But it was the first time in the eighteen months since he had sent her to Spinalonga that there was any hope in his heart.Just for a short while.

Papadimitrio waited on the pier to greet the doctor.The well-dressed man and his thin-skinned briefcase were covered by the powerful figure of the island owner, and Giorgis watched them disappear into the tunnel together. The icy wind whipped snowflakes across the sea, hitting Giorgis' boat.But even so, he found himself humming a ditty.The bad weather didn't bother him at all. When the two walked up the main street together, Papadimitrios began to question Kritis.He knows a lot about a lot of things and knows what to ask. "How is their latest research going? When are they going to start clinical testing? How long will it take to get to us? How much have you been involved in?" This kind of cross-examination was beyond Kritis' expectations. He hadn't expected to meet Papa before. Someone like Timitrio.

"It's still early days," he said cautiously. "I'm involved in a wide-ranging research project funded by the Pasteur organization, but our aim is not just to cure. Treatment and prevention were developed at the Cairo conference a few years ago. That's what I'm here for. I want to make sure we're doing the best we can — and I don't want it to be too late for everyone here when a cure is finally found." Papadimitrio, a consummate actor, conceals mild disappointment.He laughed off the longing and lack of a cure: "That's too bad. I promised my family I'd be back in Athens for Christmas, so I'm waiting for a potion from you."

Critics is a realist.He knew that these people might be years away from successful treatment, and he wouldn't raise their hopes.Leprosy is almost as old as the mountains, and it cannot disappear overnight. The two walked towards the hospital, what Kritis saw and heard made him suspicious.It looks like a normal village here, but it is not as dilapidated as other villages in Crete.Aside from the occasional few residents with large earlobes, or a slight limp—which most people probably won't notice—the people here live the lives of ordinary people, coming and going about their own business.At this time of the year, few people's faces can be seen in full. Men keep their hats low and their collars turned up; The wind was getting stronger day by day, the rain was pouring, and the streets became streams.

As the two passed the store with its glass front and brightly painted shutters, the baker caught Kritis's gaze as he took a large loaf of pale yellow bread from the oven, and he nodded.Kritis touched the brim of his hat in return.In front of the church, they turned off the main street, and in front of them was the high hospital, especially from a low point, which gave people a sense of grandeur. The hospital was the most solemn building on the island. Lapakis stood at the gate of the hospital waiting for Kritis, and they couldn't help hugging each other.It took a while before the two greeted each other, flustered with excitement, they had so many questions to ask each other! "How are you?" "How long have you been here?" "How is Athens?" "Tell me about you!" Finally, they gave up the excitement of meeting to practical questions.Time flies.Lapakis took Kritis quickly around the hospital, showing him the outpatient department, the treatment room, and finally the ward.

"We currently have too few resources. Many people should come in for a few days, but we can only treat most patients and send them home." Lapakis said wearily. In the ward, ten beds are crowded together, and the distance between the beds is less than half a meter.The ten beds were all occupied by patients, some male and some female, but it was difficult to distinguish between male and female, because the shutters were closed and only a faint light came in.Most patients do not live long.Critius spent some time in the Athenian leprosy hospital, and this was not surprising.The overcrowding and bad smell there are hundreds of times worse than here.At least a little hygiene here, which can mean the difference between life and death for those infected with ulcers.

"These patients are all in the sick stage." Lapakis said calmly, leaning against the door frame.This is the intensifying phase of leprosy symptoms, sometimes for just a few days, sometimes for weeks.During this period of onset, the patients suffer terrible pains, persistent high fevers, and severe pains, much more painful than before.The leprosy response may make them sicker than before, but sometimes, it also shows that the body is fighting the disease, and when the pain wears off, they may find themselves healed. Most of the patients were quiet as the two stood looking at the ward.Someone was moaning intermittently, and another, whom Crittis thought was a woman but wasn't sure, was also moaning.Lapakis and Kritis stepped back from the door, standing there as if presumptuous.

"Come to my office," Lapakis said, "and we'll talk over there." He led Kritis down the dark corridor and into the last room on the left.This room is different from the ward, you can see the scenery.Huge windows rise from the waist up to the high ceilings, looking out onto Plaka on the opposite bank, and the high mountains behind it.A large architectural drawing was nailed to the wall, showing that it was the current hospital, and the outline of another building was outlined with a red pen. When Lapakis saw this picture, it attracted the attention of Kritis. "These are my plans," he said. "We need more wards, and a few more treatment rooms. Male and female patients should be separated — if they don't have control over their own lives, we at least have to give them dignity."

Kritis walked over slowly, looking at the plan.He knows how much the government neglects health care, especially for what they consider to be terminal illnesses. "That could cost a lot of money," he said wryly. "I know, I know." Lapakis replied wearily, "but now our patients not only come from Crete, but also from mainland Greece, the government is obliged to allocate a certain amount of funds. When you meet A few of our lepers here, you know they're not the type to be turned down easily. What brought you back to Crete? I'm glad to have your letter, but you didn't really say The reason for coming out here."

The conversation between the two quickly revealed the ease and intimacy that only classmates can have.They had attended the same medical school in Athens, and although it had been six years since they last saw each other, they were able to regain their friendship as if they had never been apart. "Easy, really," Kritis said. "I was bored with Athens. I saw a notice saying that the Department of Dermatology at Heraklion Hospital was recruiting, so I applied. I knew I could still study, especially Yes, you know, there are so many lepers here. Spinalonga is an excellent place for case studies. Would you be happy if I came to visit now and then—and, what is important, do you think the patients will tolerate it?" "Of course I don't object to it, and I'm sure they don't either." "By then, some new treatments may be tried - although I can't promise anything dramatic. To be honest, the newest drugs don't do much. But we can't just sit still, can we?" Lapakis sat at the table and listened eagerly, his heart rising and falling with Krittis' every word.For five years he was the only doctor able and willing to visit Spinalonga.During this time, he dealt with a brutal torrent of disease and death.Every night when he undresses and goes to bed, he checks his thick body for symptoms of the disease.He knows it's ridiculous, the germs may lurk in his body for months or even years before he's aware of their existence, but the fear of getting sick in his heart keeps him from crossing the sea to Spinalonga for three days a week .He had to give himself a chance to fight.His responsibilities here were a cause he felt obligated to follow, but he worried that the chances of avoiding disease were no worse than the chances of a long-time Russian roulette guy living a long life. Lapakis does have help now.Patients limped up the mountain to see a doctor every day, some just came to change bandages and gauze, and some stayed for several days once they came, he couldn't handle it.Just at this time, Athena Manakis came.She used to be a doctor in Athens. When she found out that she had leprosy, she voluntarily entered the leprosy hospital, and was sent to Spinalonga with the "rebels" in Athens.Here she has new responsibilities.Lapakis couldn't imagine that he was so lucky: not only was there someone willing to live in a hospital, but he also had knowledge of general medicine.The fact that the inhabitants of Spinalonga were not lepers prevented them from getting other diseases—such as mumps, measles, or simple earaches—often neglected.Athena Manakis has twenty-five years of experience, she is willing to work every hour of the day when she is not sleeping, which makes her invaluable, she sees Lapakis as a little brother, and feels he will continue Lapakis doesn't mind nurturing talent.If he believes in God, he is willing to thank him sincerely. And now, at a thunderbolt—no, rather, a cloudy November thunderbolt, when sea and sky are tediously competing—Nicolas Kritis comes and asks if he can Come often.Lapakis was so relieved that he almost burst into tears.His long and thankless solitude was coming to an end.Every day when he finally leaves the hospital to wash himself in the Venetian armory (now used as a decontamination room), he no longer complains of inadequacy.There was Athena Manakis here, and now Kritis occasionally came. "Come on," he said, "come when you want. I can't tell you how happy I am to hear that. Tell me what you're doing." "Okay." Kritis said. He took off his coat and put it on the back of the chair carefully. "In the field of leprosy research, someone must be cured of leprosy soon. I have been working with the Pasteur Institute in Athens. Keeping in touch, our Project Director is eager to move forward as quickly as possible. Imagine what that means, not just for the hundreds of people here, but for the thousands of people around the world - in India, South Africa, and even There are millions of leprosy patients. The impact of a cure will be enormous. I would conservatively estimate that we have a long way to go, but every piece of evidence, every case study, paints a picture of our ability to prevent blueprint for the spread of the disease." "I think you're wrong, it won't be too long," Lapakis responded. "I'm under a lot of pressure these days about whether or not to use a charlatan's prescription. These people are very vulnerable and they want to catch Live at any straw, especially those who can afford it. So, what's your plan here anyway?" "I need dozens of patients, and if possible, I will monitor them closely for the next few months, maybe even years. I only make a diagnosis in Heraklion, and after the diagnosis, I lose the patients because they are all sent to the hospital. Here it comes! It's better for them that way, in my opinion, but I need to do some follow-up." Lapakis smiled.The arrangement was fair to both of them.Along one wall of his office, floor to ceiling, are lined with filing cabinets.Some contain the medical cases of every islander now alive.After they died, all the cases were transferred to other cabinets.Before Lapakis volunteered to work on the island, no documentation survived, and almost no treatment was worth recording. The only progress was the continued deterioration of the disease.The lepers of the first few decades of the quarantine were remembered only by a large black register with names, dates of arrival and dates of death.Their lives were reduced to mere entries in the Grim Reaper's book of life and death, and now their bones are jumbled and piled indiscriminately under the flagstones of the communal cemetery at the very edge of the island. "Since I came here in 1934, I have kept a record of every patient here," said Lapakis. "I have recorded in detail the state of their arrival and everything that has happened since then. Sorted by age—it seems more logical. Why don't you pick up some that you want to watch? Next time you come, I can make an appointment with them in advance and let them come to see you." Lapakis dragged open the top drawer of the cabinet closest to him. The drawer was heavy, and when it was opened, it was full of documents. He waved his hand and invited Kritis to come over and look through it casually. "I leave it to you. I'd better go back to the ward. Some patients still need attention." When Lapakis returned to his office an hour and a half later, there was a pile of papers on the floor; the top file read "Eleni Petkis" on its cover. "You met her husband this morning," said Lapakis, "and it was the boatman." They took notes on all the selected patients, discussed each case, and then, Kritis glanced at the clock on the wall, it was time to go.Before he entered the disinfection room to spray himself with disinfectant—although he knew that this method of limiting the spread of germs was likely to be futile—the two shook hands tightly.Lapakis escorted him down the mountain to the entrance of the tunnel, and Krittis continued alone to the dock, where Giorgis was waiting to see him off on the first leg of his long journey back to Heraklion. They spoke so little on the way back to Crete that they seemed to have exhausted their conversation on the way back.When they got to Plaka, though, Krittis asked Giorgis if he could still be here at the same time next week before sending him to Spinalonga.Giorgis felt very happy for some reason, not entirely because of the travel expenses.As Giorgis thought, he was glad to know the new doctor would be back. During bitter cold December, arctic January and February, and blustery March, Nicholas Kritis came to Spinalonga every Wednesday.Neither he nor Giorgis were great talkers, but when they crossed the sea to Spinalonga, small conversations struck up. "Mr. Petkis, how are you today?" Crittis asked. "If there are no accidents, I can say it's fine." Giorgis would reply cautiously. "How is your wife?" the doctor would ask, a question that made Giorgis feel like he, too, was leading a normal married life.Neither of them thought much about how ridiculous it was, the person who asked the question knew the answer better than anyone else. Giorgis looked forward to Kritis' visit, and so did twelve-year-old Maria, because his visit brought a tinge of optimism, allowing her to see her father smile.Although her father didn't say anything, she could feel something.In the evening, she would go to the pier and wait for them to come back.Wrapped tightly in her woolen coat, she sat watching the boats come across the sea in the gray dusk.She catches the rope her father throws and expertly ties it to the bitts, where she holds the boat for the night. In April, the strong wind is no longer biting, and there are subtle changes in the air.The earth warmed up, and purple spring anemones and pale pink orchids bloomed.After the winter, the migratory birds flew all the way back from Africa and flew over Crete.Everyone is bracing for the change of seasons, the long-awaited warmth is now here, but there are no obvious signs in the air yet. War has been raging across Europe for some time, and in April, Greece was overrun.People in Crete are now living under the sword of Damocles; the quarantined newspaper, Spinalonga Star, publishes regular bulletins on the situation, and newsreels that accompany the weekly film also make people anxiety.Their worst fears finally happened: the Germans set their sights on Crete.