Read Online The Island by Victoria Hislop - Free Book Online Page A

formality would be gone and the dignity of this farewell would be no more. Though the few hundred metres had seemed an impossible distance, Eleni’s walk to the jetty was nearly over, and she turned round to look at the throng for the last time. Her house was out of sight now, but she knew the shutters would remain closed and that her daughters would be weeping in the darkness.
     
    Suddenly there were cries to be heard. They were the loud, heartbreaking sobs of a grown woman, and her display of grief was as unchecked as Eleni’s was controlled. For a moment Eleni halted. These sounds seemed to echo her own emotional state. They were the precise outward expression of everything she felt inside, but she knew she was not their author. The crowd stirred, taking their eyes off Eleni and looking back towards the far corner of the square where a mule had been tethered to a tree and, close by, a man and a woman stood. Though he had all but disappeared within the woman’s embrace, there was also a boy. The top of his head barely reached her chest and she was bent over him, her arms wrapped around his body as though she would never let go. ‘My boy!’ she cried despairingly. ‘My boy, my darling boy!’ Her husband was at their side. ‘Katerina,’ he coaxed. ‘Dimitri must go. We have no choice. The boat is waiting.’ Gently he prised the mother’s arms away from the child. She spoke her son’s name one final time, softly, indistinctly: ‘Dimitri . . .’ but the boy did not look up. His gaze was fixed on the dusty ground. ‘Come, Dimitri,’ his father said firmly. And the boy followed.
     
    He kept his eyes focused on his father’s worn leather boots. All he had to do was plant his own feet in the prints they made in the dust. It was mechanical - a game they had played so many times, when his father would take giant strides and Dimitri would jump and leap until his legs could stretch no more and he would fall over, helpless with laughter. This time, however, his father’s pace was slow and faltering. Dimitri had no trouble keeping up. His father had relieved the sad-faced mule of its burden and now balanced the small crate of the boy’s possessions on his shoulder, the very same shoulder on which his son had been carried so many times. It seemed a long way, past the crowd, to the water’s edge.
     
    The final goodbye between father and son was a brief, almost manly one. Eleni, aware of this awkwardness, greeted Dimitri, her focus now solely on the boy whose life, from this moment on, would be her greatest responsibility. ‘Come,’ she said, encouragingly. ‘Let’s go and see our new home.’ And she took the child’s hand and helped him on to the boat as though they were going on an adventure and the boxes packed around them contained supplies for a picnic.
     
    The crowd watched the departure, maintaining its silence. There was no protocol for this moment. Should they wave? Should they shout goodbye? Skin paled, stomachs contracted, hearts felt heavy. Some had ambivalent feelings about the boy, blaming him for Eleni’s situation and for the unease they now had about their own children’s health. At the very moment of their departure, though, the mothers and fathers felt only pity for the two unfortunates who were leaving their families behind for ever. Giorgis pushed the boat away from the jetty and soon his oars were engaged in the usual battle with the current. It was as though the sea did not want them to go. For a short while the crowd watched, but as the figures became less distinct they began to disperse.
     
    The last to turn away and leave the square were a woman of about Eleni’s own age and a girl. The woman was Savina Angelopoulos, who had grown up with Eleni, and the girl was her daughter Fotini, who, in the way of small village life, was the best friend of Eleni’s youngest daughter, Maria. Savina wore a head scarf, which hid her thick hair but accentuated her huge kind eyes; childbearing had