He crept closer, but remained carefully hidden behind some trucks, fifty metres or so away. The music had struck up again, and even from this distance it was enough to muffle the sound of their voices. He saw the man reach out, put his hands on Maria’s shoulders and draw her close. Then he kissed her.
Manolis felt a shiver go down his spine. Only the day before, Maria had been on Spinalonga. A leprosy patient. And now a man – a doctor! – was touching her lips with his own.
The kiss was brief but enough to fill him with a mixture of shock and disgust. Soon the couple were retracing their steps to the square.
For a while Manolis stayed where he was. He was almost overcome with a sense of relief, knowing for certain now that Maria had no expectations of him. Leaning against a tyre hub to roll some tobacco, he was careful to ensure that nobody would spot the flame as he lit it, or the glow as he smoked.
The knowledge that Maria might have found love gave him courage. Once he had finished his cigarette, he would make an appearance at the panegýri to welcome her back, and perhaps he would then fetch his lyra and play through the night.
Taking a swig of raki from the flask in his pocket, he stood up. He was ready to celebrate now. At last Anna would have to believe that her sister was no threat.
Suddenly the sky was bright with fireworks and everyone was looking upwards. It was the perfect moment to blend unnoticed into the crowd.
As he stepped out of his hiding place, he saw a familiar black car approaching.
Manolis was astonished. He had never imagined that Anna and Andreas would come. He knew Anna well. Taking the hand of a stranger to join a dance was the last thing in the world his haughty lover would ever do, and it was even less likely when that hand was misshapen by leprosy. What he had expected was that she would make an appearance to greet her sister in a day or two. That would be more her style.
As the polished limousine passed, he caught a glimpse of dark hair, pale skin and red lips. Anna was laughing, her head tilted back. He saw an open mouth and the flash of white teeth. Even though it had been a fleeting moment, this was not an expression of Anna’s that he knew. There was something ghoulish about her rictus smile. She looked like a second-rate actress feigning happiness, and he felt a stab of unease. It was clear that neither she nor Andreas had noticed him.
Andreas was driving past the square to park, so Manolis strolled slowly towards the crowd. Every face was still turned skywards. Beyond them, out to sea, a deserted Spinalonga was illuminated by a million sparks that brightly lit the sky.
He stayed back in the shadows. It was perverse, but he wanted to be a spectator at the reunion of Anna and her sister. From where he stood, he could see the panegýri as well as the back of his cousin’s glossy car. He waited for the passenger door to open.
Rockets went off into the sky, one after the other. Then there was a pause, and what seemed like an almost supernatural silence after the huge barrage of sound. A few laoútos struck up again. Everyone gathered around to recommence the dancing.
A moment later, two bangs cracked through the air. They were short and sharp. People looked up into the sky, expecting the light show to resume, but there was nothing. Some gunshots had been fired into the air earlier to mark the beginning of this happy occasion, just as happened for weddings and baptisms, but those made a different, duller sound. A few people recognised the latest ones as pistol shots and left the crowd to search for the source.
The musicians could only hear the sound of themselves playing, and for a few macabre moments, they continued. Eventually there was frantic nudging, but one of them, an old chap deaf and oblivious to what was happening, carried on strumming. Finally someone pulled the laoúto out of his hands.
Manolis had heard the sound too. He hastened forward, still keeping in the shadows, and when he was less than twenty metres away, he saw Andreas scramble out of the car and run in the opposite direction, away from the village. In less than a second, he was out of sight.
Manolis froze.
People began to converge on the car. Someone opened the passenger door, but Anna did not emerge, smiling her vain, pretty smile and patting down her dress as he had pictured. There were shouts and gasps, and screams from some of the women. Then the dense mass parted. They were letting someone through to the front. It was the silver-headed man he had seen with Maria. A space was cleared around the Cadillac as people shrank away, some of them turning their eyes from the sight of a body being lifted from the vehicle.
Manolis was taller than most of the men, so he could see over their heads. As people crowded towards the car, Manolis saw six men, Antonis among them, running away from the crowd and down the street. One of them must have spotted Andreas and observed the direction he had taken. In this small village it would only be a matter of time before they found him.
Many of the women dispersed, sobbing quietly in huddles, their arms wrapped around each other for comfort. It was the children who remained curious, ghoulishly interested in what they were watching, craning their necks to find out who was being laid out on the blanket.
Anna.
Manolis watched Maria approach, and then her father, who dropped to his knees next to his daughter’s body.
He saw a pale blue dress stained crimson with blood, and dishevelled dark hair. Maria was kneeling next to her, holding one of her sister’s hands and stroking it. She was muttering something under her breath. Giorgos was being supported by two men as he rocked back and forth.
‘Theé mou . . . Theé mou . . . Oh my God,’ he repeated loudly over and over, crossing himself.
The man with the silver hair held his fingers over Anna’s eyelids and gently closed them. Manolis was incensed. Who was this man to touch her?
He was desperate to get close. Every bone in his body yearned to grab hold of her and take her into the mountains, away from this place, away from these people. Anna was his woman. How many times had she told him that she was his and only his? Anna, his beautiful Anna. He had never felt more possessive of her.
For a moment he pictured himself running forward to seize her in his arms and give her the kiss that would restore her to life. What he was seeing could not be real. It could not have happened. Only a moment before, she had been breathing. He had seen her. That motionless body lying in the street could not be Anna’s. It could not.
Manolis retreated a few metres from the scene and for a moment, in a dark doorway, found himself gasping for breath. Sobs now convulsed him, his whole body heaving and shuddering. The cacophony that had resumed in the village was more than enough to cover the noises he made, sounds that were more animal than human.
Crouched down, he buried his head deep in his hands. When he eventually looked up, he saw Anna’s body being carefully wrapped in the blanket and carried away. He was numb. With loss, with grief, with shock. Unused to any such emotions, all he registered was a feeling of icy coldness from his head to his feet.
A nip of raki warmed him a little, but he still shivered violently as if it was a cold December dawn. He did not know how long he remained concealed in the shadows, waiting for the streets to empty.
When he was certain that no one would see him, he emerged from his doorway hiding place and began to walk. Against his better judgement, he paused to survey the space where Anna had been laid out. There was nothing there now. Not a trace of blood, not a mark in the dust. The merry flags that hung between the trees seemed to mock him. The tables were still in place, strewn with the debris of the evening.