The Island by Victoria Hislop Read Free Book Online Page A

you might think,’ replied Fotini. ‘It’s not a rampantly fast-spreading disease like the plague. It sometimes takes ages to develop - those images you have seen of people who are so terribly maimed are of those who have suffered for years, maybe decades. There are two strains of leprosy, one much slower to develop than the other. Both are curable now. Your great-grandmother was unfortunate, though. She had the faster-developing of the two types and neither time nor history was on her side.’
     
    Alexis was feeling ashamed of her initial reaction, humbled by her ignorance, but the revelation that a member of her family had been a leper had been a bolt out of the bluest of skies.
     
    ‘Your great-grandmother may have been the one with the disease, but your great-grandfather, Giorgis, bore deep scars too. Even before his wife was exiled to Spinalonga, he used to make deliveries to the island with his fishing boat, and he continued to do so when she went there. It meant that he watched on an almost daily basis as she was gradually destroyed by the disease. When Eleni first went to Spinalonga hygiene was poor, and though it improved a great deal during the time she was there, some irreparable damage was done in her early years. I shall spare you the details. Giorgis spared Maria and Anna from them. But you do know how it happens, don’t you? Leprosy can affect nerve endings, and the result of this is that you can’t feel it if you burn or cut yourself. That’s why people with leprosy are so vulnerable to inflicting permanent damage on themselves, and the consequences of that can be disastrous.’
     
    Fotini paused. She was concerned not to offend this young woman’s sensibilities, but was also very aware that there were elements of the story that were nothing less than shocking. It was simply a case of treading carefully.
     
    ‘I don’t want your image of your mother’s family to be dominated by disease. It wasn’t like that,’ she added hastily. ‘Look. I’ve got some photographs of them here.’
     
    On the big wooden tray propped against the coffee pot there was a tatty manila envelope. Fotini opened it and the contents spilled out on to the table. Some of the photographs were no bigger than train tickets, others were postcard size. Some were shiny, with white borders, others were matt, but all were monochrome, many faded almost to invisibility. Most had been taken in a studio in the days before the spontaneous snapshot was possible, and the stiffness of the subjects made them seem as distant and remote as King Minos.
     
    The first photo Alexis focused on was one she recognised. It was the picture that her mother had next to her bed of the lady in lace and the platinum-haired man. She picked it up.
     
    ‘That’s your great-aunt Maria and great-uncle Nikolaos,’ said Fotini, with a detectable hint of pride. ‘And this one,’ she said, pulling out a battered picture from the bottom of the pile, ‘was the last picture taken of your great-grandparents and their two girls all together.’
     
    She passed it to Alexis. The man was about the same height as the woman, but broad-shouldered. He had dark, wavy hair, a clipped moustache, a strong nose, and eyes that smiled even though the expression he maintained for this photograph was serious and posed. His hands seemed big in comparison with his body. The woman next to him was slim, long-necked and strikingly beautiful; her hair was wound into plaits which were coiled up on top of her head, and her smile was broad and spontaneous. Seated in front of them were two girls in cotton dresses. One had strong, thick hair worn loose about her shoulders and her eyes were slanted almost like a cat’s. She had mischief in her eyes and plump lips that did not smile. The other had neatly plaited hair, more delicate features and a nose that wrinkled as she smiled at the camera. She could almost be described as skinny and, of the two girls, was much more like the mother,