‘No, no,’ said Theodore. ‘Cobras are not found here in Corfu.’
‘And now,’ said Margo, ‘we have Captain Creech, who will give us some old-time songs and I’m sure you’ll want to join in with him. Captain Creech.’
The captain, his top hat tilted at a rakish angle, strutted across to the piano and did a little bow-legged to and fro shuffle, twirling the cane he had procured.
‘Old sea shanty,’ he bellowed, putting his top hat on the end of his cane and twirling it round dextrously. ‘Old sea shanty. You all join in the chorus.’
He did a short dance, still twirling his hat, and came in on the beat of the song which Megalotopolopopoulos was thumping out,
‘O Paddy was an Irishman,
He came from Donegal,
And all the girls they loved him well,
Though he only had one ball,
For the Irish girls are girls of sense,
And they didn’t mind at all,
For, as Paddy pointed out to them,
’Twas better than none at all.
O folderol and folderay,
A sailor’s life is grim,
So you’re only too delighted,
If you get a bit excited,
Whether it’s with her or him.’
‘Really, Larry!’ said Mother, outraged, ‘is this your idea of entertainment?’
‘Why pick on me?’ asked Larry, astounded. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘You invited him, disgusting old man. He’s your friend.’
‘I can’t be responsible for what he sings, can I?’ asked Larry irritably.
‘You must put a stop to it,’ declared Mother. ‘Horrible old man.’
‘He certainly twirls his hat round very well,’ said Theodore enviously. ‘I wonder how… he… er… does it?’
‘I’m not interested in his hat – it’s his songs.’
‘It’s a perfectly good music hall ditty,’ said Larry. ‘I don’t know what you’re going on about.’
‘It’s not the sort of music hall ditty I’m used to,’ said Mother.
‘O, Blodwyn was a Welsh girl,
She came from Cardiff city,
And all the boys they loved her well,
Though she only had one titty,’
carolled the captain, getting into his stride.
‘Repulsive old fool!’ spat out Mother.
‘For the Welsh boys there,
Are boys of sense,
And didn’t they all agree,
One titty is better than two sometimes,
For it leaves you one hand free.
O folderol and folderay,
A sailor’s life is grim…’
‘Even if you don’t consider me, you might consider Gerry,’ said Mother.
‘What d’you want me to do? Write the verses down for him?’ asked Larry.
‘D’you… you know… hear a sort of tapping?’ asked Theodore.
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Larry, you know perfectly well what I mean.’
‘I wondered if he might be ready… um… the trouble is, I can’t quite remember the signal,’ Theodore confessed.
‘I don’t know why you always have to pick on me,’ said Larry. ‘Just because you’re narrow-minded.’
‘I’m as broad-minded as anybody,’ protested Mother indignantly. ‘In fact, sometimes I think I’m too broad.’
‘I think it was two slow and three quick,’ mused Theodore, ‘but I may be mistaken.’
‘O, Gertrude was an English lass,
She came from Stoke-on-Trent,
But when she loved a nice young lad,
She always left him bent.’
‘Listen to that!’ said Mother. ‘It’s beyond a joke. Larry, you must stop him.’
‘You’re objecting, you stop him,’ said Larry.
‘But the boys of Stoke
They loved a poke,
And suffered in the bed,
For they said that Gert
Was a real prime skirt,
But she had a left-hand thread.’
‘Really, Larry, you carry things too far. It’s not funny.’
‘Well, he’s been through Ireland, Wales and England,’ Larry pointed out. ‘He’s only got Scotland to go, unless he branches out into Europe.’
‘You must stop him doing that!’ said Mother, aghast at the thought.
‘I think, you know, perhaps I ought just to open the box and have a look,’ said Theodore thoughtfully. ‘You know, just as a precaution.’
‘I wish you’d stop carrying on like a female Bowdler,’ said Larry. ‘It’s all good clean fun.’
‘Well, it’s not my idea of good clean fun,’ exclaimed Mother, ‘and I want it stopped.’
‘O, Angus was a Scottish lad,
He came from Aberdeen…’
‘There you are, he’s got to Scotland now,’ said Larry.
‘Er… I’ll try not to disturb the captain,’ said Theodore, ‘but I thought perhaps just to take a quick glance…’
‘I don’t care whether he’s got to John o’Groats,’ said Mother. ‘It’s got to stop.’
Theodore had tiptoed over to the box and was now feeling in his pockets worriedly; Leslie joined him and they discussed the problem of the entombed Kralefsky. I saw Leslie trying ineffectually to raise the lid when it became obvious that Theodore had lost the key. The captain sang on unabated.
‘O, Fritz, he was a German lad,
He came from old Berlin…’
‘There!’ said Mother. ‘He’s started on the Continent! Larry, you must stop him!’
‘I wish you’d stop carrying on like the Lord Chamberlain,’ said Larry, annoyed. ‘It’s Margo’s cabaret, tell her to stop him.’
‘It’s a mercy that most of the guests don’t speak good enough English to understand,’ said Mother. ‘Though what the others must think…’
‘Folderol and folderay,
A sailor’s life is grim…’
‘I’d make life grim for him if I could,’ said Mother. ‘Depraved old fool!’
Leslie and Theodore had now been joined by Spiro, carrying a large crowbar; together they set about the task of trying to open the lid.
‘O, Françoise was a French girl,
She came from the town of Brest,
And, oh, she lived up to its name,
And gave the boys no rest.’
‘I do try to be broad-minded,’ said Mother, ‘but there are limits.’
‘Tell me, my dears,’ asked Lena, who had been listening to the captain with care. ‘What is left-hand thread?’
‘It’s a… it’s a… it’s a sort of English joke,’ said Mother desperately. ‘Like a pun, you know?’
‘Yes,’ explained Larry. ‘Like you say a girl’s got a pun in the oven.’
‘Larry, that’s quite enough,’ said Mother quellingly. ‘The captain’s bad enough without you starting.’
‘Mother,’ said Margo, having just noticed. ‘I think Kralefsky’s suffocating.’
‘I do not understand this pun in oven,’ said Lena. ‘Explain me.’
‘Take no notice, Lena, it’s only Larry’s joke.’
‘If he’s suffocating, ought I to go and stop the captain’s song?’ asked Margo.
‘An excellent idea! Go and stop him at once,’ said Mother.
There were loud groaning noises as Leslie and Spiro struggled with the heavy lid of the chest. Margo rushed up to the captain.
‘Captain, Captain, please stop,’ she said. ‘Mr Kralefsky’s… Well, we’re rather worried about him.’
‘Stop?’ said the captain startled. ‘Stop? But I’ve only just begun.’
‘Yes, well, there are more urgent things than your songs,’ said Mother frigidly. ‘Mr Kralefsky’s stuck in his box.’
‘But it’s one of the best songs I know,’ said the captain aggrievedly. ‘It’s the longest, too – one hundred and forty countries it deals with – Chile, Australia, the Far East, the lot. A hundred and forty
verses!’
I saw Mother flinch at the thought of the captain singing the other hundred and thirty-four verses.
‘Yes, well, some other time perhaps,’ she promised untruthfully. ‘But this is an emergency.’
With a splintering noise like a giant tree being felled, the lid of the chest was finally wrenched open. Inside lay Kralefsky still swathed in ropes and chains, his face an interesting shade of blue, his hazel eyes wide and terrified.
‘Aha, I see we’re a bit… er… you know… premature,’ said Theodore. ‘He hasn’t succeeded in untying himself.’
‘Air! Air!’ croaked Kralefsky. ‘Give me air!’
‘Interesting,’ said Colonel Ribbindane. ‘Saw a pygmy like that once in the Congo… been trapped in an elephant’s stomach. The elephant is the largest African quadruped…’
‘Do get him out,’ said Mother agitatedly. ‘Get some brandy.’
‘Fan him! Blow on him!’ shrilled Margo, and burst into tears. ‘He’s dying, he’s dying, and he never finished his trick.’
‘Air… air,’ moaned Kralefsky as they lifted him out of the box.
In his shroud of ropes and chains, his face leaden, his eyes closed, he certainly looked a macabre sight.
‘I think perhaps, you know, the ropes and chains are a little constricting,’ said Theodore judiciously, becoming the medical man.
‘Well, you put them on him, you get them off him,’ said Larry. ‘Come on, Theodore, you’ve got the key for the padlocks.’
‘I seem, rather unfortunately, to have mislaid it,’ Theodore confessed.
‘Dear God!’ exclaimed Leslie. ‘I knew they shouldn’t be allowed to do this. Damned silly. Spiro, can you get a hacksaw?’
They laid Kralefsky on the sofa and supported his head on the cushions; he opened his eyes and gasped at us helplessly. Colonel Ribbindance bent and stared into Kralefsky’s face.
‘This pygmy I was telling you about,’ he said. ‘His eyeballs filled up with blood.’
‘Really?’ said Theodore, much interested. ‘I believe you get the samewhensomeoneis… er… you know… garrotted. Arupturing of the blood vessels in the eyeballs sometimes bursts them.’
Kralefsky gave a small, despairing squeak like a field mouse.
‘Now, if he had taken a course in Fakyo,’ said Jeejee, ‘he vould have been able to hold his breath for hours, perhaps even days, possibly even months or years, vith practice.’
‘Would that prevent his eyeballs filling with blood?’ asked Ribbindane.
‘I don’t know,’ said Jeejee honestly. ‘It vould probably prevent them filling with blood; they might just go pink.’
‘Are my eyes full of blood?’ asked Kralefsky agitatedly.
‘No, no, of course they’re not,’ said Mother soothingly. ‘I do wish you all would stop talking about blood and worrying poor Mr Kralefsky.’
‘Yes, take his mind off it,’ said Captain Creech. ‘Shall I finish my song?’
‘No,’ said Mother firmly, ‘no more songs. Why don’t you get Mr Maga… whatever his name is to play something soothing and all have a nice dance while we unwrap Mr Kralefsky?’
‘That’s an idea, my lovely wench,’ said Captain Creech to Mother. ‘Waltz with me! One of the quickest ways of getting intimate, waltzing.’
‘No,’ said Mother coldly. ‘I’m much too busy to get intimate with anyone, thank you very much.’
‘You, then,’ said the captain to Lena, ‘you’ll give me a cuddle round the floor, huh?’
‘Vell, I must confess it, I like the valtz,’ said Lena, puffing out her chest, to the captain’s obvious delight.
Megalotopolopopoulos swung himself into a spirited rendering of ‘The Blue Danube’ and the captain whisked Lena off across the room.
‘The trick would have worked perfectly, only Dr Stephanides should have only pretended to lock the padlocks,’ Mr Kralefsky was explaining, while a scowling Spiro hacksawed away at the locks and chains.
‘Of course,’ said Mother, ‘we quite understand.’
‘I was never… er… you know… very good at conjuring,’ admitted Theodore contritely.
‘I could feel the air running out and hear my heartbeats getting louder and louder. It was horrible, quite horrible,’ said Kralefsky, closing his eyes with a shudder that made all his chains jangle. ‘I began to think I’d never get out.’
‘And you missed the rest of the cabaret too,’ put in Margo sympathetically.
‘Yes, by God!’ exclaimed Jeejee. ‘You didn’t see my snake-charming. Damned great snake bit me in the loincloth, and me an unmarried man!’
‘And then the blood started pounding in my ears,’ said Kralef-sky, hoping to remain the focus of attention. ‘Everything went black.’
‘But… er… you know… it was dark in there,’ Theodore observed.
‘Don’t be so literal, Theo,’ said Larry. ‘One can’t embroider a story properly with you damned scientists around.’
‘I’m not embroidering,’ said Kralefsky with dignity, as the last padlock fell away and he could sit up. ‘Thank you, Spiro. No, I assure you, everything went as black as… as black as…’
‘A nigger’s bottom?’ offered Jeejee helpfully.
‘Jeejee, dear, don’t use that word,’ said Mother, shocked. ‘It’s not polite.’
‘Vhat? Bottom?’ asked Jeejee, mystified.
‘No, no,’ said Mother, ‘that other word.’
‘Vhat? Nigger?’ he asked. ‘But vhat’s vrong with it? I’m the only nigger here and I don’t object.’
‘Spoken like a white man,’ declared Colonel Ribbindane admiringly.
‘Well I object,’ said Mother firmly. ‘I won’t have you calling yourself a nigger. To me, you’re just as, just as…’
‘White as driven snow?’ suggested Larry.
‘You know perfectly well what I mean, Larry,’ said Mother crossly.
‘Well,’ went on Kralefsky, ‘there was I with the blood pounding in my ears…’
‘Oooh,’ squeaked Margo suddenly, ‘just look what Captain Creech has done to Lena’s lovely dress.’
We turned to look at that section of the room where several couples were gyrating merrily to the waltz, none with greater enthusiasm than the captain and Lena. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to either of them, the captain at some point must have trodden on the deep layer of frills that decorated the edge of Lena’s gown and wrenched them away; now they were waltzing away oblivious to the fact that the captain had both feet inside Lena’s dress.
‘Good heavens! Disgusting old man!’ said Mother.
‘He was right about the waltz being intimate,’ said Larry. ‘Another couple of whirls and they’ll be wearing the same dress.’
‘D’you think I ought to tell Lena?’ asked Margo.
‘I shouldn’t,’ said Larry. ‘It’s probably the nearest she’s been to a man in years.’
‘Larry, that’s quite unnecessary,’ said Mother.
Just at that moment, with a flourish, Megalotopolopopoulos brought the waltz to an end, Lena and the captain spun round and round like a top and then stopped. Before Margo could say anything, the captain stepped backwards to bow and fell flat on his back, ripping a large section of Lena’s skirt away. There was a moment’s terrible silence while every eye in the room was riveted, fascinated, on Lena, who stood there frozen. The captain broke the spell, speaking from his recumbent position on the floor.
‘My, that’s a fine pair of knickers you’re wearing,’ he observed jovially.
Lena uttered what can only be described as a Greek screech, a sound that has all the blood-curdling qualities of a scythe blade scraped across a hidden rock; part lamentation, part indignation, with a rich, murderous overtone, a noise wrenched up, as it were, from the very bowels of the vocal chords. Galli-Curci would have been proud of her. It was, strangely enough, Margo who leaped into the breach and avoided what could have been a diplomatic crisis, though her method of doing so was perhaps a trifle flamboyant. She simp
ly snatched a cloth from a side table, rushed to Lena and swathed her in it. This gesture in itself would have been all right except that she chose a cloth on which there were reposing numerous dishes of food and a large twenty-four-branch candelabra. The crash of breaking china and the hissing of candles falling into chutneys and sauces successfully distracted the guests from Lena, and under cover of the pandemonium she was rushed upstairs by Margo.
‘I hope you’re satisfied now!’ said Mother accusingly to Larry.
‘Me? What have I done?’ he inquired.
‘That man,’ said Mother. ‘You invited him; now look what he’s done.’
‘Given Lena the thrill of her life,’ said Larry. ‘No man ever tried to tear her skirt off before.’
‘It’s not funny, Larry,’ said Mother severely, ‘and if we have any more parties I will not have that… that… licentious old libertine.’
‘Never mind, Mrs Durrell, it’s a lovely party,’ said Jeejee.
‘Well, as long as you’re enjoying it, I don’t mind,’ said Mother, mollified.
‘If I have another hundred reincarnations, I’m sure I shall never have another birthday party like this.’
‘That’s very sweet of you, Jeejee.’
‘There’s only one thing,’ said Jeejee soulfully, ‘I hesitate to mention it… but…’
‘What?’ asked Mother. ‘What was wrong?’
‘Not wrong,’ said Jeejee sighing, ‘just lacking.’
‘Lacking?’ asked Mother, alarmed. ‘What was lacking?’
‘Elephants,’ said Jeejee earnestly, ‘the largest quadrupeds in India.’
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright Page
The Corfu Trilogy
My Family and Other Animals
Contents
The Speech for the Defence
Part One
The Migration
1 The Unsuspected Isle
2 The Strawberry-pink Villa
3 The Rose-beetle Man
4 A Bushel of Learning
5 A Treasure of Spiders